“Let me go, Rowan. I need to tell Henry. Now.”
“Okay, well, first, this seems fast. Are you sure you don’t want to have another think? A cup of tea? Lots of brides get nervous on their wedding day. I reckon if you take an hour, you’ll feel differently. Shall I get Mum? I’ll get Mum.”
I’m panicking now. I don’t know how to deal with Sophie at the best of times: she’s a cool, purposeful enigma who’s always been dead-set on her path in life, whereas I barely have a clue about mine. But at least she’s normally rational. Organised. Acting step-by-step on a carefully laid-out plan.
This… I’ve never seen her like this.
“I don’t need Mum to talk me down, Ro. I’m sure. This is the right decision. I can’t marry Henry.”
“But why?” It escapes me like a whine. Sophie has everything: the purpose, the job, the salary, the guy. The perfect life. The perfect plan. How can she throw it away?
“It’s like you say: I don’t love him. Not in my heart of hearts. I don’t look at him like you look at Angus – oh, don’t think I didn’t notice that you spent half the dinner staring at each other with love hearts in your eyes.”
I blink. “I don’t… I don’t love Angus. I’ve only known him six days!”
“But there’s something there,” Sophie says seriously. “More than you ever had with Ethan. More than I have with Henry.”
“But Henry’s perfect!”
“No one is perfect, Rowan! Why can’t you see that?” She takes a breath. “Objectively, yes, Henry ticks all my boxes. He’s handsome and accomplished. He’s from a good family. He’s a lawyer, so he gets how hard I work, and to top it all off, he’s incredibly rich. If I marry Henry, I will never want for anything.”
“So why would you leave him?”
“Because there is more to life than things!” Sophie steeples her fingers, her chest rising and falling. “Henry is a beautiful checklist. In theory, he’s everything I want. But this last week, and last night, or this morning, when I woke up, I didn’t feel excited. I didn’t look at him and think:I can’t wait to be your wife. I thought:I can’t wait until this wedding is over and I can tick it off the list. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about this week. That’s why I needed you.” She shakes her head. “What if I don’t want my life to be a box-ticking exercise anymore?”
“Oh god. You can’t marry Henry.”
“I can’t marry Henry.”
We stare at each other, both a little horrified, both a little overwhelmed.
“You see?” Sophie pleads. “I have to tell him. He’ll be embarrassed enough as it is. I can’t leave it any longer.”
She pushes me aside, and grabs the door handle, swanning into the corridor.
“Sophie!”
She pauses. “Don’t try to stop me!” she exclaims.
“I’m not trying to stop you.” Frustration laces my voice. “But you’re wearing a bloody nightgown. Don’t you think you should get dressed first?”
Sophie looks down at herself. “Ah. Yes. Good point. Okay, give me a second to get changed. And then I’ll tell Henry the wedding’s off.” She hugs me. “Thank you, for helping me realise—”
“What did you say?” a strangled voice comes from the other end of the corridor.
Henry stands there, shirtless, Adonis-like with his golden tan and rippling abs, hair still dripping from his cold plunge. Behind him, Ross has frozen on the threshold of the kitchen door, a bottle of champagne, a carton of orange juice and two glasses in his hand.
“I was coming to see if the happy couple want pre-wedding bellinis,” he says. “I’m guessing not?”
“Henry, I’m sorry. Come into the bedroom. We need to talk.” Sophie has gone white, her eyes darting between us.
“You don’t want to marry me? What the fuck, Sophie? It’s our fucking wedding day! The vicar is arriving in an hour. The flowers are already here.”
“Please, Henry. Come inside.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” His eyes narrow. “And what your sister has to do with it. What did she say to you?”
“Aye. What have you been saying to your sister, London?” Angus emerges from the stairway, a thunderous expression on his face.
