Page 150 of The Wedding Menu

Releasing a breath, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” Her head drops forward but she quickly pulls herself back up straight. “I was embarrassed. Plus, it’s not like it changes anything. What I was doing was so fucked-up. I just couldn’t take her constant nagging, and one day she asked to see your location, and…” She shrugs. “And after that, it all got out of control. She stopped with her constant criticism, and I let it… happen.”

I nod, her visible discomfort filling me with sadness. I guess I should have figured something was wrong, because although she’s definitely self-centered and overbearing, she’s never been mean. During the last year? She was evil.

“Anyway, I know it’s not that great of an apology. The truth is there isn’t much to excuse myself with. I behaved like shit, and I hurt you.” She presses her lips together tightly, blinking again and again. “Since finding out about what you were going through with Frank, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I put you through all that while you were struggling. Then the restaurant happened, and I…” She pulls her hair up. “And I had no idea! I should have noticed, Ames. I should have said something. I should have—”

“Martha,” I say, pulling her fingers apart when she clenches her hands together. “I appreciate your apology. I understand better than anyone what the pressure and stress of planning a wedding can do to your head.”

“Yeah, it can definitely do a number.” She chuckles bitterly. “It’s kind of ironic, though. I stole your wedding, and we both end up with weddings we hate.”

“Why didn’t you plan something else after Trev’s mom passed?” I ask. It hurts to think she hates her wedding. I know it could have been me, but it wasn’t, and the thought of settling for less than what I want seems unrealistic today.

“Because most of the deposits were already paid. They let us change the date because of the circumstances, but we would have lost too much money if we’d just withdrawn.”

Thinking of all the money I lost with my non-wedding, I nod. “I’m sorry, M.”

“Don’t be. I’m not getting married today.”

My jaw drops. “Come again?”

“I’m not getting married.” She stands, and with the same fidgety attitude she looks to the right. “This wedding has always been yours, and it wouldn’t feel right.”

If someone’s making a study on runaway brides, I’d like to see the numbers. It can’t be as common as it is in our happy little group. “Okay, but… does Trev know? Are you guys okay? What about the guests? Have they been informed, or—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says distractedly. Trevor comes out of the side corridor, then gestures to her to come. Holding my arm, she pulls me to my feet and begins walking. “Let’s go.”

“What? Where?” I ask. If the wedding isn’t happening and she’s okay, I kind of have somewhere else to be right now. Which is wherever Ian is.

“I need help packing all the makeup and the dress and the shoes and—” She reaches a door, then opens it and smiles. “I know this doesn’t make up for everything, but I hope it’s a start.” She throws herself at me and squeezes me, and after a kiss on my cheek, she gently pushes me forward. As I turn to what looks like the bridal room, my breath catches. It’s filled—filled with flowers. I’m no expert, but they look like daisies, and there must be hundreds of them. Beautiful, long-stemmed yellow daisies in transparent vases scattered all around the room, the scent of spring and grass so intense, I can almost taste it.

And standing in the middle of the room… “Ian,” I whisper as I take a step closer. God almighty, I might faint. He looks perfect in a linen jacket and pants, with a crisp off-white cotton shirt and a dark green tie. His hair is styled back, his beard freshly groomed, his smile still the most beautiful thing about him. That, and the tattoos I can’t see right now. “What are you doing here?”

His grin looks genuine. I don’t know how it could be with what happened yesterday, but he looks excited, and it’s like a balm on burned flesh: soothing and fresh, and boy, do I want to kiss him. “Hi, beautiful.”

I turn to Martha, who disappears into the corridor with a giggle. I look around the room again, then walk toward Ian. “What’s… what’s all this?” When I reach him, my lips find his for a kiss. Then another. And another. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“So have I.” He presses his nose to my forehead and breathes in. “Sorry I vanished like that.”

“It’s completely fine.” My hands snake over his shoulders, and with my arms on each side of his neck, I look down at his linen suit. “How are you doing?”

“I’m…” His hands rub my arms. “…working on it, I guess. But if it’s okay with you, I don’t want to talk about my father right now.”

“Taboo topic?”

He chuckles. “Just for a minute or two.” Leaning backward enough so that he can look into my eyes, he whispers, “Amelie, you have something of mine.”

When his eyes dart to my chest, my fingers close around the ring hanging under my dress. His eyes follow the movement, and with a devastatingly gorgeous smile he whispers, “May I?”

All I can do is nod. He reaches out and fumbles with the clasp of my necklace, unable to see what he’s doing as he looks into my eyes, his face only a few inches from mine. The smell of his aftershave is so comforting, I could just melt against him, and that’s even truer as he withdraws his arms, having successfully unfastened the necklace, and sweetly kisses my cheek.

My hands shake as he leans back and his fingers lace with mine, his mom’s ring in his hands. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but he might be proposing.Ian. Proposing.

He slides the ring off the thin chain, then inhales, holding it between his thumb and index finger. “All right. Look, I know this ring is horrifying, but I’ll get you another one. A normal one. Whatever you want.”

Shaking my head, I look down at the ring that’s been my only connection to Ian for so long. “Unpopular opinion. I love your mom’s ring. Yes, it’s a little…” I study the white diamond sitting at the center. “It’s peculiar. But it’s your mom’s. It reminds me of her; it reminds me to be more like her.”

“More of a ‘Fuck it’ attitude?”

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