“Mum!” Her three-year-old shouted from where she was sitting in the corner of the room, drawing pictures. She held up her latest masterpiece and beamed.
“Very nice,” Isobel said absently, and Sophie went back to her art.
The walls of the bedroom she shared with Callum were closing in on Isobel. The air growing thicker by the second. She had to get out. But her three sisters stood between her and the door. She jumped to her feet, gathered up her dress, and paced.
“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be getting married. I have a crap track record with relationships. What if Callum turns out to be just like Robert? What then? I’ve moved myself and my kids to London to live with him. What was I thinking? If this goes belly-up, we’ll be homeless. I’ve risked the security of my children, just because I can’t keep my pants on around the man. I’m a terrible mother!”
“Calm down,” Agnes snapped. “Callum is nothing like Robert. He’s honorable, and stable, and doesn’t have a gambling habit.”
“Hotter too,” Mairi added.
“Scarier,” Donna muttered from her perch on the arm of the sofa.
A sofa. In her bedroom! “Look at this place.” Isobel waved her arm to indicate the room. “This one room is bigger than my last house.”
“Is that really the most important thing to focus on right now?” Agnes tossed her blonde hair, folded her arms, and tapped her toe with growing frustration.
Isobel ignored her. Agnes had nothing to be irritated about. She wasn’t the one getting married.
Married! What was she doing? He was so out of her league that it wasn’t funny.
“He owns a successful business. He travels the world. He’s got skills and an education.” Isobel stomped across the polished wooden floor until she came to the wall, then she turned and stomped back again. “What do I have? Two kids. No money. No skills. Nothing. He’s going to regret marrying me, and then he’ll leave me.” She pressed a hand to her suddenly roiling stomach. “I cannot have another failed relationship. I’m only thirty-three!”
“Maybe I should call Callum.” Donna dug her phone out of her handbag.
“Don’t you dare.” Isobel glared at her, and Donna froze in place.
The last thing she needed was for Callum to see her in hysterics. He’d think he caused it. That she
was having second thoughts because of his prosthetic legs. But Callum wasn’t the problem. It was her. All her.
“I’m sure Callum would help.” Donna’s eyes grew wide as she held up a placating hand.
“I swear I will hurt you if you call him.” Isobel wasn’t sure how threatening she looked dressed as a meringue, but it didn’t take much to intimidate her middle sister. As expected, Donna backed down.
“Oh for goodness’ sake.” Agnes strode over to Donna and snatched the phone from her hand. “Nobody’s calling anyone. You”—she pointed at Donna—“are going to sit quietly while I deal with this. And you”—she pointed at Isobel—“are going to calm the hell down and remember you love the man you’re marrying.”
“Hell!” Sophie shouted from her corner.
“Great, now she’s cursing.” Isobel glared at Agnes who looked unrepentant.
Sophie, meanwhile, happily went back to coloring.
Isobel glared at her sisters. “This isn’t about love. It’s about marriage. I can’t get married. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She tugged at the bodice of her dress. “I need to get out of this. I’m suffocating.”
“No!” Agnes snapped. “We just got you into it.”
Isobel was past listening. She clawed at the dress, popping the pearl buttons on the back that Donna had painstakingly fastened for her.
“Give me back my phone.” Donna sounded hysterical. “I’m calling Callum.”
“No. You’re not,” Agnes ordered. “She’s just having a wobble.”
Mairi burst out laughing. “Is that what we’re calling it? If she’s wobbling, then the two of you are wobbling right along with her.”
Isobel tugged the dress over her hips, letting it fall to the floor, and stepped out of it. She bent, scooped it up, and threw it into the corner.
“Tent!” Sophie shouted and climbed into the dress.