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quirky but not quirky enough. I remembered the amount of work I had to do to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding and decided to put my feature idea to one side.
    Max’s earlier suggestion burned at the back of my mind: using my own unusual love story for the feature. Part of me began to think that might not be such a bad idea, but my practical side put the kibosh on it. To put my personal experiences out there in public for everyone to read was unthinkable; the thought made me feel sick. I imagined the elusive Mr Writer reading my diatribe and wondering why he’d ever loved me in the first place. That thought settled things in my mind: Mr Writer wouldn’t be gracing
Sleek
any time soon.
    ***
    Over the next twenty-four hours, I pulled off nothing short of a miracle.
    After thoroughly researching the happy couple – Giselle the bride was a model and the groom Aaron was a footballer who’d just signed for United – I quickly made up a batch of interview questions. I tried to make them fun and informal; after all I was asking them about the happiest day of their lives, not accusing them of phone hacking.
    Thanks to my two best friends, I had a dress and a date for the evening. Gwen had “borrowed” one of her designer friend’s dress prototypes and Max agreed to be my chaperone.
    ‘Given your talent for trouble Munchkin, it’s probably a good idea to have someone around who can clean up the mess!’ he’d said with a chuckle.
    The worst thing was, he was probably right.
    I slipped on the midi dress Gwen gave me, feeling it hug my figure in all the right places. For the first time in a long time, I looked like I had a waist and hips. Being a journalist meant I was always on the move so comfort came before style, but this dress was something else. It was an off-white colour with black broderie anglaise detailing down the front and a sweetheart neckline. I felt like a catwalk model in it as I teetered in front of my full-length mirror in some black skyscraper heels. My hair fell in soft brown curls around my shoulders and my pewter eyeshadow complemented my hazel eyes perfectly.
    ‘You shall go to the ball Cinders,’ I said under my breath.
    A knock on my bedroom door made me jump and almost fall over in my ridiculously high shoes.
    ‘Can I come in?’ came Gwen’s muffled voice from the other side.
    ‘Sure!’
    She came in bundled up in a multi-coloured poncho with a pair of massive koala slippers sticking out from underneath.
    ‘Wow, you look amazing! Jessica Alba’s got nothing on you.’
    ‘Thanks. I thought you’d be off out to some posh restaurant or swanky party with Tom?’ I gestured at her outfit while fixing a few unruly locks of hair.
    ‘Not tonight, he’s working late. Got a big client to wine and dine or something. He’s taking me out next weekend and buying me a present to make up for it.’
    I felt a little pang of jealousy. Although I’d recently declared myself a firm non-believer of love, I couldn’t help but feel envious of Gwen having someone who spoiled her so much. Aside from that, she said he listened to her, made her feel special and showered her with compliments.
    ‘Will I do then?’ I realised I hadn’t spoken for a while so I gave a little twirl to let Gwen see how her friend’s handiwork looked on me.
    ‘Um, yeah I think so! Your date’s in the living room by the way.’
    My heart jolted a little until I remembered it was only Max and not an
actual
date. There was no need for nerves or butterflies or anything else that accompanied a first date with someone. I found that strangely comforting and a bit sad at the same time.
    I walked through to the living room. I saw Max’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured.
    I blushed and pushed some stray hairs out of my face. The dress looked like something that some Best Actress nominee should be wearing to the Oscars. It was far too beautiful for a wedding reporter from Manchester.
    ‘You look smart,’ I