This phone is live. Rocky and Grace marry at Elmore Court in June — step through their year, then begin your own.
Everything on this phone is real — their suppliers, their budget, their seating plan. Tap begin, and watch a senior planner hold a year.
Connect Google once and her office builds itself inside your Drive — contracts, quotes, sheets, her memory, in a folder you own. Then your wedding gets its own email address.
Their wedding has its own address. Copy her in, and the invoice is read, filed under the florist, the deposit flagged, the reply drafted — before the kettle's boiled.
Paid, promised, and actually yours — then the whole ledger pressed into a real Google Sheet in your Drive, refreshed whenever you ask. Facts, never verdicts.
Eighty-seven names kept as a sheet your caterer can open, the dietaries reconciled, the room drafted — and the two she'd keep apart, flagged before anyone sat them together.
The maid of honour holds the flowers; her mother, the timeline. Each carries their own key to their own door — and the hen stays behind one Grace cannot open.
Something said in March surfaces in May, unprompted. Sit-downs end in minutes, the day builds itself hour by hour — fourteen months of mornings, then the day.