Page 99 of The Wedding Menu

“Seriously, Ian? This is all about you trying to prove a point?”

“If I’m wrong, then…” He points to the shop with a flourish, then offers me a challenging look.

Unbelievable.

I glare at him and cross my arms. I exhale deeply, muttering, “Fine,” then begin walking. I’m not sure what game he’s playing, but I’ll give credit where credit is due.

This really isn’t romantic.

Ian relaxes into the white love seat, brushing some hair off his forehead as he folds his hands over his stomach. “So tell me, Amelie. What’s your favorite color? Do you have any siblings? What’s your zodiac sign?”

“Ugh.” I keep scrolling through the dozen dresses our shop attendant, John, has put together for me based on my preferences. “Please, spare me.”

“Fine. But I’ve got to tell you. No first-date questions, no third-date sex. You’re making this unnecessarily hard on me.”

“Dating an engaged woman is no easy task.” I shoot a glare at him. “Especially when you trick her into wedding dress shopping.”

“It really isn’t. You wouldn’t even let me buy flowers.” He smiles, observing me in the usual unsettling way. I can’t exactly figure out what that look means, but it squeezes something deep inside of me.

Eager to avoid his stare, I turn back to the white dresses and ask, “What’s with the flowers? You bring them up all the time.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. ‘Tell Frank to buy you flowers’ and ‘Did Frank get you flowers?’?” I shrug. “You always ask.”

He grins, rubbing a hand on his chin, then shakes his head. “Flowers are the one thing people never get for themselves. They have no purpose except to bring joy to the person you give them to. To make them feel special, loved, and important.” Crossing his legs, he sets his eyes on me. “It’s one of those little things that aren’t little at all.”

He’s right. Flowers are an unmistakable sign of appreciation. “Is that another one of your unpopular opinions?” I ask.

“My mom’s, actually, but I agree. Flowers are the ultimate love gesture.” I watch him, waiting for him to continue, and as he uncomfortably rubs both hands over his jeans, he smiles. “But what do I know, huh? I’m on a date with an engaged woman.”

“Afriendlydate.”

“Right. So how about this one?” He stands and studies the dress I’m currently looking at, then nods. “I like it. Those things are cute.”

“Appliqués.”

“Ah. That’s what that is. Even after PFP, I wasn’t sure I’d understood.” He grabs the last one from the row, then shows it to me. “This one’s even better, though. Betterapplits.”

Before I can correct him, my eyes land on the dress in his hands. Long sleeves, a crystal-beaded waistband, and jeweled buttons down the illusion neckline. When I look up to see his self-satisfied grin, the breath is kicked out of my stomach. “Ian…”

Isn’t that my—Martha’sdress?

“If the first question to come out of those pretty red lips includes the name Martha, I will legitimately lose my mind.” He points his index finger at me. “So choose your next words carefully.”

I meet his glare with one of my own. He might not realize this, but what he’s holding is currently someone else’s wedding dress. Wondering how he got it out of Martha’s claws isn’t a stupid question.

Without staring directly at the dress, as if it’ll cast a spell over me, I cross my arms. “All right. Who was crazy enough to give it to you?”

With a smile lighting up his face again, the whole shop looks brighter. He holds the dress against his chest and gently swings his hips. “I told the designer I’ve always dreamed of wearing thissleeve-something-shaped-something dress at my wedding, and she—”

“Ian,” I scold.

“Fine. I was honestly trying to spare your feelings.” He sets the dress down and comes a few steps closer. “When I told the stylist what had happened with the dress and your wedding, she sold it to me. Didn’t need convincing or anything.” He shrugs. “That’s howdepressingthis whole wedding drama is.”

“Depressing? How about a true show of friendship?”

He bites his lower lip, his eyes searching the ceiling as he considers my words. “Nope,” he says as his blue eyes find mine again. “Just depressing.”

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