Page 136 of The Wedding Menu

“So what’s going on?” he asks, his forehead creased. “Why did you look so uncomfortable with my dad?”

You can do this, Amelie.

Casually shrugging, I move past him and go to the kettle. “You know. I’ve said things about your dad, your restaurant. And my father—he hates him.”

“That’s it?” he asks as he comes to stand next to me. His eyes scout my face, probably looking for signs I’m lying. “Is that why you were being weird?”

“It’s just… complicated.”

His fingers wrap around my wrist when I move to grab the bottled water on the nightstand. “Amelie?” he asks, his shoulders squared and his brow low and determined. “I know we haven’t really… talked. About us and what happens after tomorrow. But…”

Shaking my head, I walk back to him and set the kettle down. “No, your father has nothing to do with us. I understand that, I promise.”

“Do you? Because it doesn’t look like it.”

Great. Now, instead of suspecting there’s something more than what meets the eye, he thinks I don’t want to be with him because of his dad. I swear to God, I’m the worst liar in the world.

Running my hands along his arms, I look up at Ian’s gorgeous face. At his high cheekbones and the perfect curve of his lips. At the long lashes encircling his eyes, the freckle on his forehead. He’s my perfect.

“Look, I know our families haven’t always—”

My lips crash on his, my fingers desperately gripping his hair when he leans back a little. I wrap my other arm around him, and in a second his shoulders relax, his mouth responding to mine as he pulls me closer, then holds me in place.

It makes it better. It reminds me of who I’m doing this for. Us.

“Hmm—melie,” he mumbles, but without giving him an inch of space, I pull him to me and step back until we reach the bed, where my fingers fumble with the button of his jeans. “Amelie, wait.”

“Ineedyou,” I whisper as he keeps his face just out of reach. His eyes dart to my lips, and after a second of hesitation, he kisses me, his tongue swiping mine as we lie in bed.

Rising to his knees, Ian grasps the sides of my top and pulls it over my head. I do the same with his shirt, the intricate black tattoos on his arms distracting me and slowing my movements.

I lean forward to whisper in his ear, “I want you in my mouth.”

He releases a shuddering breath, then kisses my shoulder. “That can absolutely be arranged.” The sting of his teeth biting my neck fades away as he licks the same spot. “Get on your knees, beautiful.”

Eagerly, I kneel on the red-carpeted floor. He unbuttons his jeans, his eyes studying mine, then takes his cock out with a breath of relief. I can feel the warmth coming off it, and my mouth pools with saliva at the thought of giving him pleasure this way. Of seeing him lose control because of me.

Once my mouth closes around him, he groans, his muscles contracting as all restraint fades from his face.

Unpopular opinion? It’s better than an orgasm.

My eyes open, the alarm of my phone deafening me from the bedside table. I lunge for it, then confusedly look for the snooze button, until I realize it’s not the alarm but a phone call. Ian.

Turning to the side, I see he’s not where he should be, and I’m immediately struck with panic. After Ian and I had dinner with Barb, we slept together in his room last night, so where is he?

“Hello,” I say grouchily before clearing my throat.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” I pull the sheet around me, then step on the fluffy floor. His tone’s definitely off, and it immediately sends me spiraling. Walking to the chair, I find my clothes—which last night were thrown everywhere around the room—neatly folded. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

There’s a long sigh. “We need to talk.”

Holding the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I step into my panties, tugging them up clumsily. My throat closes up,and I have a feeling I’ll want to be dressed for the next part of this. “Ian? Are you dumping me by phone?”

“Dumping you?” he scoffs. “No. Why would I dump you?”

“You said, ‘We need to talk,’?” I scold as I maneuver myself into my shorts and hop on one foot to pull the legs up. “That’s the universal code for ‘I’m about to break up with you.’?”

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