**There Won’t Be a Wedding**
“Marigold, at last, you’re getting married!” Olivia beamed at her daughter. “I’m so thrilled William proposed! These days, so many men are frivolous—just want to have their fun without commitment. But William’s different. Hold onto him.”
“Mum, come on, I’m quite the catch myself,” Marigold teased. “Pretty, clever—I deserve a prince for a husband.”
Olivia chuckled. “Oh, a prince now, are we? Don’t forget, you’re thirty-five—this might be your last chance.”
The phrase “last chance” stung, but Marigold didn’t argue. She knew how much her mother worried about her only daughter’s future. Years had passed without a queue of suitors, and Olivia dreaded Marigold never marrying or giving her grandchildren.
The wedding was set for two weeks later. Everything was arranged: the banquet booked at London’s finest restaurant, guests invited, outfits chosen. Still, Marigold couldn’t decide on a dress and had another fitting scheduled.
The doorbell rang. “William’s here!” Olivia hurried to welcome him.
“Good evening, Olivia! Hello, Marigold!” William greeted them warmly. “I never arrive empty-handed. Olivia, chocolates for you. And for Marigold—flowers.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Olivia gushed. “I still marvel at how my daughter found such a remarkable man! Honestly, you seem flawless. Go on, Marigold’s waiting in her room.”
They’d only been together six months. Marigold often wondered why he’d noticed her—William worked in city government, while she taught music at a primary school. From the start, he’d made his intentions clear: he wanted a wife.
Serious, dependable, and, as Olivia put it, “a man of substance.” Only five years older, yet Marigold often felt like calling him “Mr. William Clarke.”
“Marigold, tulips for you. See? I never forget you,” William said, almost patronizing. “Have you checked everything’s ready for the wedding?”
“Thank you. It’s all sorted—just the dress and shoes left.”
“Remember, you must impress my family. Spare no expense.” He pulled out his wallet and set a stack of notes on the dresser. “For the wedding. And next week, visit my mother. She’ll give you recipes for my favourite dishes. I won’t start our marriage with arguments—learn from her.”
“William, I’m thirty-five,” Marigold smiled. “Most women know how to run a home by now. And shouldn’t we focus on romance?”
“No. My mother keeps a spotless house and cooks superbly. It’d be mortifying if she visited and found fault.”
Marigold promised to go. William left, citing work. Suddenly, she felt hollow. She longed for lightness, affection—things William never offered. He was stern, distant, and sparing with tenderness.
The next day, Marigold went for another fitting. Listless, she picked the first dress suggested. “It’s fine,” she told herself. “I’m marrying well—wealthy, respectable. Many would envy me. Mum’s happy. What more do I need?”
She trudged to the bus stop, too dispirited to shop. Then—
“Marigold? Fancy seeing you here! Remember me?”
Of course she did. James. Her first love. He’d left her for another woman years ago, yet now he stood there casually, as if nothing had happened.
“Hello, James,” she managed. “Didn’t expect to see you. How are you?”
“Great—I’ve an office nearby. Work’s brilliant. Pity about my divorce, though. Anyway—you? Married?”
“No, but there’s someone. Though I’m not sure it’ll work out,” she lied, blushing.
James nodded thoughtfully. “Free for lunch? I was just heading out.”
She agreed. It felt reckless, but she couldn’t help it. Memories flooded back—long talks, effortless warmth. She couldn’t stop staring. Tall, lean, with striking brown eyes, James was everything stolid, round-faced William wasn’t.
An hour later, James paid the bill. “I’ll call,” he said, oddly intense. “Don’t read into it—just glad we met. Let’s swap numbers, though.”
Marigold floated home. It couldn’t be coincidence—meeting him today, of all days. A sign, surely.
Olivia pounced. “Well? The dress? The shoes?”
“Mum, there won’t be a wedding,” Marigold said coldly, retreating to her room.
Olivia nearly fainted. “What? Why? Did William call it off? Marigold, explain!”
“I don’t want any of it. Him. That life. Do you think he loves me? No. He wants a glorified housekeeper.”
“Have you lost your mind? Cold feet? It’s a blessing he wants you! You’ll have comfort, security—what more could you want?”
Marigold sat, barely suppressing a smile. “Mum, I saw James today.”
“James? That wretch who dumped you? So he’s ruined everything!”
Marigold barely heard her. Her mind was made up—no force could make her marry William now.
Olivia called him, desperate. But instead of reason, William snapped, “Fine breeding you’ve given her! My mother warned me about your lot. Don’t call again.”
Olivia was crushed. All her hopes—grandchildren, Marigold’s happiness—shattered. But Marigold felt only relief. She’d nearly made a terrible mistake. Now, she waited for James’s call.
At first, she wasn’t worried. He was busy, after all. But a week passed—nothing. She checked her phone constantly. Nothing.
“Fine, I’ll call him,” she decided. “Still unreliable.”
No answer. Then, hours later, he rang. “Marigold? Sorry, work’s mad. You needed something?”
“Just thought I’d call,” she lied, hating how weak she sounded.
“Right. Look, I’m swamped. Talk later?”
“Maybe lunch tomorrow? Like last time?” she blurted.
“Listen, Marigold,” James sighed. “It was nice catching up, but why dwell on the past? There’s no future for us. Surely you didn’t read too much into it?”
“Of course not,” she forced out, tears rising. “Just passing time. Besides, I’m engaged.”
She hung up, horrified. How could she have been so naive? She’d thrown away William for nothing.
But Olivia, ever wise, comforted her. “It’s for the best. No joy in a loveless marriage. And James? Forget him. You’ll find someone worthy.”
Marigold never saw William or James again. Despite it all, she believed—one day, she’d find happiness.
