Page 20 of The Wedding Menu

“Oh my God, I’m too pregnant for this.”

I turn to Barb, scattering the contents of her handbag across one of the beds, after heaving our two enormous suitcases through the hotel room’s door. The trip from Creswell to Mayfield is only two hours long, but in this heat it felt like much more. “I’m convinced we were on that train for days.”

With a nod, she awkwardly lowers herself onto the bed, lying on top of makeup and tissues, as I throw a look at the window. Turns out, I really should have read the email they sent us about the location, because we’rehardlyin Mayfield. We’re deep in the countryside, with fields of wildflowers on every side of the property. There’s a pool I’m definitely planning to enjoy, and, based on what I’ve seen, the Whispering Willow hotel is just as beautiful as promised, with high ceilings and a French grandeur that reminds me of La Brasserie.

Not bad at all, but there’s not a hint of gray, concrete buildings and busy crowds walking in every direction, so it’s not May-field.

I sit on the other bed, my shoes sinking into the thick dark red carpet as I face a flat-screen TV that I wish I had in my own apartment. The double beds that take up most of the space are covered in fluffy pillows and what looks like a warm duvet, and the wall opposite the room’s entrance has two large windows that look onto acres of white daisies. It’s breath-taking.

I remove my sneakers, sit cross-legged on my bed, and power up my laptop. The air here is so humid, you can almost chew it; desperately fanning myself with my hand, I click on the browser. As I stare at the white page, all the conviction that brought me on this trip goes out of me.

Sure, I want to see Ian. But will he want to see me? After what happened, I’m not so sure. And how will I explain everything? Plus, I don’t know what he does or where he lives. I know plenty about him, but not anything that can help me find him.

After typing “handsome Ian in Mayfield,” I shut the laptop. Mayfield is a big city, and I’m sure he’s not the only Ian around here.

“Ames?” Barb says softly from her bed. She tucks her hand under her cheek, her frizzy curls flattening against the pillow. “You know the results only come up if you press ‘enter,’ right?”

I give her a half smile.

“What’s the plan?”

Scooting down, I rest my head on my pillow and face her. “I don’t know what he does for work, I don’t have his address, and he’s not a hobby guy.”

“Not a hobby guy?”

“No. He’s an opinion guy.”

She gives me a slow, uncertain nod.

“No sports that I know of, no favorite spots around town he ever mentioned. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of anything useful he might have told me, but there’s just nothing. I have no idea how to find him.”

“No surname, either, huh?” Her lips twist to one side. “Are you sure he’s not, you know, hiding something?”

“Uh, well…” I give her a small shrug, my shoulders drooping. “Actually…Iwas hiding something.” Her eyes bug out, so I quickly hold a hand up. “Not— Back then, my dad was quite popular on social media. Remember? The fourth season ofThe Silver Spoon?”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh, right.”

“If I told him, I figured he could connect the dots and… well…”

“Nobody wants to be known as the ‘Dictator’s’ daughter?”

“Pretty much.”

She hoists her head up, holding her weight on her elbow as her hair cascades down one side of her body. “I might be missing something, but… why don’t you just call him?”

“He blocked my number. Plus, if we’re face-to-face, he’ll have tolisten. He won’t be able to tell me to get lost.” So much about my rashly thought-out plan relies on the assumption that he doesn’t completely hate me. Even more, that he feels about me the same way I feel about him.

It’s a huge,hugeassumption, considering he made it impossible for me to reach out.

“So,” she says, sitting up. “The plan is… no plan.”

Throwing a glance her way, I bite my bottom lip. “Is it crazy to hope that fate will bring us together?” I let out a single chuckle. “I’ve already given it a huge boost by coming all the way to Mayfield.”

“Fate?” She smiles wide, then gets up, walks over, and gestures at me to make space. “Like destiny?”

“Like… like I’ll walk down the street and he’ll be there. Or tomorrow I’ll need an antihistamine and he’ll be the pharmacist. Or his dog will run off his leash and leap into my arms.”

“Oooh.” She lies down next to me, then pokes my side. “A meet-cute.”