Jordan shrugged. “No problem. I can just be an additional bridesmaid who takes the pressure off everyone. I can be your maid of honour in everything but name.” She held up a hand. “Although, I don’t want to tread on any toes. If your current choice has everything in hand, that’s all good. But…” Jordan hesitated. This was always tricky to say. “To put it bluntly, does she? Is she making your life better or worse?”

Abby tensed her mouth one way, then another. Then, she let out a long sigh. “She’s a fucking nightmare, to tell you the truth.” Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Never tell her I said that, she’d kill me. Shit, that was meant to be my inside voice.”

Jordan bit down a grin. Two swear words in as many sentences. Abby was starting to loosen up. “It’s a common tale.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on Abby’s arm.

Abby flinched, staring at Jordan’s fingers, then at her.

Something shifted inside Jordan. She held Abby’s gaze for a moment, before shaking her head. “What was I saying?”

What had she been saying? Jordan wracked her brain, before she remembered.

“Oh yes. Client confidentiality. If you hire me, whatever you say is in the strictest confidence. Anything at all. So never apologise. I can help you best if I know exactly what I’m dealing with. Okay?”

Abby nodded, her cheeks flushed, her eyes not quite settling on Jordan’s face. “The truth is, my maid of honour is my best friend, Delta. Who is a very capable, very lovely woman. Only, she’s just been dumped by her girlfriend, and is currently only concerned with that. Let’s just say she’s dropped the ball somewhat since it happened, and I am freaking out a little about the hen weekend that’s coming up in Cannes.”

Jordan sat back. Abby needed her help with her mother-in-law and her maid of honour. This job was in the bag, surely?

She liked Abby. She liked her forthrightness, and she could listen to her soft, Scottish accent all day. Jordan was sure Abby would have her fair share of meltdowns — every bride did — but she got the impression she’d be reasonable, too. Plus, she had a queer maid of honour. Another tick in Abby’s column.

“If we work together, I could sort out your hen weekend, too. Take the pressure off. Deal with Delta, deal with Marcus’s mum. What’s her name?”

“Marjorie.” The name came out of Abby’s mouth with a hiss. “Marjorie starts with ‘mar’ too, doesn’t it? That blows my theory out of the water.”

“Maybe it only works with men.”

Abby’s face relaxed into a smile. Again, it transformed her. She should smile more often.

“People really have you in their wedding photos? A complete stranger?”