Page 154 of The Wedding Menu

“Tattoos?”

“Bold and black, all over his arms!” Barb shrieks. “I hope he does his legs next.”

Snorting into the glass, I throw a look at the hairdresser, who smiles down at me before curling another lock of my hair. “Guys,” I scold as I watch them through the mirror. “It’s my future husband you’re talking about.” Setting the glass down, I sigh. “Plus, he’s more than hot. He’s sensitive, smart, talented, hilarious.”

“He really is,” Barb agrees.

There’re a few seconds of appreciative silence, then Martha throws her head back. “And he’ssooooohot.”

“Wait until you see the tattoos!” Barb explodes.

“And his ass! It’s sculpted!”

“Martha!” I click my tongue. “Don’t objectify my husband.”

“I’ll stop once he’s your husband.”

When I mock-glare at her, Martha raises her hands in defeat, and Barb claps her hands. “Oh, you guys. I’ve missed the two of you bickering.”

“We did too,” Martha says.

It’s weird. It does feel like we’ve missed a huge chunk of each other’s lives, but also like we’re back to being us. Maybe it’s because of the happiness goggles I’m wearing at the moment, but for the first time in a year it’s like everything is back to what it’s supposed to be. Like I’ve reached the destination I was always supposed to get to.

Barb shifts on the couch, turning to me. “So about today…”

“Yes. We need to talk pictures,” Martha interjects. “With the photographer, I planned—”

She’s interrupted by a knock. Chugging the champagne, Martha stands, walks across the room, and opens the door. Her body straightens, and although she’s facing away from us, I can imagine her eyes widening. “Hello.”

Oh, God. What now? If William Roberts enters the room, I might just set this farm on fire.

“Hello, Martha. Is Amelie in here?”

“Dad?” I call.

Shit. Just how sad is it that I completely forgot about my dad? I didn’t think of calling him, of letting him know about my wedding today. Sure, it’s been a whirlwind of emotions, but that’s mydad.

With my happiness slightly dampened, I gesture to the hairdresser to give me a second and stand just as he walks in.

He turns to me, his eyes scanning my dress, and I squirm a little on the spot. Though I wish I could say I don’t crave his approval, I don’t think I’ll ever truly stop. I don’t let it crush me when I don’t get it, but I still can’t help but want it.

“Wow, Amelie.” He looks up at me, his stern expression just a little less daunting. “You look…” Glancing at Martha and Barb, he clears his voice. “We need to talk about a couple of things.”

Okay, maybe it stilldoescrush me a little.

With sympathetic glances, Martha and Barb leave the room, followed by the hairdresser. My dad waits for the door to close, then ackwardly rubs his hands together. “So… Ian Roberts.”

I almost feel bad for him. He’s far from perfect, but his daughter marrying a Roberts is probably his worst nightmare. “Yeah, Dad. He’s—”

“He’s a good man.” He quickly looks away. “A man deeply in love.”

I swallow, trying not to let my emotions show. Though he hasn’t explicitly said it, I think this is his way to let me know he approves, making it the first time he approves of anything I’ve done. “Yeah, he—he is.”

“The thing I wanted to talk to you about… I…” His hand scratches a spot over his ear as he stares down at the flooruncomfortably. “The head chef position is yours if you want it,” he eventually says with a frown.

Wow.

How can I say no to such an appealing offer? It’s like he’s doing me a favor—like he feels forced to give me something to make me happy.

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