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her and hang up. ‘Linden, what would your mum say is happening when you dream about someone?’
    He offered her a fake look of embarrassment. ‘Max, are you dreaming about me, again? I guess it’s not your fault, I am a good-looking man.’
    Max gave Linden a pained smile. ‘Your mum must have had a theory on it.’
    â€˜She said it meant you had something to sort out with that person. Why?’
    â€˜Nothing.’ She tried to shake the thought of Toby out of her head. Today was going to be hardenough without him on her mind. ‘There’s no getting out of this wedding, is there?’
    â€˜Not unless your mum suddenly comes down with amnesia and forgets who you are.’ Linden stood up to leave. ‘Just remember, we’ve survived plane crashes, death chambers and rooms of jelly and worms, so we can survive your mother’s wedding.’
    He gave her a grin that was a Linden special. ‘See you downstairs, chief.’
    â€˜Okay,’ she said, before adding, ‘You look good, by the way.’
    Linden ran his hand through his billowing hair. ‘It’s my natural beauty.’
    â€˜And I thought it was the suit,’ Max offered.
    â€˜That’s only part of it.’ He sighed grandly and left.
    Max smiled. It was like Linden had this zone of calm all around him – and she knew she needed as much calm as she could get if she was going to make it to the end of the day.
    Especially wearing a dress.
    She opened her wardrobe door. There it was. Hanging innocently. Staring at her like what she was about to do was no big deal. It wasn’t that Max didn’t like the dress, it was more that she anddresses in general didn’t get along. Her mother had even let her choose it. It was red with a deep crimson pattern of Japanese script embroidered along the neck and hem. Simple, discreet and hopefully would attract very little attention.
    Max steeled herself. People wear them every day, she thought. How hard could it be?
    At that moment, the three stylists her mother had booked came streaming through her door carrying bags, brushes and hairdryers, as if they were shoppers from an end-of-year sale. For the next hour, Max felt like she’d been pulled into the arms of a hyperactive octopus. She was prodded, brushed, sprayed and covered in face creams, powders and make-up, before being tugged into her dress. The three stylists then proudly held up a mirror.
    â€˜What do you think?’
    Max looked down at the floor. ‘Good. Fine. Thanks,’ she mumbled.
    She knew no matter how hard they tried, they weren’t going to create a princess out of what they had to work with. And just as quickly as they’d swirled into the room, they gathered their things and left.
    Max sighed and raised her head towards themirror, dreading what she would see. First she saw her red sandals, then the dress. She raised her head a little further and finally she saw her hair, which had been curled just a little.
    She stood straighter, happy that what she saw wasn’t a total disaster. ‘Linden’s right. We have dealt with much scarier things than this.’
    She took her Spyforce medallion from a hidden compartment in her chest of drawers and tucked it into her dress so it was completely concealed. She then cautiously opened her bedroom door. Down the hall, her mother’s room was spilling over with people and noise. Max watched as designers, hairdressers and men arranging flowered bouquets fussed and fawned. She walked away quickly before she could get sucked inside, and made her way downstairs.
    Outside the lounge room door, she heard the sound of Ben and Eleanor’s laughter. It was the sanest noise she’d heard all morning and she rushed in to join them, but when she opened the door, the laughter was replaced by a shocked silence and the three dazed faces of Ben, Eleanor and Linden.
    Max’s bravado fell from her like a collapsing