Emily said to her sister: “Hes not right for youhe suits me better. Call off the wedding.”
“You two arent a match,” Chantelle told her sister. “Hes younger and fits me better. The wedding should be cancelled.”
Emily lived in a spacious three-bed flat in a posh part of London, inherited from her grandmother. Aside from her young cousin, she had no close family left, but shed never felt particularly tied to Chantelle.
At 35, Emily was single but solvent. She knew she couldnt rely on anyone else, so shed studied hard, graduated from a top university, and landed a well-paid job at a prestigious firm. Life was perfectexcept for one thing.
“You really should get married, Em,” Chantelle would occasionally prod during one of her check-in calls.
By 30, her sister had already had three kids and divorced twice. She lived in the suburbs on child support, perpetually “figuring things out” but never quite managing it.
“I would, if there were anyone worth marrying,” Emily always replied. She preferred focusing on work anyway, and free time was scarce. But fate had other plansspecifically, in the form of a new neighbour upstairs. Theyd met by chance when Emily bumped into Toms car in the parking lot and that was that.
Tom was five years younger, but neither cared. Emily, traditional but not stuffy, refused to live together before marriageso after two months of dating, he proposed with a ring.
She bought a cream trouser suit instead of a dress, and rather than a lavish reception, they planned a honeymoon abroad. Everything was sorted until Chantelle rang a week before the wedding.
“Hey, sis Could we crash at yours for a bit? Rents sky-high, and were skint. Its urgent.”
“Whats wrong?”
“I need an expensive surgery. Ill explain later,” she whispered, layering on the mystery.
“Fine, if its serious come over.” Emily wasnt thrilled but couldnt say no. She knew how it felt to have no one to turn to.
Chantelle arrived the next day with suitcases and all three kids in towyoung, loud, and sticky-fingered. Emily tolerated children in small doses. One was manageable. Three, constantly whinging? Less so.
“Lets settle how long youre staying,” Emily said, prying a crayon from the youngest, whod already started doodling on the wallpaper.
“Dunno Are we bothering you?” Chantelle pouted. “Sorry. Maybe we shouldve booked a hostel. Not that we could afford one, what with the doctors bills”
“Dont be silly. Of course youre welcome. Whats the surgery for?” Emily flushed, guilt nagging at her. Chantelle *was* family.
“Its complicated” Chantelle shrugged. “Eye trouble.”
“Your eyes? But youve always worn glasses.”
“Dont worry about it. Anywayhowve *you* been?”
“Im getting married,” Emily announced proudly.
“And you didnt *tell* me?!”
“Were keeping it small. No fuss.”
“But you could afford a proper do! Champagne, canapés”
“Chantelle.”
“Right, right. Nose out of business. So, whos the unlucky bloke? Do I get to meet him?”
“Hes popping round for tea, actually.”
“Brilliant! Set the tableIll just wash my hair. The train was *sweltering*.”
“Towels are in the bathroom.”
“Cheers. Wont be long. Mind the kids, yeah?”
Emily scowled. Shed planned to bake Toms favourite Victoria sponge, not referee a toddler tornado.
But fate had jokes. The boys lasted five minutes before chaos erupted: flour avalanched across the counter, stolen chocolate smeared on walls, and her prized fern reduced to a twig by a budding botanist.
“CHANTELLE! Your children” Emily barged into the bathroom, only to find her sister submerged, eyes shut, earbuds in, luxuriating like Cleopatra in a bubble bath.
“CHANTELLE!”
“Bloody hell, whats the shouting for?”
“Youve been in there *ninety minutes*! Im covered in cake batter, the kitchens a warzone, and Toms due any second!”
“Not my fault you cant handle kids,” Chantelle quipped just as the doorbell rang. Emily answered in a flour-dusted apron.
“Blimey,” Tom blinked at her state. “What happened?”
“Sisterly visit. Terrible timing.”
“Should I go?”
“No, stay. Practically family now,” Emily forced a smile, relieved hed brought a shop-bought Battenberg as backup.
Tom, bless him, helped tidy and even charmed the hellionswhile Chantelle lingered in the bathroom until she wafted into the kitchen *wearing only a towel*.
“Hello *Tom*,” she purred, striking a pose. Emily gaped. Why was her sister doing a *Baywatch* impression in the kitchen?
“Evening,” Tom replied, polite but baffled.
“Ooh, Battenberg!” Chantelle scooped icing with her finger, licking it with exaggerated flair. Emilys jaw hit the floor.
“Join us if you like,” she hissed, “but *put clothes on*.”
“Or take this off?” Chantelle winked, ignoring her.
Tom coughed. The tea was painfully awkwardChantelle flirting, Emily side-eyeing the kids sticky hands near her upholstery.
“Best be off,” Tom finally said when the tension thickened.
“Leaving so soon?” Chantelle pouted. “Plenty of room here”
“Were not *that* kind of couple,” Emily snapped.
“Ugh, youre so *last century*. Marriage coming up and youve no idea how to keep a man.”
Tom fled. Emily didnt speak to Chantelle all night.
“Face it, youre mismatched,” Chantelle declared next morning.
“Says who?”
“Hes young. Youre not.”
“Five years isnt a gap.”
“Is when it shows.”
“Whats that supposed to mean?”
“*Obviously* hed prefer me.”
“*Excuse* me?”
“Please. Did you see how he looked at me? Adores the boys too.”
“At *you*, not *us*!” Emily seethed.
“Relax! Testing your sense of humour.” Chantelle waved her off. “Anywayabout my surgery”
“Thought that was tomorrow?”
“It is. But consults today. Youll watch the kids?”
“Ive work.”
“Youre the *boss*.”
“And?”
“Take the day! Then post-op, Ill need rest. Someones got to mind them.”
Emilys reply stunned her into silence.
