Page 149 of The Wedding Menu

We approach the entrance of the venue. “Ian wanted us to leave, but you were still there, and with Martha’s wedding today…”

“So where is he?”

“I don’t know.” He said he needed to go and that he’d call me,but he hasn’t yet. He sent a text last night saying that he loves me and that he was settling things with his lawyer and dealing with sponsors and journalists and curious friends. The web’s already filled with articles, and people keep contacting me to hear my side of it, to give an interview or make a statement. It’s even bigger than theYummagazine ordeal.

Once again, my life’s on everybody’s lips, and I’m loving it as much as the first time: not at all.

“I asked him to come today, but I’m not sure he will. He didn’t answer, and if you knew him, you’d know that’s concerning at best.”

“He can’t be in a good place right now.”

No, he’s most definitely not. His dad and his business—that’s what he lost yesterday. And with that, he lost his best friend, his job, his reputation, his mom’s dream. Wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, he can’t possibly be doing well, and as soon as my responsibilities today are dealt with, I’ll be by his side. I’ll pick up the pieces one by one and put him back together.

“And how are you dealing with all of it?” My eyes meet Barb’s compassionate gaze as she pats my back. “It can’t be easy for you either. All of that plus all of”—she looks around—“this.”

I smile, delighting in the Kent Farm, which I dreamed would be my own wedding location for the longest time. “I’m surprisingly fine. If anything, last year taught me to deal with high stress levels.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

With a chuckle, we enter the barn. The location is mostly empty, apart from the people working here, setting up the bar and bringing flowers to the other side of the property.

“There you are,” Martha says, coming out of a corridor to our right. She’s still in her regular clothes, no makeup, her blond hairin a messy bun. The wedding won’t happen for hours, but shouldn’t she be getting ready? “How was the trip?”

Barb and I exchange a look as Martha distractedly fidgets with her engagement ring, her eyes moving around the room behind us.

“It was… good. Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. No. Yeah.” She smiles briefly, then gently rests her hand on mine. “A coworker sent me an article about you and your restaurant. It’s insane—everything that man did. Will you be okay?”

All right, something’s definitely wrong. It’s Martha’s wedding day, she’s had a full thirty seconds with us, and she’s still not talking about herself.

This is freaky. I hate it.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Where’s Trev?”

“Somewhere around here. I don’t know.”

“And the makeup artist? The photographer? The hairdresser?” Barb asks, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re here.” Martha’s eyes meet mine. “I wanted to talk to you before we start with all the wedding craziness.”

“Sure,” I say, tentatively. Barb says she’ll go outside and call Ryan, and once she’s gone, Martha and I settle at a small table by the side of the room. “What’s up?”

Biting her lower lip, she looks down at the table. Her foot taps against the floor, nervous energy bouncing off her as she hesitates. “So there’s a lot I need to cover, but…”

My muscles stiffen, my mood worsening by the second. “What happened?”

She rubs the side of her neck, her green eyes lowering. “Nothing… well, not nothing. I just… Look, this isn’t the wedding I want, okay?” She drags a hand over her face. “You know I’ve always dreamed of something much different. But… but then Trev’s mom…”

“Trev’s mom?”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I know she’s dead, and she’s my fiancé’s mom, but that woman was an absolute bitch.”

“Martha, I’m not following. What does Trev’s mom have to do with anything?”

“She wasn’t okay with my Vegas-inspired wedding. With upside-down keg drinking and Jell-O shots and fireworks. ‘It’s not classy,’ she said.” Her lips twist, her eyes rolling. “As if her son were the king of England or something. She loved your taste, and I wanted to impress her, and… and I fucked up.”

Oh. Well, that makes much more sense than Martha in a white wedding dress, for sure.

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