Page 29 of The Wedding Menu

I frown down at the phone. What does he mean?

Ian:

I need to see the dress.

There’s a pinch of excitement in my stomach at the idea of showing Ian—or anyone, really—my dress. But he’ll tell me it’s the most beautiful dress in the world and looks made for me, because it is. I’m honestly not in the mood to hear any of it.

Ian:

You know I can be relentless, Amelie…

“Fine, fine.” I open the cloud and tap on the wedding folder, subcategory “dress.” I have measurements, pictures, price. Every-thing’s on here. With a nostalgic smile, I open the picture and send it.

Amelie:

Here. Let your eyes feast, but don’t you dare tell me it’s beautiful or I’ll kick you. I’m NOT in the mood.

I wait for the three dots to appear, but it takes forever, so I open the picture.

This whole thing is so stupid.

Ian’s right. A wedding is just a party, a wedding dress only a pretty, expensive white thing. I don’t know why I care about it so much, why I always have. It was my favorite game when we were kids. Martha and I would set all our plush toys along her parents’ corridor and wear fluffy white towels, with veils made of toilet paper andbouquets of dried flowers her mom had by the entrance. We’d walk down the aisle and get married to each other. Then we’d start again.

But I’m not a kid anymore, so it shouldn’t matter. I should hate the idea of all those people watching me pronounce private words to my fiancé, asking us to kiss or give speeches. Of turning such intimate moments and feelings into a spectacle for others to enjoy.

I should recognize that, though beautiful, this is nothing but a dress. A long-sleeved wedding dress with a crystal-beaded waistband and jeweled buttons down the illusion neckline. Nothing more than a gorgeous dress.

For some reason, this is so much more than a dress.

Ian:

Meh.

“Meh?” I straighten, a river of hot rage flowing through me. “What does he mean,meh?”

Amelie:

Have you no taste, sir?

Ian:

It’s all right.

Amelie:

All right?! Did you see the waistband? The appliqués?

Ian:

The what?

Amelie:

The white flower- and vine-looking things on the gown.

Ian:

They’re fine.

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