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Chapter One

Gemma

Picture it: the perfect life. The one you just know you’re supposed to be living.

It starts with the perfect man: handsome, with a great smile – one that wins everybody over, always, and makes you melt a bit when you see it. His great hair and sense of humour and the fact he pitches in with the cooking. It’s a low bar, but God, does he surpass it by miles .

Then the perfect home: an apartment you managed to snag for a steal when the interest rates were miraculously low enough to actually get a mortgage, which you’ve tastefully decorated after scouring Pinterest for months for inspiration to make sure you bought the perfect pieces to suit your style.

The one that, when you post pictures on Instagram or host your friends for dinner, you know everybody is gawking at the exposed beams and natural lighting and the parquet flooring you unearthed beneath a ratty old carpet.

And the perfect job: the promotion you’ve been grafting for, the chunky pay rise and swanky title, a reward for all the years you’ve spent working yourself to the bone.

The sleep deprivation to meet ‘urgent’ deadlines, the hair loss from stress, the eye-twitch you’ve developed in response to a new message popping up on Teams – it’s all worth it now.

And now, the icing on the cake: the perfect wedding.

A destination wedding, no less, at the most idyllic beach-side resort on the outskirts of Barcelona, all sprawling villa and white-sand beaches. The perfect dress, the perfect venue, the perfect cake …

It is going to be the perfect day. Sometimes, even I can’t believe it’s real; that anybody could achieve all this outside of a Hallmark movie.

The perfect beginning to the rest of a perfect life.

And God, do I hate the bitch who stole it from me.

My ‘best friend’. The bride .

Standing in the airport, waiting for my flight to said destination wedding, my phone is burning a hole in my pocket. Or, more specifically, one particular video from the hen do is.

It’s enough to destroy it all, I know.

I should have deleted it. As her best friend and maid of honour, I definitely should have deleted it.

Should have, but didn’t.

And I can’t help but think – in a very Carrie Bradshaw-sounding inner monologue – what a shame it would be, if that video accidentally got leaked right in the middle of such a perfect, perfect wedding.