Page 114 of The Wedding Menu

Until out of my lips, again and again, comes the same word.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Until It’s Morning

— ONEWEEK TOAMELIE’SWEDDING—

Silence. Well, not silence, but breathing. My heartbeat is pulsating in every inch of my body, every cell of my skin. Drying the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, I swallow.

What did I do?

I glance at the phone, tight between my fingers, then burst into hysterical sobs as my stomach knots and my lungs struggle to fill with air.

“Amelie…” Ian says in a choked-up voice.

He can’t say my name. Not after how he said it a minute ago; not after what we did. How do I come back from this? How could I have sex with another man twenty minutes after my breakup? How do I live with the fact that it was the best sex of my life?

“I’m such a horrible person,” I cry.

“No, Amelie. You’re not horrible.” He sighs, his voice unrecognizable now that it’s so sad and hollow. “You’re lonely, exhausted, and a little drunk. None of that makes you horrible.”

“I—my wedding was supposed to be in a week.”

That’s all I can think about. A week from today was supposedto be the happiest day of my life. I was going to stand in front of a crowd of people and tell Frank the reasons I love him, then promise to do so for the rest of my life.

And I had sex with Ian twenty minutes after our breakup.

“Do youwantto get married to him, Amelie?”

I bring a hand to my face, sobs still shaking my lips. I thought I did. That all I wanted was to be the head chef for La Brasserie, that all I needed was to be Frank’s wife. But now it feels like the only person I want is the one who won’t have me the way I need him to.

“He doesn’t need to know.” His voice sinks lower. “You had a fight. You broke up. And besides, you were in an open relationship, so you’ve done nothing wrong.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my head pounding. Hearing his thin voice as he says those words might just break my heart. I know that I’ll need to make some hard decisions, but all I can think about right now, at three thirty in the morning and drunk out of my mind, is that I’m hurting the best person I know. “Ian, I’m so sorry.”

“I knew what I was doing,” he says with a long sigh. “I knew you’d go back to him. Don’t feel sorry for me, because I’ve done this to myself.”

God.What am I doing? Ian doesn’t deserve this—doesn’t deserve to have me plummeting into his life and causing him pain.

I need to stay away from him. To let him live his life in peace. I should have never called.

With a harsher sob, I glance at my phone and hang up.

It immediately vibrates in my hand, his name blinking on the phone through the wobbly filter of my tears. When it stops, the screen lights up with a text.

Ian:

Amelie, pick up. Please.

He calls again. Again I sob. Again I don’t answer.

Please, I’m sorry. I fucked up.

How didhefuck up? Of all the people involved in this, he’s the one who’sleastto blame.

Answer the phone. I know we’re done, but let me hear your voice one last time.

He’s right. We’re done. Getting married has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and being with Ian would mean giving that up. He hates weddings, hates marriage, and he’ll never settle down. And what do I do? I go and fall for him.

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