“How much does she charge?”

“I don’t ask questions like that, because I’d probably baulk at the answer.”

“If I was the more sensitive type, I’d say I was being edged out.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “Good job you’re so stoic, then, isn’t it?” She paused. “I still expect you to be there for me, by the way. Jordan is just a help. But there are some things I want your opinion on. Like the final wedding dress choice that’s happening soon. You’re definitely going to be there for that, right?” Abby and her mum had narrowed it down to the final two options and had them fitted.

Delta made the sign of the cross on her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Abby wagged a finger in her direction. “No dying on bridesmaid watch.”

Delta gave her a look. “Just so long as Jordan knows I’ve been your friend for 20 years. I know you and what you like. Maybe we could meet up before the hen, and I can fill her in on a few things.”

Abby nodded. “Totally. I’d already thought that.”

“Good.” Delta eyed her. “Is she going to be there on the wedding night when you’re consummating the marriage?”

Abby punched her in the arm. “At least we’d be having sex.” She sucked in a breath. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“You still not doing that?”

Abby shook her head. She held up a navy-blue polka dot bikini from the rack. “What about this one?” She’d heard not having sex in the run-up to the marriage was common. But their slump was more than that. It had been months in the making.

But Marcus was kind.

She had to focus on that.

Chapter 7

“Which of these do I pick?” Jordan backed away from the golf clubs Abby set down at the side of their driving bay as if they were radioactive.

Up ahead, the driving range was a luscious pea green, scattered with flags and bunkers, the width of 30 bays. Each side was flanked with 100-feet-high nets to keep the balls inside. They were needed, too. As Jordan stood there, balls flew out from above and either side, the rhythmic thwack of them being hit a constant background noise.

Abby gave her a throaty laugh. “They’re called clubs. Do you really know so little about golf?”

“This isn’t golf, right?”

Abby shook her head. “This is the driving range, where you come to practise your driving and your swing. Or just to whack some balls.”

“Got it. Me and sport aren’t friends. I was the person who always had my period during PE at school. My flatmate Karen makes me go running, because I have to stay in shape. But if I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t go.”