“It’s not like I can ask! No one’s going to let me or anyone else see them,” she says defensively. “Her dress will be eagerly anticipated by the press. Just like mine.”
“Cordelia, we can’t break into someone’s studio.”
“Imagine if my dress is shit compared to hers!” she cries, throwing her arms up in the air. “Imagine.”
“OK, I think the wedding stress has got a little bit on top of you,” I say gently. “You’re feeling overwhelmed with everything. We need to go home and have a little downtime.”
“Sophie, I’m perfectly calm,” she says, in, admittedly, a soft, collected manner. “You don’t understand. Annabel is my nemesis. Isn’t there someone who bullied you? Someone who made you feel really small?”
Yes, I can think of someone, Cordelia.
“Yes, of course, but I’m not going to—”
“Who made you feel like that?”
I can’t say it’s her, so I consider the next best person to fit the bill.
“Someone at school,” I admit, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. “That was ages ago. And, Cordelia, your wedding is about you and Jonathan! No one else. You can’t compare—”
“Tell me who the person was. Come on,” she says impatiently. “See this as bride-bridesmaid bonding or whatever.”
“It was a guy. Graham Slater.” I shrug, pretending his name doesn’t affect me still. “He laughed at me a lot. He wasn’t very nice.”
“He made you feel bad about yourself?”
“He made fun of me all the time in front of the rest of the class.”
She nods. “Was it your hair?”
“What? No!” My hand automatically flies up to my head. “Why would you assume it’s my hair?”
“No reason.”
There’s an awkward silence. I glare at her. “For your information, he took the piss out of me being a goody-goody,” I explain.
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Cordelia!”
“Look, we don’t have time to go into all these details, but Annabel is essentially my Graham Slater,” she tells me, exasperated. “Imagine if Graham’s parents were friends with your parents. Imagine if everything you ever did, Graham did better, then laughed in your face for being useless. Imagine if Graham pretended to be your friend and then betrayed and humiliated you. Imagine if Graham stole your wedding date.”
“What did Graham—I mean Annabel do to betray you?”
“The point is, take a moment to think about everything I’ve just said,” she says, brushing aside my question. “Do you understand why I need to make sure that my dress is nothing like hers?”
I sigh heavily. I still hate Graham Slater. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Then all I’m asking is that we sneak in, take a couple ofpictures, and sneak out. No one will know we’ve been there. No harm done!”
“I said I get it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to help you break in. That’s a crime,” I say. “Cordelia, this is ridiculous. You’re talking about breaking the law!”
“Her studio isn’t alarmed,” she insists, turning to face the wall. “She doesn’t keep any materials there, none of the dresses.”
“How do you know the designs will be there?”
“Because Annabel had a meeting with her today. She posted it on her Instagram.” Cordelia rolls her eyes and puts on a posh, high-pitched drawl, I assume attempting to mimic Lady Annabel: “‘An amazing meeting drafting wedding-dress designs with my talented, inspirational friend Melanie! Can’t wait for you guys to see it! #blessed! #omg #weddingdress.’ Trust me, the designs are in there. I’ve worked with Melanie before and she’s not very tidy. Her drawings are all over her desk. The one for Annabel will be there.” She adds under her breath, “Traitor.”
“If you’ve worked with Melanie before, just ask her for a rough idea of Annabel’s dress.”
