Page 140 of The Wedding Menu

Throwing a look at him over the light of the candle between us, I shrug. Though I don’t intend to fight my dad’s war, I’m certainly not fighting William’s either. “No rupture. It was just time for me to move on.”

“That easy?”

“That easy,” I confirm. It surely was that easy for my dad, since he barely reacted to the news.

He tilts his head, then takes a sip of red wine, his eyes burning into mine until he sets it down. “And when will the grand opening be?”

“The date isn’t set yet,” I lie. I think he knows, because he continues eating with a smug smile as he observes me.

“And your menu? What do you plan to—”

“William,” I say, offering a smile to balance out my rudeinterruption. “We both know I’ll either lie or refuse to share any detail about my upcoming venture.”

“Fair enough.” He gestures to the waiter, who comes closer and begins removing the appetizers from the table. “So you won’t tell me anything about your restaurant.”

“I will not.”

“And you won’t tell me what happened with your father.”

“Definitely not.”

He raises both hands in defeat. “All right, Amelie. Tell me about you. Who’s Amelie Preston, besides her father’s daughter and a soon-to-be restaurateur?”

The question nearly sends me reeling.

For the longest time, I’ve been Frank’s girlfriend. I’ve been one of La Brasserie’s chefs. Martha’s best friend. Then Ian became a huge part of me until he wasn’t anymore. Now, I don’t know who I am.

I guess I’m Amelie, sharing dinner with someone I probably should avoid at all costs.

Amelie who was left at the altar.

Amelie whose father let her go without batting an eye.

Amelie who made the wrong decision.

“I—I need to use the restroom,” I say, moving my chair back and rising.

William sets his napkin down and, with a nod, points behind him. “Second door to the—”

I glance at him, but his eyes aren’t on my face. They’re just a touch south of it—enough to immediately cause me to panic, thinking I might be flashing him with a nip slip. But when I look down, ready to cover up, I notice the long silver chain I keep around my neck has escaped from underneath my shirt, and what William sees is an engagement ring.

Yellow topaz tear-shaped stones around a central white diamond on a thick gold band. Like a yellow daisy.

The ring that Ianalmostgave me.

I slide it back under my shirt and offer him a circumstantial smile. For a few seconds, his eyes roam left and right, his lips parted. God, how pathetic. He must know I’m not married, because he’s utterly shocked. I clear my throat. “Second door to the…”

“Left. To the left.”

Politely, I nod and walk away, cursing myself in every French and English word that can be used for the occasion. I enter the bathroom, taking stock of its black-and-gold marble sinks, rendering it just as eccentric as everything else. I step in front of the mirror, throwing a disgruntled look at my flushed cheeks and sunken eyes. Even with makeup, I’ve been able to cover only part of the misery I’ve been through in the last eight months. And this heat isn’t helping either.

After splashing some water on my wrists and dabbing a tissue over my face to dry up the thin layer of sweat covering it, I leave the bathroom and make my way back to the table. William smiles, but something’s definitely off, and though I certainly don’t owe him an explanation, I’d rather say something now than be surprised by his question later.

“I’m not married,” I say as I avoid his gaze. “Just… just in case you were wondering.”

“You’re not?”

This time I focus on his dark eyes and shake my head.