Page 67 of The Wedding Menu

I sigh deeply, turn back to the couple a few tables away from us, then discreetly point at them. “You see that guy?”

“Dark hair, blue suit?”

“That’s the one.” The man grabs the woman’s hand, kisses it as she speaks, then whispers something back, his face radiating joy. “See how he looks at that woman? As if a piece of his soul belongs to her?”

“Yeah. It’s intense.”

“Sointense. And the way she looks at him too.” I pause for emphasis as the brunette woman stares dreamily into the man’s eyes. “It’s like they’re competing at who loves the other more.”

“Looks like they’re both winning.”

“It does.” There’s a moment of silence, and in it the thumps of my heart overpower the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses. It’s the only noise in my brain. “My unpopular opinion is… Frank doesn’t look at me like that. Not even… not even close.”

Ian says nothing.

“Unpopular opinion,” I continue. “He cares more about having fun than being with me. He never calls, and I’m planning thiswedding by myself. He’s selfish, and he’s definitely not being honest about his feelings. Not with me, and maybe not with himself either.” I inhale a quick breath, then power through. “Unpopular opinion. I’m scared, and I should be, because I don’t know when it happened or why, but I think he’s fallen out of love. I don’t know if it’ll last forever or if it’s just a phase. If he got comfortable and now he’s become complacent, or if he just doesn’t want to marry me or… or…”

Ian rests his hand on my forearm, lightly squeezing as his thumb rubs a spot on my skin. “I’m sorry, beautiful.”

I look into his eyes, almost hoping to catch him in a lie. To see that it doesn’t bother him in the least that my relationship is dying, but instead he’s quite thrilled. It’s stupid, of course, because that’d mean our friendship was nothing than a ruse to get me into bed. But for a second or two I want it. I want to seesomeonelove me.

“I believe you, Amelie. If you think something’s wrong, then something’s wrong.” His voice is as soft as cashmere, as warm as the spring sun, and at the accepting expression on his face, the dam I’ve put up to keep my tears at bay takes a serious hit. “But look”—his eyes dart left and right as he thinks—“those two,” he says, nudging his head toward the couple, “they’ve probably been together for a couple of weeks. I bet they won’t be together in—”

The man stands as the woman brings a spoonful of cake to her lips, then approaches a stroller to the right of him, which I didn’t notice until now, and takes out the most beautiful baby in a pink dress. He gently brings her to his chest, her little head resting on his shoulder as he bounces on the spot. Once again, in the woman’s eyes, there’s such an all-encompassing and consuming love, it’s hard to witness without feeling overwhelmed.

“Okay,” Ian says. “So nine months and a couple of weeks.”

When I chuckle, he does, too, and my sadness dwindles enough for me to cock my brow at him. “I don’t know, Ian. That girl looks older than two weeks old.”

“Three weeks tops.”

“I’m pretty sure she just spoke.”

“Look,” he says with a serious expression, “I know close to nothing about love. I told you my mom died young and my dad is my best friend, but he’s not exactly been lovey-dovey since.” When I nod, he keeps going. “As for women…” He forces a laugh. “The only one who lasted long enough was Ella, and she certainly didn’t love me.” With a sweeping gesture, he shakes his head. “My point is, I’m not the best person to tell you how your fiancé is supposed to look at you. What Icansay is…”

He hesitates.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think I…” He takes another look at the couple. “I don’t think I’d ever stop looking at you that way. If you were mine.” When I look away, he clears his voice. “?‘You’ as in—notyou. Just… the woman I love.”

My eyes bug out.

“Who is not—” He blinks, his mouth moving soundlessly. “I’m just saying. Hypothetically. A woman—any woman. No woman, really, because I—”

“You don’t want a girlfriend,” I interrupt with a smile.

“No. I mean yes. I don’t.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and slowly shakes his head. “That was painful for us both. How about I get you another drink?”

Sinking into my chair, I watch Ian walk to the counter, then wait for his turn to be served. He glances over his shoulder at me and smiles, so I tilt my head in a silent hello.

That smile. There’s something about it. It’s caring and full ofadoration, a smile that melts ice better than the sun itself. It takes over his whole face, his eyes alight and his lips stretched. He’s handsome at any given moment, but when he smiles, he’s bottled perfection.

Does he always smile like that, or is it only when he smiles at me? And even more importantly, how doIsmile athim?

The Baguette Humiliation

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