Anya, the lady from the bridal boutique, is immaculately dressed, and she speaks so softly and smoothly – she’s clearly used to bridal meltdowns.
‘We’ll keep it simple,’ she says. ‘Ready-to-wear options, tailored where needed. We’ll find something beautiful for you both.’
‘Sounds fab!’ Cordelia replies. ‘Doesn’t it, Whitney?’
‘Fab,’ I echo.
Anya starts unzipping garment bags, revealing rows of dresses in creams, ivories and various other shades of white – because it turns out there are loads. They’re all beautiful. Effortlessly elegant. Cordelia would look amazing in any one of them. Funny though, I can’t imagine any of them looking right on me. I feel the same way about the bridesmaid dresses – I suppose it’s because I’m not here in a typical capacity. Normally, I’d be close to the bride, excited for the wedding, over the moon to be a bridesmaid. Instead I’m here as a favour to Andy, my best friend, and I still feel so confused over my feelings for him. I just can’t shake the feeling that we should have given things a go sooner, that he could have been the one for me, under my nose all this time.
Cordelia advances first, gliding towards the rack like she’s floating on a cloud. She pulls one dress free and holds it up against herself, already admiring the way it would look.
‘I think I want something timeless,’ she says. ‘Nothing too fussy. Classic – think the royal family. I always loved Lady Di’s dress.’
Oh, yeah, definitely wedding/marriage/couple goals right there.
The designer nods.
‘Of course.’
As Cordelia tries on her first royal gown, I take my phone from my pocket again and carry on investigating – or trying to.
I’ve tried to google Cordelia. I’ve been through her socials. No public posts of friends of any meaning. No tagged photos from years ago. No schools or universities listed. No casual mentions from friends or family congratulating her. Everything just feels so basic; like, she has an online presence, sure, but nothing present, nothing past. Nothing for me to go off.
Cordelia emerges in her dress. It looks nice, simple – not very royal, but surely she doesn’t really want that?
‘So,’ I say lightly, because I am apparently incapable of leaving things alone, ‘is anyone from your family able to come?’
Cordelia stiffens, ever so slightly, but I clock it.
‘Oh,’ she says, smoothing the fabric of a dress that is already perfect. ‘No. It’ll just be me.’
‘Really?’ I push gently. ‘That’s such a shame. Not even like an old school friend or a cousin drafted in from somewhere?’
She laughs, too quickly.
‘No. It’s just… complicated.’
The designer glances between us, clearly sensing something, then tactfully pretends to do something with a coat hanger.
‘Andy’s family are lovely, though,’ Cordelia continues. ‘So welcoming.’
‘They are,’ I agree. ‘And your friends? It’s a shame you’re having to settle for me as a bridesmaid, when we’ve only just met…’
She pauses.
‘I don’t really have a big group or one close person,’ she says. ‘I move around a lot. For work.’
There’s a beat of silence. Then Cordelia tilts her head, studying me in a way that makes my stomach drop.
‘What about you?’ she asks. ‘You and Andy go way back.’
‘Yes,’ I say carefully. ‘We do.’
She picks up another dress, runs her fingers over the lace.
‘I sometimes wonder what that must be like. Knowing someone for so long,’ she continues.
‘It’s great,’ I say. ‘You can always rely on old friends.’
