**The Perfect Family**
“Oh, I’m scared,” Emma stopped in front of the building.
“Of what? My parents?” James asked, taking her hand.
“That they won’t like me,” Emma admitted, looking up at him guiltily.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see, it’ll be fine. I love you, remember? I’m the one marrying you, not them. Come on,” James tugged her toward the entrance.
“Mum’s name is Victoria Margaret. Got it?” he instructed.
Emma repeated it slowly.
“I’ll forget or mix it up, I’m so nervous,” she confessed.
“And Dad’s…”
“Henry William,” Emma blurted out happily. “At least your dad’s name is simple. Where does your mum’s middle name come from? Is your granddad German?”
“What makes you think that?”
They stepped inside, and James called the lift.
“Her father—my grandfather—named her after his wife. Said she was a bright soul. An actress. Pity I never met her; she died young. Our family has English roots.”
The lift stopped, doors sliding open. The pair stepped in.
“Relax. I’m right here,” James said, pulling her close.
A petite woman with a short bob opened the door. Emma thought she looked too young to be James’s mother. She smiled warmly and invited them in.
She wore wide, flowing cream trousers and a crisp white blouse. Under the hallway light, Emma spotted faint lines on her face, betraying her age.
“Hello,” Emma said, glancing at James for guidance. He stayed silent, leaving her to it. Too nervous to risk a name, Emma lowered her gaze.
“Come in, Emma. Don’t be shy. No one gets my name right first time,” Victoria said kindly, and Emma smiled back gratefully.
“Keep your shoes on, it’s fine. Henry! Where are you?” Victoria called out.
A broad-shouldered, handsome man appeared, reminding Emma of Gregory Peck—not that they looked alike, but he had that same charm. Next to him, Victoria seemed like a frail teenager. *What must he have been like in his youth?* Emma wondered.
“Henry William,” he introduced himself, offering his hand. Emma placed hers in his large palm. His grip was firm but brief, his skin warm and dry.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Victoria directed.
“James, take care of Emma,” Henry said, pouring wine from an already open bottle.
Victoria asked Emma careful questions, never prying, then shared stories about their family. Between the wine and the easy atmosphere, Emma felt herself relax.
“Your parents needn’t worry about a thing. We’ll sort the wedding ourselves,” Victoria said finally, smiling warmly.
James’s family seemed perfect to Emma. Hers was different. Her mum fussed over feeding everyone, while her dad drank too much, topping up his glass without waiting. When tipsy, he’d lecture anyone nearby, whether they listened or not. Sometimes he snapped at her mum, humiliating her in front of guests when she tried to calm him.
Emma had always been ashamed of him. She’d gladly skip inviting her parents to the wedding—except they’d be hurt. If only she had parents like James’s. Why had she agreed to marry him? They were from different worlds… Lost in thought, she missed what James said.
“What?” she asked.
“I said they liked you.”
“Your parents are wonderful. I wish we could have a marriage like theirs. You can see they love each other. And you. Mine… I dread how they’ll act at the wedding.”
“Don’t fret. They won’t let you down. We argue too—just not as loudly. Speaking of, have you picked a dress? I want you to be the most beautiful bride,” James stopped and kissed her.
Emma didn’t want to go dress shopping alone, and James couldn’t see the gown beforehand. Her mum was too practical, always penny-pinching—no, she wouldn’t ask her. That left her friend Lucy. Back home, Emma called her.
Lucy squealed down the line, asking about Emma’s life while rattling off her own news without pause. Finally, after exhausting every topic, she asked:
“So why’d you call?”
“I need help choosing a wedding dress.”
“You’re getting married? Amazing! Congrats! Of course—” Lucy launched into a story about a mutual friend’s wedding. Emma tuned out.
“Will you help?” she interrupted.
“Obviously! When?”
They agreed to meet at a café near the boutique the next day.
*Lucy’s so loud,* Emma sighed after hanging up. But she had no one else to ask.
Emma arrived early. A waiter handed her a menu.
“Could I order later? I’m waiting for someone.”
He nodded and vanished. Lucy was late, as usual. Emma scanned the room. Then she froze—Henry sat a few tables away, eyes fixed on a young blonde.
Emma looked away. *Where is Lucy? I’ll wait a bit, then leave.* But her gaze kept drifting back. Henry held the blonde’s hands, speaking intently. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
*A date? An affair?* Did James know? Did Victoria? Emma should leave before Henry spotted her.
Just then, Lucy burst in.
“Em! Over here!” she called, weaving between tables. With her fiery hair and loud energy, she drew every eye in the room. She plopped down, breathless.
“Sorry! Traffic! Then I nearly broke my heel outside—”
Henry could’ve noticed Lucy—and by extension, Emma. But she didn’t check.
“Lucy, lower your voice. Everyone’s staring.”
“Let them!” Lucy glanced around.
“Listen, I have to go. Let’s reschedule the boutique?” Emma stood abruptly, avoiding Henry’s direction.
Outside, Lucy caught up.
“You invited me, then just leave? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’ve got a headache. And an errand. Sorry.” Emma hurried off.
“Let me give you a lift!” Lucy called after her, but Emma didn’t look back.
Calmer later, she called James for Victoria’s number.
“I’ll text it. Mum’s got great taste,” he approved.
“Emma dear, what’s wrong?” Victoria answered straight away.
“Victoria Margaret,” Emma said carefully. “Could you help me pick a dress?”
“Of course. How about tomorrow?”
Victoria knew exactly how to choose. Boutique staff deferred to her, sensing her authority. She narrowed it down to three gowns, sending Emma to try them on. Each time, Victoria frowned and motioned for the next. Finally, one was chosen. Then came shoes. Two hours later, they left with bags and boxes.
“I’m exhausted. Let’s grab coffee,” Victoria suggested, loading the car.
They went to the same café where Emma had seen Henry. Scanning the room, she relaxed—no sign of him or the blonde.
“Victoria Margaret,” Emma ventured, “how have you stayed married to someone so handsome? I’d have died of jealousy by now.”
Victoria smiled indulgently.
“I love him. It’s amusing watching women flirt with him. I used to be jealous too. Then I got used to it. People think I’m not good enough for him. Do you?”
“No! Of course not,” Emma rushed to say.
“Handsome as he is, he’s hopeless at home. Doesn’t know where his socks are. At work, he’s a charmer—but here, he’s a child. Every morning, I lay out his clothes where he’ll ‘find’ them himself.”
“Remember, dear: a wise woman never lets her husband know she’s smarter. Advice should feel like his idea. That’s the secret.”
*Still, he chose that blonde. Should I say something?* Emma decided against it. Maybe it hadn’t gone further than a kiss.
But soon, she saw them again—leaving a jeweller’s.
Later, she hinted to James his family wasn’t so perfect.
“What do you mean?”
She told him about his father and the blonde.
“Maybe you were mistaken. Dad adores Mum,” James said, troubled.
They nearly argued—a first. Emma backtracked, claiming she must’ve been wrong.
Henry’s birthday approached, and Victoria invited them to discuss gifts. James went to his old room for forgotten items, leaving Emma with Victoria.
“You look like you want to ask me something,” Victoria noted.
Emma hesitated. “I think… I saw Henry with another woman.”
Victoria’s face stayed still, only her eyes saddening.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Do you think I don’t know?”
“You… know?”
“He’s cheated for years. Women always sense it.”
“And you’ve forgiven him?”
“I love him,” Victoria sighed. “If I made a scene, threw him out—then what? I grew up poor, in a cramped flat. My father drank; my mother aged too soon. I dreamed of escaping. I was pretty, and Henry fell for me. Then James came along. WhereEmma realized then that love wasn’t about perfection, but about choosing what—and who—was worth the quiet sacrifices.
