Page 152 of The Wedding Menu

Mywedding dress.

“I called Martha yesterday. I expected it would take a while to explain what a terrible friend she’s been to you, but I’d barely even opened my mouth when she started bawling.” He tucks some hair behind my ear. “She really missed you.”

“I missed her too,” I whisper.

“I know.” His smile widens. “She helped me figure out who to invite from your old guest list, then I had to find the damn dress and a suit similar to Trev’s, because that’s one skinny man and I couldn’t fit in his. Oh, and invite people myself. Honestly, without her, Ryan, and Trevor, I wouldn’t have pulled this off.”

My heart almost bursts. After feeling so lonely for so long, knowing that all these people I love have come together for me is enough for a lifetime of happiness. “You—you want to get married…today?”

He nods, his blue eyes flickering with excitement. “I get it now.” He pecks my head. “I’ve seen your perfect wedding, and itisperfect. The white ranunculus and floating candle centerpieces and the white theme. They’re perfect. And you deserve the perfect wedding, Amelie.”

Cupping my mouth, I bury my face in his chest. He’s wrong. So wrong. I deserve the perfect husband, and that’s Ian. Nothing else matters now. The flowers, the photographer, and the music are just the backdrop. My perfect wedding is with Ian.

Tears roll down my cheeks, his fingers rubbing the top of myhead. Thoughyesis the word he wants to hear, as I grasp my arms around his neck, I mutter an apology. He deserves it. He’s been loving me from day one, and it took me a year to get here.

“?‘Sorry’?” He leans back a little so he can look at me, a worried look in his eyes. “As in ‘Sorry, I’ll pass’?”

“I can’t wait another minute,” I say. “Please marry me.”

“Yes? Are you saying yes?”

I nod frantically, his eyes closing as he laughs nervously. “I’m saying fuck yes.”

“Fuck yes,” he repeats, his lips meeting mine. He kisses me, his tongue swiping against mine over and over again, then abruptly stops. “Are you sure? Is this really what you want? I need to know for sure before I tell you everything else.”

“I’m one hundred percent—wait. ‘Everything else’?”

He nods. “Before I do, I need to know that, regardless of everything else, you’d marry me today, right here, right now.” He raises my chin with two fingers. “Would you, Amelie?”

My stomach twists, an ominous feeling settling in my chest. Ian can certainly act like a complete lunatic when he wants to, and the timing of it is too casual not to involve his father. I just know Ian came up with something crazy. “What did you do?”

He shakes his head. “First, your answer.” He gives me a little smirk. “I need to know that what I’ll say next won’t send you on a self-sacrificing journey. That, regardless of what comes next, you’ll marry me.”

I extend my hand, spacing my fingers enough that he can fit the ring. Whatever Ian’s done, I’d make any sacrifice for him any day precisely because he wouldn’t want me to. And if this sacrifice includes marrying him, I don’t need any more context. I will. “Yes.”

With a radiant smile, he steps closer and holds my hand in his,and, cold against my skin, the metal slides along my finger until it’s secure. It’s a little heavy and definitely vintage, but it feels like an extension of myself, now that it’s on. “It’s perfect.”

“I think so too.”

My own smile wavers, and, lowering my hand, I look at Ian. He’s serious, which is never much of a good sign. “So… what’s ‘everything else’?”

“Right.” He scratches his forehead. “You heard what I announced yesterday. I imagine you have lots to say about it.”

About him deciding to close down the Marguerite? Yes, lots. That he doesn’t need to rush into making a decision, and that we can work out a solution together. That if he wants to keep it open, to forgive his father, I’ll never resent him for it. And that the world won’t miss Ella’s delicacies, though that’s not as necessary. Shrugging, I settle on “Are you sure that’s what makes you happy?”

Running a hand over his face, he looks down at the floor. His expression is similar to the one he wore yesterday, something between anger and fear. It might be defeat. “Amelie, my mom had this dream of a restaurant for us, her family. She kept telling me how one day I’d find this woman and she would work at the restaurant with all of us, and Brie would taste like cotton candy and…” He gestures wildly.

“She didn’t envision the possibility that you’d marry outside the restaurant world?”

“That’s whatIsaid: What if I fall in love with an astrophysicist or something?” He rolls his eyes. “But I didn’t. I’m marrying a chef. How can it get more perfect than that?”

When his smile fades and turns into a grimace, I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes mine back.

“But it’s all ruined now, isn’t it? I know you wouldn’t haveworked at the Marguerite anyway, but our restaurant was supposed to be for our family. One day, for our kids, assuming you want kids.”

“I… don’t think so.”

“That’s fine.” He waves the thought off as if it doesn’t matter, and I’m once again mesmerized at how his brain works. Fast and chaotic and just inherently good. “The point is it was supposed to be something good. Somewhere safe. And to me it was the place that represented all her joy. All her positivity and love.” Tearing up, he shakes his head. “My dad took that away.”