Chapter Thirty-One #2
“I’m not going to lie, you’re kind of freaking me out.”
“I have to leave Henry.”
“You what? Um, earth to Sophie, not sure if you realise this, but today is your wedding day?”
“No.” She says it calmly, but there is madness lurking her blue eyes. “It’s not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sophie stands up, her silk gown capturing every curve. She looks regal, the morning sun lighting her hair.
“I have to tell him.”
“Sophie!”
I narrowly beat her to the door, blocking the handle with my hip. I don’t know what’s come over her, but there is no way I’m letting her leave this room.
“Let me go, Rowan. I need to tell Henry. Now.”
“Okay, well, first, this seems fast. Are you sure you don’t want to have another think? A cup of tea? Lots of brides get nervous on their wedding day. I reckon if you take an hour, you’ll feel differently. Shall I get Mum? I’ll get Mum.”
I’m panicking now. I don’t know how to deal with Sophie at the best of times: she’s a cool, purposeful enigma who’s always been dead-set on her path in life, whereas I barely have a clue about mine. But at least she’s normally rational. Organised. Acting step-by-step on a carefully laid-out plan.
This… I’ve never seen her like this.
“I don’t need Mum to talk me down, Ro. I’m sure. This is the right decision. I can’t marry Henry.”
“But why?” It escapes me like a whine. Sophie has everything: the purpose, the job, the salary, the guy. The perfect life. The perfect plan. How can she throw it away?
“It’s like you say: I don’t love him. Not in my heart of hearts. I don’t look at him like you look at Angus – oh, don’t think I didn’t notice that you spent half the dinner staring at each other with love hearts in your eyes.”
I blink. “I don’t… I don’t love Angus. I’ve only known him six days!”
“But there’s something there,” Sophie says seriously. “More than you ever had with Ethan. More than I have with Henry.”
“But Henry’s perfect!”
“No one is perfect, Rowan! Why can’t you see that?
” She takes a breath. “Objectively, yes, Henry ticks all my boxes. He’s handsome and accomplished.
He’s from a good family. He’s a lawyer, so he gets how hard I work, and to top it all off, he’s incredibly rich.
If I marry Henry, I will never want for anything. ”
“So why would you leave him?”
“Because there is more to life than things!” Sophie steeples her fingers, her chest rising and falling.
“Henry is a beautiful checklist. In theory, he’s everything I want.
But this last week, and last night, or this morning, when I woke up, I didn’t feel excited.
I didn’t look at him and think: I can’t wait to be your wife.
I thought: I can’t wait until this wedding is over and I can tick it off the list. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about this week.
That’s why I needed you.” She shakes her head.
“What if I don’t want my life to be a box-ticking exercise anymore? ”
“Oh god. You can’t marry Henry.”
“I can’t marry Henry.”
We stare at each other, both a little horrified, both a little overwhelmed.
“You see?” Sophie pleads. “I have to tell him. He’ll be embarrassed enough as it is. I can’t leave it any longer.”
She pushes me aside, and grabs the door handle, swanning into the corridor.
“Sophie!”
She pauses. “Don’t try to stop me!” she exclaims.
“I’m not trying to stop you.” Frustration laces my voice. “But you’re wearing a bloody nightgown. Don’t you think you should get dressed first?”
Sophie looks down at herself. “Ah. Yes. Good point. Okay, give me a second to get changed. And then I’ll tell Henry the wedding’s off.” She hugs me. “Thank you, for helping me realise—”
“What did you say?” a strangled voice comes from the other end of the corridor.
Henry stands there, shirtless, Adonis-like with his golden tan and rippling abs, hair still dripping from his cold plunge. Behind him, Ross has frozen on the threshold of the kitchen door, a bottle of champagne, a carton of orange juice and two glasses in his hand.
“I was coming to see if the happy couple want pre-wedding bellinis,” he says. “I’m guessing not?”
“Henry, I’m sorry. Come into the bedroom. We need to talk.” Sophie has gone white, her eyes darting between us.
“You don’t want to marry me? What the fuck, Sophie? It’s our fucking wedding day! The vicar is arriving in an hour. The flowers are already here.”
“Please, Henry. Come inside.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” His eyes narrow. “And what your sister has to do with it. What did she say to you?”
“Aye. What have you been saying to your sister, London?” Angus emerges from the stairway, a thunderous expression on his face.
I want to sink into the earth.
“Can we please not do this in the middle of the corridor?” Sophie tries again.
“You’re the one who announced it for everyone and the world to hear,” Henry retorts.
“I didn’t realise anyone was here, let alone everyone on this damn farm.”
“What’s going on?” Aunt Joan lets herself inside through the door at the other end, smelling of sunshine and cut grass.
“I can hear you screeching from outside. Quite spoiled my morning meditation. Sophie?” She finally notices the pale, hollowed-out expression on my sister’s face.
“Are you alright, pet? What’s happening? ”
“She’s leaving me, that’s what’s happening. On our wedding day! Practically at the altar!” Henry shouts. “I’m missing the FA Cup Final for this.”
“Is that all you care about? The football?”
“Says the woman who dumped me in her dressing gown?” He looks her up and down. “Give it back.”
“What?”
“The ring. My grandmother’s ring. Give it back right now.”
“You’re such a child.” But even as she says it, Sophie is twisting at her finger, pulling off the ring, and hurling it down the corridor. Henry scrabbles for it on the wooden floor, comical in his wet, dishevelled, shirtless state. “Here! Take it if you want it so much!”
“ENOUGH!” Joan shouts with the volume of a drill sergeant, cutting through the din. “Stop it! All of you! Henry, Sophie, go to your bedroom and discuss this like adults. The rest of you, clear off and give them some peace. This isn’t a zoo.”
Chastened, Henry stands up, ring clutched in his hand, and sulks down the corridor. “Fine. If you want to talk, let’s talk.”
Sophie sighs. “Come on then.”
They disappear inside their room, the door closing behind them, but as soon as the latch clicks shut, the argument starts again, the shouting quickly rising in volume.
Joan flaps her hands at the rest of us. “Go on then. Get. Don’t stand around like headless chickens. Give them some peace.”
“What shall I do with these then?” Ross asks, still holding the champagne.
“Drink it,” Joan replies cheerily. “If you don’t, I will.”
Heart heavy, I slip away, edging down the corridor, as if there is any chance that Angus won’t notice me trying to run.
But as I pass the stairwell, he grabs my arm, grasping tight enough to stop me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
His eyes are lidded. Dangerous. Awash with emotions I can’t name. For the first time, a frisson of fear fills me when I look at him. Whatever he is feeling, Angus is clearly unhappy.
“Um… away?” I offer.
“Come on, London. We need to talk.”