**A Wedding That Won’t Be**
“Marianne, you’re finally getting married,” said Olivia with a smile. “I’m so glad William proposed! You know how unreliable men can be these days—always wanting to have their fun, never settling down. But William’s different. Hold onto him.”
“Mum, don’t forget *I’m* quite a catch too,” Marianne teased. “Smart, pretty—I deserve a prince, don’t you think?”
“Oh, a prince now?” Olivia laughed. “Don’t forget you’re thirty-five, love. This might be your last chance.”
The phrase *last chance* stung, but Marianne didn’t argue. She knew how desperately her mother wanted her only daughter settled. Time had slipped by without a queue of suitors, and Olivia feared Marianne would never marry or give her grandchildren.
The wedding was set for two weeks’ time. Everything was arranged: a banquet at Manchester’s finest restaurant, guests invited, outfits chosen. Marianne still wavered on her dress and had another fitting scheduled.
Then the doorbell rang. “William’s here!” Olivia hurried to let him in.
“Good evening, Olivia! Hello, Marianne!” William greeted them. “I never come empty-handed—chocolates for you, Olivia, and flowers for Marianne.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” Olivia beamed. “I still can’t believe my daughter landed such a remarkable man! Honestly, William, you’re flawless. Go on—Marianne’s waiting in her room.”
They’d only been together six months. Marianne often wondered why he’d chosen her—William worked in city government, while she was just a music teacher. From the start, he’d made his intentions clear: he wanted a wife.
Serious, steady, “a proper man,” as Olivia put it. Only five years older, yet Marianne sometimes felt like calling him *William Edward* out of sheer formality.
“Tulips for you,” he said, almost patronising. “Everything ready for the wedding?”
“Thank you. Mostly. Just need to pick my dress and shoes.”
“Make sure you impress my family,” he said sternly. “Spare no expense.” He pulled out his wallet and left a stack of notes on the dresser. “For the wedding. And next week, visit my mother. She’ll teach you my favourite recipes. I won’t have our marriage start with arguments, so learn properly.”
“William, I *am* thirty-five,” Marianne laughed. “Most women know how to manage a home by now. Can’t we enjoy the romance first?”
“No, you’ll learn from her. Her house is immaculate, and her cooking’s superb. I won’t have her criticising you after we’re married.”
Marianne promised to visit, and William left, citing work. A heaviness settled over her. She longed for lightness, romance—anything but his rigid, emotionless demeanour.
The next day, she went for her dress fitting. Listless, she agreed to the first gown suggested.
*”It’s fine,”* she told herself. *”I’m marrying a good, stable man. Most would envy me. Mum’s thrilled. What more do I need?”*
Exhausted, she trudged to the bus stop when a voice called out:
“Marianne? Blimey, it *is* you! Remember me?”
Of course she did. George. Her first real love. He’d left her for another girl years ago, yet here he stood, casual as ever.
“George. Fancy seeing you,” she said evenly. “How’ve you been?”
“Not bad. Office nearby. Work’s grand, but the divorce was rough.” He shrugged. “You? Married yet?”
“No, but I’m seeing someone. Not sure it’ll last,” she lied, cheeks flushing.
“Ah. Well, got time for a quick coffee? I was just off to lunch.”
Against her better judgment, she agreed. Memories rushed back—long talks, effortless warmth. George, tall and fit with those striking brown eyes, was nothing like stout, plain William.
An hour later, George paid the bill. “I’ll call you,” he said warmly. “Don’t overthink it—just good seeing you. Let’s swap numbers, yeah?”
Marianne floated home. This *had* to be fate. Meeting George on her dress-fitting day—what were the odds?
Olivia pounced the moment she walked in.
“Did you get the dress? The shoes? Show me!”
“Mum, there won’t be a wedding,” Marianne said coldly, heading to her room.
Olivia nearly fainted. “What? Did William cancel? Marianne, *talk* to me!”
“I don’t want it. I don’t want *him*. D’you think he loves me? No. He wants a live-in maid with a ring.”
“Have you lost your mind? This is nerves! William’s a *catch*—you’ll want for nothing!”
Marianne sat, fighting a smile. “I saw George today.”
“*That* scoundrel? *He’s* why you’re throwing this away?”
Marianne barely heard her. Her mind was made up.
Olivia rang William, hoping he’d talk sense into her. Instead, he snapped:
“Fine job you did raising her! My mother warned me about your lot. Don’t *ever* call again.”
Olivia was crushed. Marianne, though, felt lighter. She’d dodged a mistake. Now, she waited for George’s call.
Days passed. Nothing.
*”He’s busy,”* she told herself. *”He’ll ring.”*
A week later, she caved and dialled. No answer. An hour later, he called back.
“Marianne? Sorry, work’s mad. What’s up?”
“Just thought I’d call,” she mumbled, hating how weak she sounded.
“Right. Listen, I’m swamped. Chat later?”
“Fancy coffee tomorrow? Same place?” she blurted.
He paused. “Look, it was great seeing you, but why dwell on the past? There’s no future here. You didn’t take it seriously, did you?”
“Of course not,” she forced out, tears welling. “Just bored. Anyway, I’m getting married soon.”
She hung up, horrified. How could she have been so *stupid*? She’d left William for *this*. Now she was alone again.
But Olivia, ever wise, soothed her:
“Better no wedding than a loveless marriage. And George? He’s not worth it. You’ll find the right man.”
Marianne never saw William or George again. And despite it all, she still believed—one day, she’d find her happiness.
