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‘I’ll take that look as a no,’ I say. ‘Then, yes. Put them on. They’re nice.’ An image forms in my head of the two of us years from now, sitting across from each other, eating with our gold cutlery, silent and miserable, and a heaviness lodges in my chest.

‘Gold-plated cutlery…’ Dante murmurs as they tap their screen. ‘Splendid. That’s the gift list done.’ They slip the iPad into a leather satchel. ‘I’ve got to dash to another client, sweetie, but we’ll catch up on the weekend to go over the menu and table settings.’

‘Thanks, Dante,’ Eva coos. ‘Oh, does that homewares company still want us to do a paid partnership on Insta for the reception?’

I inwardly groan at the idea of our wedding being splashed all over Instagram. I only agreed to it because the reception is going to be in the art gallery where I work. Not only did I love the idea of being surrounded by art while we ate and danced, I thought it would be a good opportunity for gallery exposure.

‘I think so,’ Dante says. ‘I’ll confirm tomorrow. See you both soon.’ They kiss Eva, then me on both cheeks and scurry off through the maze that is the lower ground floor.

Eva shoots me a glare, snatches up her handbag and struts off, her short dress swaying.

‘Eva, wait,’ I say. ‘Why are you storming off?’

‘Oh, let’s see…’ The low heels of her strappy summer sandals click on the hard floor. ‘Maybe because I’m organising this entire wedding myself.’

Because you wanted to get married. The thought bursts into my head, but thankfully I’m a think-before-you-speak kind of person. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘Physically, yes. But you argue every point and then leave it all up to me. We’re getting married in seven weeks and you don’t even have a wedding outfit!’

I shrug. ‘I’m wearing a suit. I have a wardrobe full of them.’

She steps onto the ascending escalator and makes a face at me. ‘You can’t wear a work suit to your own wedding.’

‘Why not?’ I hop onto the step behind her. ‘They’re good quality, expensive suits.’

She grunts and throws her hands up.

‘Okay, okay. I’ll buy a new suit.’

‘When?’

‘Um … at the weekend? I’ll sort it with Jaz now so she can help me.’ I pull out my phone and tap out a message.

Help me find a wedding outfit this weekend?

Three dots appear, followed by a string of eyeroll emojis.

‘Was that Jaz?’ Eva asks. ‘What did she say?’

I slip the phone into my pocket. ‘Yeah. She’s dead excited about it. We good now?’

We step off the escalator and Eva’s face softens. I take her hand. The large solitaire diamond of her engagement ring shimmers under the downlights. ‘Besides, you’re all over this wedding stuff, and you’ve got that side biz going on with your influencer thing. I’ll just mess everything up.’

She pouts as she fiddles with my belt buckle. ‘Well, that’s true, I suppose.’

I give her the sexy smile and sultry eyes that win her over every time.

She tuts but stretches up to kiss me. ‘You only get away with this because you’re so hot, you know that?’

My smile widens; I absolutely know that.

‘Have lunch and a glass of champagne with me at the oyster bar?’

I raise my brows. ‘Champagne and oysters? I have to be back at work in half an hour. A sarnie and coffee will do.’

She huffs a defeated sigh. ‘Fine.’

We stroll into the bustling Selfridges Foodhall. It’s noisy with chatter and customer exchanges, and the scent is coffee, sweetness and spice. We wander past counters brimming with luscious cakes and glossy pastries, deli meats and cheeses, and vibrant displays of fruits and vegetables. Eva stops at the chiller cabinet and I head for the small café by the exit to order a Reuben sandwich and a latte.