Page 57 of The Wedding Menu

“Ames?”

I turn to Barbara, whose gaze moves between me and Ian.

“Should we…?”

“Right, yes.” Ian clears his throat. “Let’s… let’s just all try to get along.”

“I don’t think you need to tellme.” He throws me a dubious look, and my stiff smile falls. “Seriously? Did you miss the way she’s been treating me since we met?”

“No, I didn’t. But Ella, she’s—”

“Passionate,” I say mockingly. “I got it. But passion is for the bedroom, not seminars, and she shouldn’t direct it at me.”

His eyes squint, and his posture stiffens. “Jealousy, Amelie? After everything? How’s Frank, by the way? I don’t expect we’ll see too much of him around here, huh?”

Wait—what?Frank? With wide eyes, I glance at Barb, the beating of my heart slowing until it’s like a faint knocking in the back of my mind.

Ian doesn’t know. He has no idea Frank and I aren’t together. How is that possible? It was right there, in the article. With the most blatant unprofessionalism I’ve ever experienced,Yummagazine mentioned all my recent failures, my relationship included.

My eyes widen. It’s obvious, yet somehow I completely missed it.

Ian hasn’t read the article.

“Don’t make that face,” he says. “If Frank turns out to be husband of the year, by all means, apologize to him for me.”

“Actually, Ian, you should know that—”

“I should knownothing, Amelie. Let’s just focus on this.” Pointing his pen at the paper, he turns to Barb. “So, where shall we begin?”

A British Snake

— FIVEMONTHS TOAMELIE’SWEDDING—

Kicking the door closed, I glance at my reflection in the entryway mirror. My hair’s a tangled mess atop my head after the quick but exhausting jog I just went on, and the cold fall wind has my cheeks burning. “Can I ask you something?”

Ian’s voice crackles through the phone, warm as if he’s the most relaxed he’s ever been. “If you don’t, this’ll turn out to be an incredibly dull conversation.”

“You know, some people just say yes.”

“Incredibly dull people,” he says. “What’s the question?”

With a shake of my head, I walk down the hall to the kitchen. I’m not exactly comfortable discussing this with anyone, but is it crazy that I’d go to Ian before Martha or Barb? I don’t feel judged when I talk to him. Not ever. Or like I’m interrupting something more important.

“Do you ever not—hmm, if a man doesn’t feel like…” I roll my eyes and open the fridge. “What’s the best way to make him want to,you know…”

Ian clears his throat. “Some people just say ‘have sex.’?”

“I’m serious, Ian.”

“So… Frank isn’t putting out?”

I grab a bottle of water and head to the living room, flopping onto the couch. The black leather is cold against my sweaty thighs, and it isn’t by far the most uncomfortable thing going on. Frank and I haven’t seen each other in a month, but even before he moved out… things weren’t exactlyhot. Physical contact between us had already been at a depressing low for a while.

But I’m trying this new thing where, instead of letting the thought send me crashing into a ball on the floor, I fight for my relationship. He said sex between us was boring, so I’ll just make it not boring.

It might sound horribly desperate, but it’s not. It’s onlymoderatelydesperate.

“Is that it?” he insists.

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