It was the kind of late spring afternoon that made even the most tightly wound accountant consider skipping spreadsheets in favor of sunshine and prosecco.
The gardens of the Hemmingway estate in Alderley Edge been transformed into a soft sprawl of white tents, wildflowers, fairy lights, and laughter.
A year to the day since Grace and Jullian had exchanged their irreverent vows in front of the same people now sprawled on picnic blankets and cushioned loungers, holding champagne flutes and telling stories that grew more exaggerated with every retelling.
Grace stood beneath an arched trellis draped with white roses and wisteria, her pale blue dress fluttering in the breeze. She looked radiant, if slightly pale, and kept pressing her fingers to her temple like she was trying to ease out a
