Emily wakes at half five in the morning knowing today is her wedding day. Weak light filters through heavy curtains while clattering dishes echo down the hallway; Mum’s preparing breakfast. The day she’s anticipated for eighteen months has arrived.
«Emily! Rise and shine, beautiful!» Mum peeks into the bedroom, hair in rollers and wearing a dressing gown. «Your big day! Sleep well? Nerves?»
«Fine,» lies Emily, having tossed and turned all night. «What’s for breakfast? Maybe just tea?»
«Absolutely not!» Margaret waves her hands. «Not on an empty stomach today! Made your favourite—porridge with raisins. Bought homemade cottage cheese too. Eat properly—you won’t fancy food later when your nerves kick in.»
Mum’s right. Emily already feels her stomach twisting. The registry office ceremony is at eleven, followed by a banquet. Guests, photographer, toastmaster—all arranged. Oliver wanted a modest affair with close family, but Mum insisted on grandeur.
«My daughter weds once!» Margaret tells everyone. «No corners cut on such a celebration!»
They’d funded it mostly on Oliver’s mechanic salary and Emily’s hairdresser earnings, saving every penny—even sacrificing summer holiday.
«So where’d Oliver stay last night?» Mum places steaming porridge on the table. «Not here, I hope?»
«At Steven’s—his best man. They say groom and bride shouldn’t see each other before the wedding or it brings bad luck.» Emily stirs her porridge, appetite gone.
«Rubbish!» Mum snorts. «Your dad—God rest him—and I were together the day before our wedding and thirty happy years followed. Neighbor Doris followed every superstition, and her husband left her after a year.»
Emily nods, but Mum’s words deepen her unease. She imagines Oliver eating breakfast at his mate’s flat. Is he nervous? Is he as joyful as she should feel?
At nine, manicurist Auntie Helen arrives—cheery neighbor from downstairs—followed by Sophie, Emily’s salon colleague.
«Well, bride-to-be! Ready to become stunning?» Sophie laughs, unpacking tools at the vanity. «I’ll give you an updo everyone envies!»
«Not too high, please?» Emily requests. «Oliver likes my hair down.»
«No chance!» Mum interjects. «Today demands elegance! Oliver sees it loose every other day.»
Sophie works diligently, pinning curls neatly. Emily stares at her reflection—a polished stranger stares back.
«Where’s the dress?» Auntie Helen asks whilst shaping nails. «Let’s admire the beauty!»
Mum proudly presents a garment bag from the wardrobe. Emily bought this ivory lace gown last year, just after Oliver’s proposal. Back then, she’d thought it the loveliest thing on earth.
«Oh, gorgeous!» Auntie Helen gasps. «A proper princess!»
«Pricey, no doubt?» Sophie asks practically.
«We’ll manage,» Mum sighs. «Our girl’s wedding royalty today.»
Emily stays silent, recalling Oliver’s comment when they chose it: «That simpler one suits you better—more natural.»
Mum vetoed it immediately: «What will people think? That we found you on the street? If it’s a wedding, do it properly!» They bought the elaborate gown. Oliver shrugged silently.
Halfl nine—the phone rings. Emily jumps. Perhaps Oliver?
«Emily?» His voice sounds strange. «All set?»
«Sophie’s doing my hair. You sleep okay?»
«Not really. Steven snored all night.» He pauses. «Emily… are you sure about today?»
Her heart stutters. «What? Of course! Changed your mind?»
«No… it’s—nerves. Such a serious step…»
«Oliver, we’ve planned this for ages! Guests are arriving! Restaurant’s booked!»
«Right… Sorry—just jitters. See you at the registry, love.»
She clutches the phone long after he hangs up. Oliver’s never spoken like this before.
«Groom’s panicking?» Sophie continues styling. «Standard. Even brave men get cold feet.»
«My Pete tried vanishing wedding morning!» Auntie Helen chuckles. «Luckily, his brothers dragged him back. He thanked them later.»
Mum nods, but Emily sees worry in her eyes.
By ten, Emily’s ready: perfect gown, immaculate hair, flawless makeup. A magazine-cover bride.
«Beautiful!» Auntie Helen declares. «Oliver will faint!»
Emily feels no joy hearing this. Would Oliver recognize her beneath lace? He fell for the Emily in jeans, messy braids, quick laughter.
A car horn sounds outside.
«The car’s here!» Mum cries. «Time to go!»
The driver helps Emily settle carefully in the back seat. Mum adjusts her veil, murmuring, «Don’t fret! All will be fine! You love each other—that’s happiness!»
Emily stares at passing streets, wondering when she last felt truly happy with Oliver. Maybe last autumn—strolling in the park eating ice cream, planning post-wedding life.
«We’ll rent a cosy flat,» Oliver dreamt then. «Visit my folks’ Devon cottage weekends. Summer holiday somewhere sunny.»
«Children straight away or wait?» Emily asked.
«Whatever happens,» he’d grinned. «Together’s what matters.»
It seemed so simple then. Now…
The registry office appears ahead. Familiar figures gather—guests. Emily’s pulse quickens.
«We’re here!» Mum beams. «So many guests—how kind!»
Stepping out, Emily spots Oliver smoking by the entrance in their chosen suit. He stamps out his cigarette and approaches.
«Hello,» he says softly. «You look beautiful.»
But she sees no spark in his eyes. His gaze drifts past her—detached, as though she’s a stranger in expensive lace.
«Hello,» she replies. «Nervous?»
«A bit.» He offers his arm. «Sh
Florence closed the wardrobe door on the magnificent, unused gown, knowing her simple act of courage had charted a far truer course for her life than any scripted fairytale.