The door to the hotel room opened. Megan’s mother, Iris, walked in carrying Gucci, who barked and wriggled as soon as he saw Brendon.

“Baby boy,” Brendon said, rushing to pluck his tiny Pomeranian from Iris’ arms. Gucci’s little pink tongue rushed out to lick his master’s chin and his tail waggled to a rapid tempo.

“Oh, Rose, my beautiful English Rose,” Iris said, halting in her tracks as soon as she saw Megan. Her eyes misted and she pressed her lips together.

“Mum, you promised not to cry,” Megan said, knowing that her mother would. She only ever called her Rose when she was feeling sentimental, and since she’d moved to Australia three years ago, she was more sentimental than ever when the family got together.

“I can’t help it,” Iris said. “My little girl all grown up and getting married.”

“Yes, it seems that way.” Megan smiled and fluffed the tulle on her dress. “What do you think?”

“I think you look beautiful. Dylan is lucky to have you. Very lucky indeed.”

“Here, here to that.” Georgie nodded.

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” Brendon said, slipping a tiny doggie tuxedo over Gucci’s head. It had a small bow tie beneath the chin, an embroidered waistcoat and tails that hung either side of Gucci’s…tail.

Megan walked over to her mother and, stretching over the width of the dress, hugged her.

“No, no, please don’t let me mess you up,” Iris said, sniffing delicately.

“You won’t mess me up, Mum, it’s all fine.” Megan placed a soft kiss on her mother’s cheek. She smelt of lavender, as usual, and her skin was soft as satin.

“Oh, but I might.” Iris gave Megan a frantic squeeze then pulled away. “And you look so perfect. It all looks so perfect.” She gestured at the door. “I’ve checked the cake and it’s fabulous, exactly how Dylan wanted, a cascade of sparkling roses from the top tier to the base. The flowers are beautiful too, at the entrance to the reception room. The sweetest shade of baby pink and more gypsophila than you could shake a stick at.”

“Good, that’s good,” Brendon said. “Flowers and cake are important.”

“Where’s Olivia?” Megan asked, wondering where her sister was. Olivia was her third bridesmaid.

“She’s downstairs, with your father.”

“I bet she looks beautiful.” Megan adored how her bridesmaid dress complimented her sister’s colouring. “What about Dad? Is he okay?” Megan asked, reaching for a tissue. She passed it to her mother, who instantly started checking her mascara hadn’t run.

“He’s fine with your sister, she’s keeping an eye on him. She’s good like that. You know, at calming him when he gets anxious.”