In his defence, they were. It’s just I was worried cutting all the tackiness out of our wedding would cut out all the fun. And then fifty years from now I’d be sitting in my old people’s home looking back on a day that could have happened to anyone. “So, what? The plan is no music? Everybody standing around talking awkwardly? Or I guess we could get one of those giant games of Twister.”

“If you really want a giant Twister, I won’t fight you on it.”

“Oliver, that was a joke. I don’t want to play giant Twister at my wedding.”

A teeth-clenching silence echoed down the line. “I’m sorry. I’m genuinely…I’m genuinely trying here. I’m aware I’m probably coming across as—”

“A steamrollery wedding tyrant?” I suggested.

“I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that, but…yes.” Another pause. “I think I just…I just want everything to be perfect for us.”

Perfect was not a good word for Oliver. In fact, it had nearly ruined our relationship once already. But in some ways hearing him say it was a relief because it meant that…that actually he was the one with the problem here. And it was a problem I kind of knew how to fix. And that was way easier to think about than me or how I felt or if Mum had been right all along. “Okay.” I took a deep breath. I could do this. This was doable. We were going to figure this out. “I think you might be getting in your head a bit.”

“I am aware,” he said a little coolly.

“And I think,” I continued, “that where you’re getting mixed up is that you’re confusing ‘perfect for us’ with ‘perfect.’ The perfect wedding is in June, in the church you grew up in, and has a live band and centrepieces that match the bridesmaids’ dresses. The perfect-for-us wedding is you and me and people we care about in a venue that fits a sensible number of people and music we like played by—”

I could hear Oliver relaxing. “A failed musician who says things like ‘And now, one for the oldies’?”

“Yeah. Or, I don’t know, a laptop. Or if you want, I could ask Rhys to get the male voice choir back.”

Oliver’s breathing was steadying, which I took as a good sign. “Actually, I was wondering if—and if you think I’m being a steamrollery wedding tyrant do say so—I thought it might be nice to put together a playlist and, perhaps, get every guest to contribute a song.”

In practice, I was mildly concerned that this would mean Alex contributing the Eaton boating song and Professor Fairclough contributing a two-hour lecture on Formicidae, but it did sound… “That…that sounds perfect for us.”