It’s Saturday morning and I’m up with the sun, in spite of the fact that I worked until well after midnight last night. I lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, wishing I could go back to sleep for another couple of hours but knowing that it’s not going to happen. I’m far too nervous to get any sleep at all. This afternoon, my bridal shower will take place in the small ballroom at the palace, hosted by the Princess Dowager Florence, much to my mother’s chagrin. She was very disappointed to be invited to my bridal shower rather than hosting it.

To be honest, I don’t want a shower at all. It’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable to be in a room with two hundred—yes, that’s right two hundred—guests, one-hundred-and sixty-five of them I’ve never met before. Most of the ladies who will be attending would rather see Arthur marry Dexter the pig than marry me, which kind of adds a special level of cringe-worthy awkwardness to the event, don’t you think?

At least I won’t have to suffer through the uncomfortable act of opening gifts in front of everyone, having requested donations to the Avonian Literacy Foundation in lieu of presents.

I roll over and grab my phone off the night table and check for messages. There is one from Nikki that I’ve been ignoring.

Text from Nikki: What time should I be by to do your hair tomorrow morning? I’ll need lots of time to get myself ready first for Xavier. Yum, yum. BTW, you’re giving me a ride to the palace, yes?

I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her that I’ll be having my hair done by the Princess Dowager’s stylist today, having found it very difficult to turn down her kind offer. Princess Florence is really the only member of the royal family who approves of my relationship with Arthur so I couldn’t very well turn her down, even though Nikki will be very hurt when I tell her the truth. I stare at my phone for a moment, my gut churning and bubbling as I try to think of how to word my response back to her.

My dread of today’s events makes me long for the days when the worst thing I had to suffer was a family dinner at my parents’ house every few weeks. Now that I’m living with them full-time, it’s like my life has turned into one long, endless Sunday family dinner, separated by the occasional break to go spend some time with Arthur.

Text from Me to Nikki: Hey, Nikki, change of plans. I’ll have to meet you at the palace. Don’t worry about my hair. I got talked into letting the Princess Dowager’s stylist do it so I need to be at the palace early.

I hit send, then bury my head under the covers, wishing this day would just be over already. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I’m still on this ridiculous pre-wedding diet, even though the logical part of my brain is telling me I don’t need to. The terrified part of my brain keeps asking me what if Baz is right and I’m not spectacular enough as bride to the Crown Prince of Avonia, and it sets off a horrid chain of events for both single people and married couples around the nation?

That’s just stupid, though, right? But, still, since the first wedding planning session, I find myself panicking any time I eat something with a lot of calories, or a lot of fat, or a lot of calories and fat. I haven’t had a bowl of crisps in weeks, and the last time I bought jelly babies for my nieces and nephews, it practically killed me to hand them over to them rather than scarf them all down in one sitting.

My stomach rumbles again, and I throw the covers off and go down to the kitchen in search of something nutritious and very bland since, besides rumbling, my gut is also churning with nervousness. I stand in front of the open fridge for a good two minutes before I decide to go with half a cup of fat-free yogurt and some berries, even though the sound of a big stack of pancakes and some sausages right now sounds much better. How is it possible to feel sick to your stomach and starving at the same time?

Maybe that would be a good article for The Weekly Observer…The Mystery Behind a Hearty Appetite When One is Nervous. Oh no, that’s crap. Good thing I’m on the announcements desk.

The sound of footsteps on the creaky stairs breaks my train of thought.

My mum walks into the kitchen in her bathrobe, her hair in rollers. “You’re up early, Twinkle. Couldn’t sleep again?” She plucks the kettle off the stove and fills it with water from the tap.

“I needed to be up early anyway. It’s going to be a long day.”

“Is that all you’re eating again?” She wrinkles her nose at my yogurt and shakes her head. “You’re fine the way you are. If Arthur wanted some anorexic, he would’ve found one to marry.”

“It’s not for him. I just would like to have… toned arms for the wedding.”

She raises one eyebrow at me, clearly not buying any of it. Luckily, she gets distracted. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’ll be getting a ride with you over to the palace this morning so I can get a few things set up in the party room while you’re getting your hair done.” She smiles, looking far too excited for my comfort.

“Well, you’re welcome to come along but I’m pretty sure the staff has everything covered. You’re meant to be a guest, so you can just relax and enjoy the afternoon.”

“Oh, hog noodles. Those stuffy people won’t have the first idea how to put on a proper bridal shower. I mean, really, no gifts? Everyone will be bored to tears.”

My mother was not in favour of the no gifts idea. Even though Arthur already has enough of every household item to open his own Bed, Bath, & Beyond, my mother told me she’s a bit miffed that we’re taking away the chance for people to choose something nice to start me on the path to married life properly. But I probably shouldn’t focus on that right now when she’s just basically admitted she’s planning what I’m sure will be some type of humiliating party games to play at the shower. “What exactly do you mean by a proper bridal shower?”

“Nope,” she says, holding up one finger and shaking it at me. “I’m not saying a word. Otherwise, it will spoil the surprise.”

“Mum, this is not our typical crowd. There will be almost two hundred guests—and they’re not exactly the ‘party game’ type of people.”

My mum waves her hand at me. “Everyone loves a good party game, Tessa. Even rich people. Now, I’ve hosted dozens of showers, both bridal and baby, so I know exactly what I’m doing. And, since they won’t let me bring any food, I can at least bring some fun.”

My phone buzzes before I can continue to argue and I looked down to see Nikki’s face on the screen. I cringe, then answer the phone. “Hi, Nikki.”

“Are you seriously letting some eighty-five-year-old woman’s stylist do your hair today? Do you know what a disaster that could be? You’re likely to end up with your hair chopped off, dyed blue, and permed into tight curls.”

“Well, let’s hope not.” I let out a weak laugh, hoping Nikki will start to find whole thing funny as well, even though I can tell by her tone that she’s more than a little hurt. “Hey, you’re up early.”

“Yes, I got up extra early to get myself ready so I’d have enough time to do my best friend’s hair for her bridal shower.”

I get up and walk out of the kitchen, making my way to the bottom of the stairs while I talk on the phone. “I’m really sorry, Nikki. Obviously, I would much rather have you doing my hair than the Princess Dowager’s stylist. But it was one of those situations where I didn’t really feel like I could say no.”

“Well, you could’ve told me sooner so that I wouldn’t have gotten up so early today.”

Oh, fudge doodles. I’ve really managed to screw up the day already, haven’t I? “You’re right. One hundred percent right. There’s no excuse for me not letting you know sooner, except that I’m a bit of a coward who tends to put things off when I know I’m going to upset someone.”

“No, that was the old Tessa, remember? The new Tessa deals with problems straight on.”

“You’re right. I am afraid I had a relapse, but it’s over now, and I have a feeling that I have a way to make this up to you…”

“Really?” Nikki asks, sounding intrigued, which is a huge improvement from pissed right off. “It better be good, because I’m very mad.”

“What if I ask Xavier to swing by and pick you up after he drops me off at the palace?” I lower my voice so my parents won’t hear me pimping out my bodyguard to my best friend. “It’ll give you to a little bit of time alone together…”

“Can you tell him to pick me up without his shirt on?”

“I’m pretty sure that would constitute sexual harassment since I’m sort of his boss, in a strange way, and I’d be using my position of influence over him to allow you to ogle his body.”

Nikki sighs dramatically. “Well, you’re no fun.”

“What if he drives you home after the party, as well?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. We can consider this phase one of the ‘make it up to Nikki’ plan.”

“Good, because I feel really bad about today and there’s definitely going to be a phase two coming.” I pause, hoping she’ll accept, but she waits me out. “And a phase three, of course.”

She yawns loudly, then says, “All right, I’m glad we got that settled. I think I’m going to go back to bed for a couple of hours.”

“You do that. Be ready by one-thirty for your escort to the palace.”

“That sounds delightfully dirty.”

“Well, it won’t be, but at least there’s the fantasy of it all.”

“That ought to keep me going for a while.”

“I hope so. But listen, you’ll have to think of him like a stripper giving a lap dance. He can touch you but you can’t touch him, otherwise you’re going to find yourself kicked out of the Champagne Room.”

* * *

Text from Lars: Can Nina bring Eugenie this afternoon? I know it says no kids on the invitation, but, she still won’t take a bottle, and she feeds every hour, so Nina can’t really leave the house without her.

Text from Bram: Can Irene come to the shower? We got back together last week and you know what a fan of the Royal Family she is. Oh, unless Prince Arthur will be there. If that’s the case, I’m telling her ‘no’ whether she could come or not. Her crush on him goes beyond normal. I won’t get into details but let’s just say if I play along, everybody has a good time.

Text from Rory, Assistant to Baz: Tessa, Baz wants an update on your weight loss progress. You should be down five pounds by now. He wanted me to remind you not to overindulge today at your bridal shower, as every day counts right now. Also, you still haven’t gotten back to me about the elocution and posture lessons. We should have started already.

* * *

“You look very sophisticated, Tessa dear.” The Princess Dowager smiles up at me and pats my cheek.

“Thank you.” I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, a little bit shocked to discover that she’s right. I do look sophisticated. And for what I paid for this bloody dress, I damn well better. I’m wearing a light blue Chanel dress with three-quarter-length sleeves. My hair is up in a French twist, and my makeup, for once in my life, could be described as impeccable. The dowager has lent me a string of pearls and matching earrings. “I hardly recognize myself right now.”

“Yes, well for today that might be a good thing. The crowd you’re about to meet will be hoping for you to fail. Your job is to show them you’re every bit as good as them—which is true, by the way.”

I turn from the mirror and beam at her, feeling as though she’s the grandmum I never had. I blink quickly, feeling tears threatening my mascara.

The dowager gives a quizzical look in the direction of my chest, then reaches up one hand and tugs at the collar of my dress, and peeks down it. “Your breasts look rather small today. What happened to them?”

Well, nothing like having your fiancé’s grandmum looked down your top to stop you from feeling sentimental.

“I hope you haven’t been starving yourself like so many ridiculous young women do these days before their weddings.”

Before I can answer she adjusts my bra through my dress, then stares for a moment at my chest. “Maybe it’s just this bra, dear. We’re going to have to take you shopping for some proper lingerie before the wedding.”

She makes a little tsking sound as she walks away. “Either way, make sure you keep enough body fat so you can get pregnant. I want to meet my great-grandchildren before I kick off. Now, let’s get going. There are always a few bitches who show up early to these things, for some reason.”

* * *

It’s not the enormous Swarovski crystal chandelier that you notice first when you walk into the ballroom. Nor the beautifully laid-out tables with gold cutlery and matching gold trays stacked with finger sandwiches, dainty desserts, and expertly-arranged fruit platters. You certainly won’t see (or hear, for that matter) the harpist sitting in the corner strumming her instrument, giving the space a heavenly feel. No, all these things pale in comparison to what catches your eye first.

It’s the dozens of pyramids of toilet paper stacked on the floor, waiting for the guests to play ‘Dress the Toilet Paper Bride,’ that you’ll see. And it’s my mum’s voice barking orders that you’ll hear.

“No, no! We won’t want to start with the ‘Groom in His Skivvies’ game. No one’s ready for that one right off the bat. It’s more of an after a glass of punch game. Is that punch alcoholic? If not, I really think we would do well to find a couple bottles of vodka to pour in bowls to loosen things up a little.”

Fuckity-fuck. My stomach lurches as I take in what’s she’s done in the time it took me to have my hair put up and some eye shadow swiped across my eyelids.

“Why the hell is there toilet paper stacked everywhere?” Princess Florence asks me.

“It’s for a party game. I’ll get rid of it.” I sigh and start toward my mum, telling myself to stay calm even though I’m completely pissed at her.

On the drive over, I gave very specific instructions to my mother that none of the usual bridal shower icebreaker games were to be played. I almost believed that she was going to listen to me, based on how earnest she seemed in her responses.

“Mum, could I speak with you for a moment please?” I plaster a fake smile on my face, then remember to greet the rest of the staff, as well as Grace from next door, who has come early to help. “Hello, Grace, everyone. Thank you all so much for your help. Mum…” I do the ‘come here’ gesture with my finger, but she takes no notice and continues putting the final touches on what will go down as the tackiest royal bridal shower in history.

Before I manage to get to her, one of the pages announces that the guests are arriving. I break out in a cold sweat, realizing that my two worlds are about to collide in a most horrifying way.

Mum beams at me. “Goody!” She claps her hands together. “You look lovely, Twinkle, although that colour is a bit drab. Did you see that my cousin, Rose, is here already?”

Rose pops up from behind a table with a bag full of clothespins. “Hi, Tessa.” She hurries over to me and gives me a big hug, squishing me against her ample bosom. “I thought that since I’ve met the prince before, I would be the best one to come and help your mother get everything ready.” She lowers her voice, “Although Grace from next door had to get in on this, too, of course.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“Lovely to see you, Rose. Thanks so much for coming. Umm, if you don’t mind me asking, what are the clothespins for?”

“Oh, never you mind!” my mum says. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now, Grace, where’s the veil? She needs to put it on before the people start coming in.”

“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head quickly as I see Grace hurrying towards me, carrying a veil made from wrapping paper ribbon attached to an upside-down paper plate. “I’ve just had my hair done, and I think it would hurt the Princess Dowager princess’ feelings if I—”

“Nonsense,” says Mum. “Oh, as I live and breathe, it’s the Princess Dowager herself.” She rushes over toward her with her arms stretched out. “I didn’t even see you there, you’re so tiny in real life.”

I watch the Princess Dowager stiffen as my mother bends over her for a long, awkward hug. I’m so distracted by this that Grace manages to get the wrapping paper veil secured to my head before I can stop her.

“I’m a huge fan of your family,” my mum trills. “Not like Tessa, for a while there. She went over to the dark side, but I couldn’t be more pleased that Arthur managed to bring her back around. Did you know that I have a very rare commemorative mug from your wedding?”

Vincent comes to Princess Florence’s rescue, his voice filling the room. “May I present the Countess of Waterford, as well as her daughters, Denalda and Regina.”

He looks at me as he motions for me to come stand near the entrance to the ballroom. It’s clear from his expression that he’s horrified by my veil. I give him a ‘help me’ look, but there’s really nothing he can do at this point.

I make my way over to our first guests and curtsy awkwardly at them. “Pleasure to meet you.”

They nod, very clearly trying not to laugh, then move on to saying hello to the Princess Dowager without speaking to me.

The next guest to be announced is none other than Lady Dr. Brooke Beddingfield, along with her mother and grandmother, who, by the way are every bit as elegant and beautiful as Brooke, not to mention are aging like fine wine. Brooke gives me a kiss on both cheeks as though we’re the best of friends, then says, “Oh, Tessa, you look positively hilarious! What a good sport you are.”

My stomach decides that now is the perfect time to join the conversation, growling loudly due to a lack of lunch. My cheeks heat up with embarrassment and I raise my voice to try to hide the sound, but it’s no use.

“My goodness, Tessa, was that to your stomach growling? That didn’t sound healthy at all.”

“I forgot to eat lunch,” I say as one of the other countesses catches Brooke’s eye and waves her over, putting an end to our conversation.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still standing in the same spot, still saying the same thing as a stream of impeccably-dressed women enter the room, wide-eyed and whispering as they take in my mother’s creation. The Princess Dowager, as the hostess, greets them first, then me, then my mum, then Cousin Rose who gives each of them a clothespin and a piece of paper with the forbidden words on them (like bride, wedding, lingerie, etc.), and explains the game. For some strange reason, the ladies then make their way over to Brooke and she greets them also. I strain my ears to hear what they’re saying and catch little bits of their conversations such as ‘shocking’ and ‘you should have’ and ‘what is he thinking,’ and I hear Brooke’s smooth voice repeating ‘the heart wants what it wants.’ My heart wants to smash her in the teeth right about now. I wonder if there’s some way to do that whilst maintaining a dignified air…

Under the pressure of greeting and trying to learn the names of close to two hundred new people, I have completely forgotten to find a way to have the toilet paper pyramids removed and I’ve had no way to put a stop to whatever the hell else my mother is planning. My brain will only allow me to focus on a loop of horrible facts, starting with how much my toes are being pinched by these new heels, then moving on to the fact that I’m sweating so much that if I raise my arms there will definitely be wet spots on my Chanel dress, to the fact that everyone here who’s not related to me is in mourning for the fact that Arthur isn’t marrying Brooke.

Finally, Nikki breezes into the room, dressed in a bright green vintage fifties dress, her hair a shocking platinum this week. Relief washes over me as I take in the sight of her. Finally, my best friend is here. She can help!

She curtsies very deeply in front of the dowager, then grins at me and winks. “Thanks for arranging my ride over here,” she murmurs.

“I’m not going to get sued for sexual harassment, am I?”

“Oh, when I get started with him there won’t be any complaining, believe me.” She runs her tongue over her teeth and makes a smacking sound with her lips.

“Nikki!” my mum calls. “Over here, sweetheart! You can help us get the games started.”

I grip Nikki’s arm. “You have to stop her. She’s about to unleash an Abbott Lane Shower Hell on all these ladies and duchesses.”

“It’ll be fun,” Nikki says, glancing around the room. “Besides, most of these women need to get the sticks out of their arses, anyway.”

“Please. They already think I’m a joke. Can you just—”

“Oh, toilet paper bride game! That’s my favourite!” she says, hurrying over to my mum. “I get to be the bride in my group!”

There goes my one ally. Vincent walks over and tells us that all the guests have arrived so we may proceed with the afternoon’s activities. As much as I like Vincent, I wouldn’t mind slapping that amused look off his face right about now.

He holds a microphone up for the Princess Dowager, who takes my arm and walks to the front of the room with me in tow. She clears her throat right into the microphone then says, “Good afternoon, ladies. On behalf of the Langdon family, I would like to welcome you all and thank you for traveling from near and far to be here to help us celebrate the upcoming wedding of my only grandson, Arthur, to this lovely young woman next to me, Ms. Tessa Sharpe, who has been like a warm, spring breeze throughout the palace these past months. Arabella couldn’t be here today, as she is on a humanitarian mission in the south, but she sends her warm wishes to her sister-in-law-to-be.”

Humanitarian mission? I saw her this morning in her workout gear.

Princess Florence continues. “So, please take the time to get to know Tessa today and in the coming weeks, as I promise you she’s more than worthy of both your time and admiration. She will one day be a poised and wonderful queen with her eye on the needs of all the people—both big and small—of our nation.”

I tear up a bit and whisper, “Thank you.”

Just then, my mum grabs the microphone from Princess Florence’s hand. “Hello!” she chirps. Oh, dear God. Has she been into the punch already? “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Evi Sharpe, Tessa’s mum. I also want to thank you for coming today and I wanted to say that our family is easily as excited as yours to be joining. I have always been a huge fan of the Royal Family, having amassed one of the most extensive collections of Royal Family commemorative dishes and knickknacks that you’ll ever find. So, we’re sort of family already, in a way. Oh, but not in a strange, incestuous way.”

I reach for my mum’s arm and try to subtly pull it down so as to lower the mic away from her mouth, but she doesn’t take the hint.

“Tessa’s father can’t be with us today—oh, not because he’s died or is in jail, or anything horrible like that—he’s just at home watching football because this is more of a ladies’ thing. Anyway, on behalf of my husband, I wanted to say that we couldn’t be happier for Tessa to have found Arthur. We always knew she’d be a late bloomer and that eventually she’d hit her stride and make something of herself. And she finally has. We never thought she’d make something this big of herself, mind you—I mean, my God, who ever thought she’d be queen one day? Not us, I can tell you. But she will be, as soon as…well…it’s probably not polite to talk about that, is it?”

She pauses and I open my mouth to speak, but tears fill her eyes as she keeps going. “Just imagine, someday I’m going to have a plate with my little girl’s face on it in our buffet. Well, come spring already, I suppose.” She beams up at me for a second while fanning tears out of her eyes, then says, “Anyway, that’s enough sentimental words for today. Let’s get on with the party! The Princess Dowager has been so kind as to provide all the refreshments, and I thought we’d better bring the fun! We’ve got loads of shower games planned, so get ready—”

“Gotcha, Evi!” Rose hollers, running at us with alarming speed. “You said ‘shower,’ so I get your clothespin!”

“Oh, so I did! I’ll get it back, though! I always do!” My mum laughs into the mic. “First game is ‘Dress the Bride.’ Nobody can be in a group with someone at their own table. So get up, and find a stack of toilet paper in the room to stand by. No more than ten to a stack, now! Pick a group member to be the bride and you’ve got ten minutes to make a gown out of all that toilet paper!”

A server walks by with a tray of Champagne and I swipe two. I consider keeping both for myself, but then remember I’m ‘sophisticated Tessa’ who would certainly never double-fist booze at a bridal shower. I offer one to the dowager, who takes it with a grateful smile. “I hate these things,” she says to me.

“Me, too,” I say as Grace next door grabs me and hauls me to her group to be dressed.

By the time I’m draped in toilet paper, the Champagne has gone to my head, but not in a good way. In that horrible way when you haven’t eaten in weeks and the bubbles make the room start to spin and make you feel hot and dizzy instead of light and airy. I look around at all the activity and the sour faces of so many of the guests here, and I begin to hate my mum for what she’s done. She’s made me even more of a laughingstock than I already was, and ignored all my attempts to be elegant and sophisticated in the eyes of these hateful women. I glare at her as she finishes dressing Nikki, wishing she weren’t here. A timer goes off indicating that the game has thankfully ended, and the twenty brides are all lined up at the front of the room for judging. Of course, I end up standing next to Brooke who somehow manages to pull off the toilet paper bride look as though it’s Dolce and Gabbana. She looks so lovely and slim that I’m certain she’d outshine me in my real dress. Hate fills me as I watch her step out of the line to spin and laugh gaily for the crowd when it’s her turn to be judged.

Of course, she wins the big prize for best bride and I cringe as my mother walks over to her with the envelope containing her prize. Brooke opens it and smiles, looking delighted as she holds up a five-dollar gift card for Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Somehow my mum has managed to get the mic again. “Congratulations to the lovely Lady Dr. Brooke Beddingfield, who is not only so accomplished, but is also the most beautiful toilet paper bride here today. Now, I think I hear some stomachs growling, particularly Tessa’s. We’d better have a bite to eat so we can all hear each other over her stomach and then we’ll play a game that we like to call The Groom in His Skivvies. You’re gonna love it. It’s hilarious.”

“Mum,” I hiss. “Stop it now.”

“What, Twinkle? Everybody’s having a lovely time except you. I think you’re just hangry. As soon as you have something to eat you’re going to feel much better. So, wipe that frown off your face and have a couple of sandwiches.”

“You’re humiliating me. This isn’t fucking Abbott Lane and these people are not our friends. This is the fucking palace. They don’t dress people in toilet paper and I don’t want them sketching the future King of Avonia in his skivvies for a laugh. You’ve already made a joke of me today. The least you can do is spare him the humiliation.”

The room goes dead silent and I look up, suddenly realizing that they’ve all heard what I’ve just said through the microphone that hangs at my mother’s side. I glance around and see the shocked looks on the faces of everyone here, including the Princess Dowager.

But it’s my mum’s face that breaks my heart when I look back down at her. She has a phony smile plastered to her face even though I’ve hurt her feelings terribly. She just nods and says, “Let’s get you something to eat.”

* * *

I stand in the ladies’ bathroom, unable to look at myself in the mirror as I unwind my toilet paper dress and remove my veil. If I could, I would hide in here until everyone goes home. But I know that my time is limited before I need to make an appearance and try to salvage what’s left of the party. The door swings open and Brooke Beddingfield walks in. Of course. She looks at me, her face pulling into a sympathetic smile as she comes to stand next to me in front of the counters.

“I had the exact same idea. This toilet paper dress is getting rather warm.” She starts to remove hers, her fingers delicately pulling at the tissue without ripping any of it.

“Yes.” I give her a weak smile and continue working, hoping she’ll finish quickly and just leave.

“Tessa, I’ve been hoping to find a chance to speak with you alone. I’m sure you must despise me, what with that awful I Hate Tessa Twitter account and that stupid Brooke Is Better hashtag—which I promise you I had nothing to do with. I only just found out about it a few days ago and am completely appalled. It must’ve upset you very much when you found out about it.”

I nod and then ball up my dress and toss it into the garbage. “It’s not ideal, I suppose, but I can’t really expect much better, can I?”

“Yes, you most certainly can, Tessa,” she says, reaching out and touching my arm. “As someone who would very much like to be your friend, I intend to do whatever I can to find out who is behind it and put a stop to it.”

I stare at her for a moment, trying to process what she’s saying and why exactly she’s saying it. She reminds me of O.J. vowing to look for the real killer. “That’s very kind of you, Brooke, but there’s no need. The best thing to do is ignore it until they get bored and move on to someone else.”

“Arthur said you were smart. He wasn’t kidding. Well, even if we ignore those people, I’m going to help you find allies among the blue blood crowd. That is, if you’ll allow me.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because Arthur is my dear friend and I hope that you and I can be friends, too.” She smiles kindly at me and I almost find myself feeling comforted by her. “Besides, if he loves you, it means you must be an extraordinary woman.”

I shake my head and look down at my feet, seeing some toilet paper stuck to my heel. “I haven’t exactly been extraordinary today. Well, extraordinarily rude to my poor mum.”

Brooke tilts her head. “Oh, Tessa, who could blame you? You’re trying to present yourself as someone elegant, and your mum really didn’t do you any favours today. Anyone could see why you’d snap.”

“Still, it’s no excuse,” I say, digging around in my purse for my lipstick so I don’t have to make eye contact with her in the mirror.

“Don’t you worry about today. You’ll have many more opportunities to shine in front of this stuck-up crowd. Plus, you’ll have me in the background, selling them on you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I toss my lipstick back into my purse without having applied it then start for the door. “I should get back to my guests.”

Tears prick my eyes as I walk the hallway back to the ballroom. I fan them away and breathe deeply, ordering myself to calm down. I can cry later.

* * *

Everyone went home shortly after my meltdown, but not before a very quiet room of two hundred people listened to the soothing strumming of the harp whilst eating. The people at my table were especially silent, no one daring to look or talk to me, including Nikki who sat next to my mum on the other side of the table. Every time I caught her eye, the look of disappointment on her face gutted me just a little bit more than the last time. I sat, picking at my food, my mind swirling as I relived the last twenty minutes of my life. I did my best not to notice all the guests slipping out without saying goodbye, and without me properly thanking them for coming. I knew I should get up and wish them off, but I simply could not bring myself look any of them in the eye after how I had just acted. My mum got a ride home with Grace next door, who glared at me while she collected the unused prizes and put them in a big box.

Now, on the ride to drop off Nikki, I stare out the window at the grey sky, wishing I could take back those few horrible moments in which I proved to be very much lacking in character to everyone in that room. Nikki sits in the front seat with Xavier, and I doubt it’s as much because she wants to sit with him and as it is that she wants to be away from me. When we stop at her apartment, I get out of the car to say goodbye to her. “Well, thank you for coming.”

“Sure.” She fiddles with the clasp on her purse for a moment, and then looks up at me. “I’m not really sure who you are right now, Tessa. But whoever this is, she’s not nice like my friend.”

Tears filled my eyes and I nod quickly. “I know. I don’t know what was wrong with me back there.”

“I don’t mean just in the ballroom when you were swearing at your mum in front of hundreds of women. I mean lately, the past few months. You’re just…different. You don’t have time for the little people anymore. And if this is who you want to be, I guess I’ll just have to be ready to let you go and be her.”

“Is this about my hair? Because I’ve already explained that. I really didn’t feel like I could say—”

“It’s not about your hair. It’s about the fact that I never see you. It’s about the way you treated your mum, who was only trying to give you a proper fun bridal shower. She just wanted to be a part of it all. And instead of embracing everything she was trying to do for you, you were cruel to her. The Tessa that I love is never cruel, no matter what. I’m not sure I can be friends with this new you. “

“Please, Nikki. Don’t say that. I know I was completely awful today. I’m under an unbelievable amount of stress right now and I really need my best friend.”

“What about what the people who love you need? This isn’t just about you. It’s about all of us losing our Tessa.”

A cold blast of air hits and I tighten my wool coat around me. “I can’t be the same old Tessa anymore. I need to be better than her in every way.”

Nikki shakes her head. “Arthur fell in love with the old Tessa. And I have a feeling he’ll fall out of love with this new version once he gets to know her.”

With that, Nikki opens the door to her building and walks inside, disappearing up the stairs. I stand on the sidewalk, wishing she was inviting me in right now to have a few glasses of wine so I could fill her in on every detail of my conversation with Brooke, then move on to a recap of the shower so we could laugh about some of the more snooty ladies at the party. But I was the snooty lady at the party today.

And nobody’s laughing.

* * *

Text from Finn: Heard about you blasting Mum today in front of a bunch of her idols. Wow, Tessa. Just wow.

Text from Lars: So…you okay or do you need me to spring for some therapy and/or meds for you? Nina said you turned into a total Bridezilla. Super disappointing, Tess. You better get your shit together or you’ll end up alienating everyone who loves you. #MaybeBrookeisBetter

Text from Hazel: There are photos of your bridal shower on Instagram. Would have been a real boost to the paper if they’d been on our Twitter feed instead. #disappointed

Text from Bram: Thanks for letting Irene come to the shower today. She said you went psycho? WTF? You’re supposed to be the nice one in the family.