Page 111 of The Wedding Menu

Among many other things he doesn’t do. That’s what Ian thinks, and he’s right. Frank is supposed to support me, to be there for me. And he’s not. He’s living his single life while I’m always alone. Except, once again, I’m notreallyalone. “If you’re about to suggest I break up with him—” I start, but he quickly cuts me off.

“No, Amelie. I’m suggesting you get his ass back there, sit him down, and tell him you won’t let him touch you ever again unless he considers your needs. I’m suggesting you tell your fiancé that if he doesn’t pull his act together, he’s going to lose you. And he won’t manage to win you back.” He lets out a disdainfulhumph. “It’s inexplicable how he landed you in the first place.”

“Maybe,” I whisper. Right now, talking to Frank is the last thing I want to do. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s your birthday, Amelie,” Ian insists, and with a chuckle adds, “and you deserve a fucking orgasm.”

My head feels light as the room spins around me, and for a second I smile up at the ceiling. Maybe at the absurdity of the situation. “You’re right. I deserve an orgasm.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists.

Standing, I walk to my wardrobe, open my underwear-and-socks drawer, fish around, and grab my vibrator. Once I’m backon the bed, my heart is throbbing out of my chest. I’m not drunk enough to blame this on the alcohol: I think I just lost my mind.

Or, rather, I’m finally making sense.

“Do you think I could… do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make myself come.”

Silence. I wait, my hand tightly wrapped against the small pink silicone bullet. If he says no, I’ll die of embarrassment.

“You want to… now?”

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“With me?”

“Yes.”

“Here? On the phone?”

“Y-yes?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course—” He sighs. “Wait, no, Amelie, you’re drunk. Tomorrow—”

“I don’t care about tomorrow.”

“Right now. But Frank—”

“Please, Ian,” I say in a low voice as I tighten my hold on the vibrator. “Don’t think about Frank, or what happens tomorrow, or…” I let out a quick puff of air. “It’s just you and me and right now. Tomorrow this will probably be a bad idea, but… right now, me and you? Is it a bad idea?”

“No. You and I are never a bad idea,” he says in a husky voice that sends a wave of pressure down into my stomach. With a groan, he insists, “Amelie, don’t tempt me. I don’t have the strength to resist you.”

“Is that you trying to change my mind?” I laugh. “Because the thought of being irresistible to you is more than a little hot.”

“So is the thought of you masturbating. We’re even.”

“Ian…” I whisper.

“Don’t say whatever you’re about to say.”

“I’m wet.”

He groans, then sighs, then groans again for good measure.

“Your voice makes me wet. You make me—”

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