“Yes, that’s what I mean. Thanks for the chat,” I say vaguely, smiling as I hear his snort of laughter.

The bell rings as we enter the shop, and we spot the girls immediately. Misha’s mum, Jackie, is looking at a rack of hats. Anya is sitting curled up on one of the sofas with her legs resting over Teddy’s lap. Teddy is sitting comfortably with her nose buried deep in a book.

They look up at the sound of the bell and immediately greet us. Jackie hurries over. “Thanks for meeting us on a Saturday,” she says. “I know you’re busy.”

“It’s my Saturday off,” I say, hugging her. “And you know Misha doesn’t do a lot of work, so you’re not interrupting anything for him either.”

“I do a lot of work,” he says indignantly. “Which you’d know if you looked up what hedge fund managers actually do.”

Jackie pats his arm. “At least you don’t have to mow the grass at this time of the year.”

I laugh, and Misha shakes his head before going over to hug his sisters. I watch him go, idly appreciating the taut firmness of his bum. He puts an extra sway in it and shoots me a look over his shoulder. When I shake my head reprovingly, he laughs.

I look up, and Jackie is regarding me steadily with one eyebrow raised. I blush and immediately leap into speech. “Have they got our suits? I’m so pleased to be an usher. I’ve never been one of those, and it always looked really glamorous at weddings when we were kids. They were always standing outside the church laughing and drinking from hip flasks and—” I pause. “Not that we’ll be drinking from hip flasks. We will, of course, take it very seriously and—”

“Charlie, what’s going on with you and Misha?”

“With Misha and me?” My voice has gone slightly high, and I cough and clear my throat. “What do you mean?” Misha looks up, and I signal with my eyes wildly. His mouth quirks, and he stays where he is. Bastard.

Jackie shakes her head. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Charlie Burroughs. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” I squeak. “Where did you get the silly idea that something is going on?”

“From the fact that I just stood and watched you get out of Misha’s car and kiss each other.”

“Oh. Oh.” I grimace. “I thought that was reflective glass in the shop window.”

“Obviously not.”

“But there should be. Think of the fading. Of the gowns,” I say faintly.

Her mouth quirks.

“What’s up?” Misha asks, walking over.

“Your mum seems to think that we’re together,” I say with a great deal of emphasis. “I was just telling her she was wrong, but she saw us kissing and—”