Page 94 of The Wedding Menu

“Okay. I’ve got my eyes closed. How are you feeling, beautiful?”

“I’ve been better,” I grumble. There’s a relieved smile on his face, but as he leans forward, it turns into a disgusted sneer. “Ugh. The smell. It’s like a cow’s living in here.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“How are we doing this?”

I sigh, looking around. “I don’t… Can you pick me up?”

“I just broke a door down. You bet your beautiful ass I can pick you up,” he says smugly, then holds out both hands. “But you’re gonna have to guide me.”

“Yeah. Not—just a little down. No, not that hand; the other one. No, this hand is—” His open palm presses on my face.

“Oh. Hi, Amelie.”

“Can you be serious, Ian?”

A chortle escapes his lips. “Right now? Not really.”

“Just help me up!”

“How’s this?” He puts one arm under my legs, then the other behind my back. With little effort, he picks me up and, oh my God, he’s holding me against him and I’m so fucking naked. “Okay. I’ll set you down now. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, it’s already much better now that I’m not squished inside the tub. Just pass me my dress, please.”

He smiles sweetly at the defeated tone of my voice, and I set my naked feet on the floor. “Where is it?”

“Behind you, to your—”

He turns around and takes a sure step, his face hitting the extended mirror. After letting out a groan, he sighs deeply. “Yeah, I’m opening my eyes.”

“Look at my face—onlyat my face.”

“Okay.” He grabs my dress, and as he turns around, his eyes find mine immediately. Holding a hand to my cheek, he whispers, “Are you in a lot of pain?”

I shake my head. “No. Really, I’m okay.”

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“Please.”

He smiles, then leans forward and drops a couple of gentle kisses on my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes run down to my breasts. “Shit—sorry.”

“Ian!”

“I’m sorry! They’re calling to me!” He holds a hand over his eyes, chuckles sputtering out of his mouth. “They’re evil, Amelie. They’re evil and gorgeous and out to get me.”

“Just help me put on the damn dress.”

He presses his lips tightly together and uncovers his eyes, his face tense as he stares straight at me. Now that I’m dressed, he picks me up once again. I’d like to protest, but walking on my buttery feet and no shoes would probably land me face-first on the floor.

Silently, he carries me to the bed, where he sets me down. He hands me a towel, and I clean off as much of the butter as I can. As he leans with his back against the wall and watches me, he’s not smiling anymore, but he doesn’t look upset either. I wonder if what happened tonight convinced him not toeverhave sex with me.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask as I put the towel down. Ian has never once been this silent before, and it’s freaking me out.

Peals of laughter erupt from him, and he bends over for a second before straightening back up and trying to contain his amusement. “Just… I can’t stop thinking of butter pickup lines.”

“Don’t you dare,” I say, relief mixing with embarrassment.

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