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‘Now now, girls,’ Mum says. ‘Don’t argue. Aubrey, it’s nice of your sister to do your make-up on your wedding day, even if she’s a little overzealous with her products…’

‘A little?’

Rox shakes her head. ‘May I remind you I’m doing your make-up gratis and if we’re dropping truth bombs left and right, you’re not exactly the easiest subject to work with.’

I roll my eyes. This is how it always is with us, but the bickering is a good distraction.

Rox suffers from younger sibling syndrome. You know the type: spoiled, petulant, attention seeking. I try to make allowances for her, but it’s not easy.

‘I can hear you, Aubrey. Mum, she’s doing that weird under-breath life narration thing again. Please tell her I do not suffer from younger sibling syndrome. I’m sure she made that up to get back at me because she’s jealous.’

I scoff. ‘Jealous! Of what?’

‘Of not being the cutest since I came along.’

‘Oh please.’

‘Girls.’ Mum gives us a warning glare. Really, I’m too old for this kind of carry on.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ we mutter, but only one of us is contrite and – spoiler alert – it’s not Rox.

Mum thanks her own make-up artist and comes to check out Rox’s handiwork. I don’t like to admit how talented my sister is, but she’s managed to transform me from the clichéd plain Jane I am into a princess. ‘Wow. You’re beautiful, Aubrey, just beautiful.’

Rox beams. ‘You have Charlotte Tilbury to thank for that.’

Mum frowns as if trying to place the name. ‘I don’t know who this Charlotte person is. I’m more inclined to think it’s good genes, complemented by your wonderful cosmetic artistry, Rox.’

‘No, Charlotte is the…’ Rox’s voice peters off as she figures there’s no point educating Mum about make-up brands.

‘Mum’s right,’ I begrudgingly admit. ‘You’ve done a great job, Rox. I’m sure with that amount of “setting spray” the make-up won’t budge for the next millennia or so.’

Freya wanders over, glancing at the time. ‘Let’s get you into the dress!’

They gather around as Freya pulls my dressing gown from my shoulders and I’m left standing exposed in my barely there wedding lingerie, chosen for its claims of no VPL. Mum helps me slip into the ivory satin gown that’s been cut on the bias and features a low draped back. It falls around my curves like liquid. There’s a fur stole to complete the look and stop me from freezing to death in the draughty church.

Mum’s eyes glisten with tears. Before I can console her, Rox shoots her a cease-and-desist glare, vehemently shaking her head as if tears are contagious and will somehow jump from Mum’s body to mine and ruin the cosmetics she’s just spent the best part of an hour applying. ‘Don’t do it,’ Rox warns.

Mum fans her face with a hand. Why do people fan their face like that when they cry? It’s a mystery for later because Mum gulps back tears and sputters, ‘Ma-maybe Rox is right. If I start crying, you’ll soon join in. Ignore me!’ A fresh sob escapes her, but there is no time for hugs as Freya motions for me to sit on the loveseat, so she can help me slip on my heels.

Heels that now seem perilously high. ‘Why didn’t I choose a more practical shoe?’ I have visions of tumbling down the aisle with all those eyeballs on me as I awkwardly somersault towards my groom.

I’m more of a ballet flat than heels sort of girl, but really I have no one to blame except myself for getting swept away in the romance of wedding planning and choosing shoes normally found on a runway, not real life. Don’t we all want to be the princess for just one day, even if I do resemble a newborn foal trying to walk in them. Weddings, eh?

‘Just walk slowly,’ Freya advises. ‘Or pretend it’s the aisle of a plane; you can walk down those just fine!’

Mum laughs. ‘I’m happy you’ll have a lifelong travel buddy for all those adventures around the world. It puts my mind at ease.’ Mum always frets about me travelling solo. Now I’ll have Miles along for the ride. Even if we settle here in the village for good, that doesn’t mean we can’t zip off when adventure calls.

‘That’s if Aubrey lets him tag along,’ Freya jokes as she absently rubs her bump, which is a bit of a misnomer as she’s eight and bit months along. ‘You’ll be too busy, moving in together and making babies…?’ She lifts a questioning brow.

‘My nomadic days might be on pause but I’m not so sure about the baby part just yet.’ When I picture my future, I don’t see gurgling toddlers with spaghetti-sauce-stained faces. That clock has never ticked for me. And Miles is happy to wait and see.

Mum’s fussing with my veil. Freya’s fluffing my hair. When they finally step back, the room falls silent.

I turn to face the mirror and gasp in surprise. In the dress, the transformation is complete, despite my slight wobbling in the heels. Mum bites down on her lip as tears slide down her cheeks.

‘Don’t mind me,’ Mum says. ‘You’re just so… so…’

Freya hands Mum a tissue and throws a comforting arm around her. ‘Breathtaking,’ Freya finishes while my poor mum blinks back tears. ‘Today, you’re the main character, Aubrey. You’re stunning, like a golden age of Hollywood movie star.’