Lily. The spreadsheet queen. The woman who once labelled her holiday toiletries with printed tags and hand-drew a seating plan for her own hen do.
She hasn’t organised the aisle order.
No laminated list. No clipboard. Nothing.
Then again, she’s been a little preoccupied.
Fine. I’ll allow it.
I clap once. Loud. The bridesmaids go still, startled, like deer caught in bridal headlights.
“Maid of honour, me, goes first. Then you four, in whichever order you can remember and stick to. If in doubt, follow the one in front and try not to face-plant. Good? Good.”
They stare at me for a beat.
Then, as one, they cheer.
“YES, HAYLEY!”
“Oh my God, thank you.”
“You’re literally a genius.”
“Seriously, you’ve been the best part of this weekend. We couldn’t have done this without you.”
I blink, caught completely off guard.
One of them…Sarah? No… Serena, reaches for my hand.
“You’ve just… handled everything. You’re so much more than comic relief, you know?”
Another bridesmaid nods, earnest. “Honestly, I thought you were going to be chaos. But you’ve been a total legend.”
Legend.
My chest squeezes. I really wish I’d taken the time to remember her name now, because that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.
“Thanks,” I manage, my throat a little tighter than I’d like.
Lily squeezes my hand as she lines up behind us. Her eyes are still bright, but steady now.
“You saved me, Hayley,” she whispers. “Don’t ever think you’re not enough. You’re… kind of the glue.”
My chest aches, the good kind, the surprising kind, the kind that feels a little like healing.
I take a slow breath, let it fill me. Beyond the courtyard, the music swells, something soft and string-heavy drifting over the garden wall, wrapping around us like a spell.
Guests shift in their seats. The celebrant gives a nod.
It’s time.
I step forward.
And for the first time all weekend, Iseeit.
Really see it.
The garden is bathed in rich light, sun filtering through ivy-draped trellises like a blessing. Wildflower posies spill colour down the rows of white chairs, little pockets of joy. Beyond them, the lake glitters like it’s been dusted with gold, and the castle rises proud against the sky, ancient, magnificent, like a backdrop borrowed from a fairytale.
