16. Sixteen

Sixteen

I 'm shoved into the chair while the stylist sorts out my hair, straightening it and applying goodness knows how many different sprays and balms so that it falls sleek and straight. A soft brown eyeshadow is applied along with a few false eyelashes and a nude lip and blusher. It's more make-up than I usually wear, but the "oohs" and "aahs" coming from the stylist convince me that I look okay.

Lastly, I step into the blush-pink chiffon dress. The material is ruched around the chest into a plunging V and pulls in at the waist. There's a thigh-high split in the floor-length dress, and the material is so light and soft that I feel as if I were floating on a cloud. It won't meet Art's approval, but I don't care because it's stunning.

By the time I've finished slipping on my dress, Lucy's wearing hers. It's been months since I went with her to choose it, and I forgot how stunning it was. The off-the-shoulder ivory fishtail gown is adorned with pearls and crystals and shows off her curvaceous figure beautifully. That ball of emotion is back in my throat as I admire her.

Geraldine is faffing with the train of the dress, and Lucy gives me a frown. I know she's losing patience.

"It's fine, Mum," she moans. "Why don't you and Sarah go downstairs? The guests are arriving."

"I do hope your father hasn't been at the bar," Geraldine grumbles, tweaking the train straight across the burgundy carpet.

"He might not have been, but I will be." Sarah wobbles over to the door in her strappy gold sandals and peers down at the cardboard box containing the bouquets.

"Sarah, please don't drink any more until after the ceremony. I don't want you making a scene on your sister's big day," Geraldine instructs.

I also hope Sarah doesn't drink any more. I've got to walk down the aisle with her, and if she goes down, there's no way I'm going to be able to save her.

"You two, go on downstairs," Lucy insists. "I want a minute alone with my maid of honour."

Sarah, who is clearly keen to make an escape to the bar, picks up her bridal bouquet of blush-pink roses. "Laters," she tosses over her shoulder as she heads out the door.

"Don't be too long, Lucy. There's only twenty minutes until the ceremony begins," Geraldine says, picking up her cream leather clutch. She hesitates slightly, as if she doesn't quite trust us not to be late, and then retreats from the room.

Lucy flops down on the end of the four-poster bed and heaves a frustrated sigh. "Those two have done my bloody head in all morning."

I settle down next to her. "I'm sorry I was late, Luce."

She shakes her head and stares down at the bouquet of cream roses in her hands. "It's okay. I don't blame you."

"You look beautiful." I give her hand a squeeze. "Really, really beautiful."

She offers me a weak smile and doesn't look convinced. "I'm not sure, Soph."

"You look stunning. That dress is—"

"No, no, not about how I look," she cuts in. "About the wedding."

"Like I said to you the other day, it's perfectly normal to have second thoughts. All brides have them – believe me, I know. There's so much going on and so much pressure …"

"I'm not sure – I don't even know if I love Mark anymore."

I stall. "Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing's happened at all. That's exactly the problem. Everything is the same now as it was when we moved in together. We go to work, we come home, we go to his parents' on Sunday, we see my parents in the week, he goes to rugby on Tuesdays, we have sex twice a month." She shrugs her shoulders and starts to pluck the cream petals off one of the roses. "That's it."

"I think all relationships can get a bit stuck in a rut," I reply carefully.

"I don't know if he's enough for me anymore. These past few weeks, I've seen how Art is with you. How you are together. How he looks at you. He's totally in love with you."

The L-word has me shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "I'm not sure; he hasn't actually said so."

She shakes her head. "Words are cheap. You can tell by the look in his eye how he feels about you. He doesn't need to say it. You'd be blind to miss it."

I smooth the chiffon material of my dress over my lap. "It would still be nice to hear it," I tell her. "Anyway, we're still in the honeymoon phase. Fast-forward three years, and we're probably going to be stuck in a rut, too, just going to work and coming home and only having sex twice a month." I'm trying to make her feel better because there is nothing about Art that makes me think his libido will ever allow sex twice a month to be acceptable. Nor mine, come to think of it.

Lucy gives a short and sharp laugh. "Mark and I didn't have a honeymoon phase. It's always been like this. Maybe I should have read the warning signs." She shakes her head sadly and plucks the final petal from the rose, rendering it bald. "Things haven't been right between us for a long time. I know I don't love him anymore, and he doesn't love me."

Shit.

This is more than pre-wedding jitters.

Guilt twists in my gut, and I feel like the worst friend in the world. "I should have been there for you. I know how much pressure there is with a wedding. I knew something wasn't right. I wanted to speak to you the other day but I got distracted."

By the lure of designer clothes shopping. How much of a bad friend am I?

"Don't be silly. You've got your own life going on. Besides, it doesn't matter how much we talk about it; it doesn't change things."

I can't argue with her no-nonsense attitude – that's for sure.

I chew my thumbnail, fearing the worst. "Okay, do you want me to go downstairs and fetch Mark up, so you two can decide what to do? Someone will have to tell your parents, and then there's the guests …"

"Nothing." She gives me a firm look. "We've come too far now. The wedding's got to go ahead."

For a second, I think she's joking but then realise she's deadly serious.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't marry someone if you don't love him and he doesn't love you."

"Of course I can. You read about it happening all the time. You saw what state Mum's in. If I call it off, she'll have a nervous breakdown, and it will kill Dad, if Mum hasn't already. They've spent a bloody fortune on today."

I stare at her in disbelief. "Lucy, you can't get married just so as not to upset your parents."

She pushes herself off the bed and shuffles across the carpet over to the dressing table, inspecting her reflection in the mirror. "It'll be fine. I'll live my life, and he'll live his, which is what we pretty much do now. The only difference will be, there'll be a piece of paper confirming we're a couple."

I can't believe she's saying these words. "I can't let you do this. It's wrong."

She tweaks her tiara and turns to me. "It's going to be hard enough today as it is. I'm asking you, please, Sophie, do this for me?"