Page 129 of The Wedding Menu

“?‘I’m sorry. I can’t’?” Ian asks as his hand travels up and down my side, his forearm on my back, squishing me against his naked chest.

I nod, my fingers playing with the short, light hairs sprinkled across his pecs. He listened to the first part of my story during the shower, then we moved back to the bed to do some more of that not-talking from before. It was glorious.

“That’s what the note said.”

“Shit. What does that mean?”

I shrug, tracing the tattoos of little triangles that circle the midpoint of his forearm. “I never asked. But my guess is… ‘Sorry, I can’t marry you.’?”

He clicks his tongue, then presses his mouth to my sweaty forehead over and over. “He couldn’t make up his mind about it before?”

Beaming so hard, I’m pretty sure I’m irreparably straining my cheeks, I look up at him and greet his lips with mine. “It’s fine, Ian.”

“No, it’s notfine. He put you through hell for six months, Amelie, only to leave you at the altar?” His jaw clenches. “And me? You know what I’ve been through since the day of your wedding, all because of that asshole?”

Feeling his muscles tensing under my touch, I hoist myself up and hold the blanket around me. I know it’s far fromfine, but at this moment I couldn’t care less. Ian’s lying in all his naked glory, half sculpture, half man, and that’s really all I intend to focus on for the foreseeable future. “It wasn’t his fault—well, not only.Ihurt you.”

“Hmm.” He hooks a finger in the blanket, then pulls until it falls down, leaving my body bare. “I know exactly how you can ask for forgiveness.”

“You don’t say.”

“It involves a lot of begging.”

I chuckle as he rises to a seating position and pins me down on the mattress.

“Lots of you on your knees.”

I breathe out sharply, then his lips are on mine, my hands pulling his hair and tracing his sturdy shoulders. I’d do close to anything for another chance with this man, but what he’s talking about, I’d do any day, anytime, for nothing at all.

“Then what happened?” His hand lingers over my ribs. “Martha dragged him back by his hair?”

“What do you mean?”

He leans back to look into my eyes. “Well, how did you end up getting married? When did you divorce?”

“What—” I shake my head. “What makes you think we got married?”

“You didn’t?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since. In fact, I believe the last words we said to each other were ‘Where the fuck are the keys?’ as we left for the wedding.”

His body stiffens over mine, his brows furrowing deeply. “You didn’t get married?”

“No. I told you: he was gone, and either way, I was going to tell him I wanted to call it off to be with you.” I put my hand onhis cheek, wanting him to go back to his usual self. “Took me long enough, but I got there.”

“You—” He searches my eyes. “You chose me?”

I nod. “I chose you unconditionally, and I’ll never change my mind.”

His eyes close for a moment, the tension leaving his body as he kisses me. I get it. Ella didn’t choose him when it came to it, and he thought I didn’t either. But I did, and it’s a decision I will never regret.

When he opens his eyes again, he settles next to me, his hand worriedly rubbing his jaw as he avoids looking at me. “But if you… if you never got married and wanted to be with me, then… why didn’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t know where to find you, Ian.” I offer him a sad grin. “I thought of hiring a PI, but it felt a little stalker-y. And I came to Mayfield to spend the day a few times, and I might have walked around the city looking for you like a pathetic—”

His stern voice cuts me off. “Amelie, you could have just called.”

“Right. I didn’t think about that,” I say with a playful smile that dies immediately when I notice his frown. “Ian, I…” I grab my phone from the nightstand, the chain of my necklace shifting and causing me to shiver against the cold metal. I settle next to him, then find our text conversation and show it to him. “I called. I texted. But you don’t receive any of it if you block someone’s number.”