Emily noticed something odd the moment she stepped into the restaurant. Something felt offit was far too empty for a Friday night, the lighting was overly dim, and the maître d’ smiled a little too brightly. James, on the other hand, seemed his usual selfthough his fingers, laced through hers, trembled slightly.
“Your table,” the maître d’ said, pulling out a chair, and Emily paused at the entrance of a private dining room. Hundreds of candles flickered in the dark, casting eerie shadows across the pristine white tablecloth. At the centre stood a vase of deep red rosesher favourite. Soft music played in the background.
“James,” Emily gasped, “whats all this?” Instead of answering, he dropped to one knee. A ring glinted in his shaking hand. “Emily Carter,” he said solemnly, “I thought long and hard about how to make this moment special. But then I realisedit doesnt matter where or how. Only one thing does. Will you marry me?”
She stared at his faceflushed with emotion, that stubborn lock of hair falling over his forehead, his shy smileand felt her heart overflow with tenderness. “Yes,” she whispered. “Of course I will!”
The ring slid onto her finger. Emily hugged James, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, and thoughtthis is happiness. Simple and bright as a summers day. Yet just a week later, their peace was shattered.
“What do you meanplan it yourselves?” Mrs. Thornton scoffed, fussing with her immaculate updo. “Absolutely not! A wedding needs experience, a womans touch. Ive already found a splendid venue”
“Mum,” James cut in gently, “we appreciate your help, but we want to do this our way.”
“Your way?” Mrs. Thornton threw up her hands. “You havent a clue! Take my niece, Charlotte”
Emily stayed quiet as her future mother-in-law paced their flats living room. Mrs. Thornton prattled onabout traditions, propriety, the importance of “not embarrassing the family.” Between lectures, her sharp eyes darted around, scrutinising the decor as if deciding what needed changing.
“Mum,” James tried again, “weve already picked a place. The White Willow, know it?”
Mrs. Thornton winced as if in pain. “The White Willow? That new place? No, noonly The Imperial! The chandeliers, the service! And the managers an old friend of mine”
“Mum,” Jamess voice hardened, “were paying for this wedding. Well celebrate where we choose.”
Mrs. Thornton fell silent, lips pressed tight, chin lifted. “Fine. Have it your way. Dont say I didnt warn you.”
She left, trailing expensive perfume and the promise of a storm. “Sorry,” James sighed, pulling Emily close. “Shes just enthusiastic.” Emily said nothing. A voice inside whisperedthis is only the beginning.
And it was. Over the next weeks, an endless stream of complaints, hints, and veiled criticisms followed. Mrs. Thornton found fault in everythingthe flowers, the table settings. “Pink peonies?” She shook her head. “In September? No, white lilies! And the arch should be grander. And the musiciansgoodness, youre serious about them? I know a lovely quartet from the Royal Academy”
Emily bit her tongue, leaning on her mothercalm, steady Mrs. Carter. “Dont take it to heart,” shed say whenever Emily came to vent after another “wedding battle.” “Youre the bride. Its your choice. She just cant accept her sons grown up.”
But the real storm came over the cake. “Look at this!” Mrs. Thornton waved the bakery catalogue. “Three tiers? Where are the sugar flowers? The figurines?”
“Mum,” James said wearily, “we want something simple. Elegant.”
“Simple?” Her voice cracked. “Youd humiliate me in front of half of London? Let people whisperthe architects son, but his cake looks like something from a school fête?”
Emily couldnt hold back. “Mrs. Thornton, lets be clear. This wedding is ours. Not yours.”
Silence. Mrs. Thornton paled, then flushed, and stood abruptly. “Fine,” she said. “I see Im not wanted here. Do as you please!”
She slammed the door so hard the windows rattled. “Well,” James sighed, “shes upset.”
Emily stayed quiet. Unease coiled in her stomach.
Two days later, the storm broke. At the bridal boutique, Emily overheard the manager on the phone: “Yes, Mrs. Thornton, your gown will be ready. Such a lovely shadenearly identical to the brides”
The room spun. Emily fled, forgetting her fitting, and with trembling fingers called her mother. “Mum,” her voice cracked, “shes ruining everything She bought the same dress”
“Calm down,” Mrs. Carter said, oddly firm. “Dont cry. Ill handle it.”
“How?” Emily sobbed.
“Just trust me.”
The call ended. Emily stood in the street, despair rising. Three days until the wedding, and she wasnt sure she even wanted it anymore.
The morning of the wedding dawned rainy. Emily watched droplets race down the window, legs trembling. Behind her, the hairstylist and makeup artist worked, their voices distant. “Emily, hold still,” the stylist chided, battling a stubborn curl.
Emily barely moved. All she could thinkwhat dress would Mrs. Thornton wear? Would she really dare?
“Darling!” Mrs. Carter swept in. “Let me see you.” Emily turned. Her mother gasped, hands to her mouth. “Goodness, youre breathtaking!”
“Mum,” Emily searched her eyes, “did you do something?”
Mrs. Carter only smiled. “Dont worry. This is your day. No one will spoil it.”
At the registry office, nerves blurred everythingsolemn music, the registrars voice, Jamess radiant smile, camera flashes. The ring stucktheir fingers shookbut finally, it slid home.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
Their first kiss as spouses was clumsyEmily kept scanning the crowd for cream silk. But Mrs. Thornton was nowhere.
“Shes going straight to the venue,” James whispered. “Said she had hair troubles”
Emily nodded, stomach tight.
At The White Willow, applause greeted them. The place was stunningwhite linens, crystal chandeliers, flowers everywhere. For a moment, Emily forgot her dread.
Then a black Bentley glided up. Mrs. Thornton emerged, resplendent in cream silk, beaded and nearly identical to the bridal gown.
“Look” James murmured.
But before she could step inside, a young waiter appeared, tray in hand. He collided with her, sending dark red sauce cascading over the pristine fabric.
“Oh, terribly sorry!” He dabbed frantically with a napkin. “Cherry couliswhat a mess!”
Mrs. Thornton froze. Her face cycled through emotions so sharply Emily had to look away.
“IllIll be back,” she hissed, retreating to the car.
Emily glanced at her motherserenely adjusting table flowers, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“You know,” James said suddenly, “Im almost glad that happened.” Emily blinked.
He sighed. “I see how she is. Always controlling, always needing the spotlight. Even today.” He squeezed her hand. “Im tired of it.”
Emily rested her head on his shoulder. Outside, rain pattered softly, but inside, she felt strangely calm.
Mrs. Thornton never returned. The newlyweds danced, laughed, and toastedblissfully happy. As for the mother-in-laws dress well, sometimes fate puts things right. Even if it takes cherry coulis, a clumsy waiter, and the brides mother.
