**The Perfect Family**
I clutched my coat tighter. “I’m nervous,” Emma admitted, stopping just outside the flat.
“Why? Because of my parents?” Oliver asked, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
“I’m scared they won’t like me,” she confessed, biting her lip.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see—everything will be fine. I’m the one marrying you, not them. Come on.” Tugging her gently, he led her toward the building.
“Mum’s name is Eleanor Margaret. Got that?” he reminded her.
Emma slowly repeated it. “I’ll probably forget or mix it up from nerves.”
“And Dad’s name is—”
“Robert James!” she blurted out with sudden triumph. “Thank goodness your dad has a simple name. But Eleanor Margaret? Where does your mum’s middle name come from? Is your grandfather Scottish or something?”
“What makes you think that?”
They stepped into the lift, and Oliver pressed the button.
“She was named after his wife—my grandmother. He said she was… a radiant sort of person. An actress. I never met her—she died young. The family had old English roots.”
The lift doors slid open, and they stepped inside.
“Relax. I’m right here,” Oliver murmured, pulling her close.
At the door, a petite woman with a sleek bob greeted them. Emma blinked. She looked too young to be Oliver’s mother. Her welcoming smile softened the sharpness of her collarbones under a cream silk blouse. In the bright hallway light, faint lines at the corners of her eyes betrayed her age.
“Hello,” Emma managed, glancing at Oliver for guidance. He stayed silent, leaving her floundering. Too afraid of getting it wrong, she avoided addressing Eleanor directly and ducked her head instead.
“Come in, Emma. Don’t be shy. No one gets my name right the first time,” Eleanor said warmly. Emma smiled back in gratitude.
“No need to remove your shoes—just come through. Robert! Where are you?” Eleanor called over her shoulder.
Moments later, a broad-shouldered man strode in. He reminded Emma of a young Cary Grant—though not in exact features. Beside him, Eleanor looked delicate as a wisp of smoke. *What must he have been like in his youth?* Emma wondered.
“Robert James,” he said, extending a hand. Her fingers disappeared into his palm, his grip firm but brief.
“Dinner’s getting cold—hurry along,” Eleanor directed.
“Oliver, take care of Emma,” Robert said, already pouring wine from an open bottle.
Eleanor asked gentle questions—never prying—while sharing stories about their family. Between the wine and the calm atmosphere, Emma felt the tension leave her shoulders.
“Tell your parents not to fret about the wedding. We’ll handle everything,” Eleanor concluded with a knowing smile.
Oliver’s family seemed perfect. Hers was… not. Her mum would crowd the table with second helpings, while her dad drank too much, filling his glass before anyone else could. Then he’d ramble, giving unsolicited advice no one listened to. Sometimes, he’d snap at Mum in front of guests when she tried to calm him.
Emma had always been ashamed of him. She’d gladly leave her parents off the guest list—but they’d never forgive her. If only she had parents like Oliver’s. Why had she agreed to marry him? They were from different worlds… Lost in thought, she missed Oliver’s words.
“What did you say?”
“I said they liked you.”
“Your parents are wonderful. I hope we have what they do. You can tell they love each other. And you. Mine… I can already picture them making a scene at the wedding.”
“Don’t overthink it. They’ll surprise you. We argue too—just quieter. Speaking of, have you picked a dress yet? I want you to be the most beautiful bride.” He kissed her softly.
Emma didn’t want to go dress-shopping alone, and Oliver couldn’t see the gown beforehand. Her mum was too practical—always counting pennies. No, she wouldn’t ask her. That left her friend Lucy.
At home, Emma dialled Lucy’s number.
Lucy squealed before Emma could speak, launching into updates about mutual friends. Finally, breathless, she asked, “Wait—why’d you call?”
“I need help choosing a wedding dress.”
“You’re getting married? Brilliant! Congrats!” Lucy dove into another monologue.
“So… will you come?” Emma interrupted.
“Obviously! When?”
They agreed to meet at a café near the bridal boutique the next day.
*Lucy’s exhausting,* Emma sighed after hanging up. But she had no one else.
At the café, Emma arrived early. The waiter handed her a menu.
“Later, please. I’m waiting for someone.”
He nodded and vanished. Lucy was late, as usual. Emma studied the other patrons—then froze. Robert sat two tables away, oblivious to her, his gaze locked on a blonde woman. She giggled, twirling her hair.
Emma looked away. *Where is Lucy? I’ll give her five more minutes.* Her eyes flicked back. Robert was holding the blonde’s hands, speaking intently. Then he leaned in—and kissed her.
Emma’s stomach dropped. A mistress? Did Oliver know? Did Eleanor? She should leave before Robert saw her. But she stayed, terrified of drawing attention. *So much for the perfect family.*
“Em! Over here!” Lucy’s voice cut through the café. Heads swivelled as her fiery curls bounced between tables.
“Sorry I’m late! Traffic was a nightmare, then I nearly snapped a heel—”
Robert could spot Lucy—and by extension, Emma. She stood abruptly.
“Lucy, keep your voice down.”
“Who cares?” Lucy grinned, scanning the room.
“I need to go. Let’s reschedule.” Emma hurried out, cursing herself. Why had she chosen this café? Why Lucy?
Her friend chased her outside. “You’re ditching me? Explain!”
“I just—I have a headache. And an errand. Sorry.” She walked faster.
“I’ll drive you!” Lucy called after her. Emma didn’t turn back.
Later, calmer, she called Oliver for Eleanor’s number.
“Good idea. Mum’s got great taste,” he said.
“Emma, dear. Is everything all right?” Eleanor answered on the second ring.
“Eleanor Margaret,” Emma stumbled. “Would you… help me pick a dress?”
“Of course. Tomorrow?”
Eleanor was a natural. The boutique staff deferred to her instantly. After three rejected gowns, Emma finally emerged in one Eleanor approved. Shoes took another two hours.
“I’m worn out. Coffee?” Eleanor suggested, loading bags into her car.
They returned to the same café. Emma scanned the room—no sign of Robert.
“Eleanor,” she ventured, “how do you stay with someone like Robert? I’d die of jealousy.”
Eleanor’s smile was patient. “Because I love him. At first, I was jealous too. But women will always flirt with him. Do you think I’m not good enough for him?”
“No! Not at all,” Emma said too quickly.
“Beneath the charm, he’s hopeless. Doesn’t know where his socks are. At work, he’s a lion. At home? A kitten. Every morning, I lay out his clothes—he thinks he picks them himself.”
She leaned closer. “A wise woman lets her husband believe he’s the clever one. Offer advice so subtly he thinks it was his idea. That’s the secret.”
*But he chose that mistress himself.* Should Emma say something? No. Maybe it was just a kiss.
Then, days later, she spotted Robert leaving a jeweller’s—with the same blonde.
She couldn’t stay silent. She told Oliver.
“You must be mistaken. Dad loves Mum,” he said sharply.
Emma described what she’d seen. Oliver grew quiet.
“He *adores* her. He wouldn’t cheat.”
Their first near-fight. Emma backtracked. “Maybe I was wrong.”
Before Robert’s birthday, Eleanor invited them to plan the celebration. While Oliver fetched something from his old room, Eleanor studied Emma.
“You’re fidgeting. What’s on your mind?”
Emma hesitated. “I… think I saw Robert with another woman.”
Eleanor’s face didn’t change—only her eyes dimmed.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Emma mumbled.
“Do you think I don’t know?”
Emma gaped.
“He’s cheated for years. Women always know.”
“And you… stayed?”
“I love him,” Eleanor sighed. “I grew up in a tiny flat with a drunk father. Robert was my way out. Then Oliver was born. Where would I go? Back to *that*? You adjust. I stayed for my son.”
She straightened. “Robert would never leave *me*. I made him who he is. Why should I hand him to some blonde who only wants his looks? Forget what I said—just donEmma kissed Oliver under the church bells, knowing now that love—like family—wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and that was enough.
