Page 30 of The Wedding Menu

“Oh!” I swing my legs over the side of the couch and squint at the screen. It’s not like I care what Ian thinks about the dress. Still, it’s a matter of principle. He can’t “Meh” the perfect dress.

Amelie:

You must be looking at some other unimpressive, ugly dress.

I send him a picture of me in the dress. Because, yes, I’ve got plenty. Of course I do. I might have shown up at the shop in my pajamas the day the dress was ready for the first fitting.

Amelie:

Look at this. I look divine. No, I look almighty. I look like that dress was draped around my body and I was coated in perfection. No, I look like an enchanting, angelic goddess.

Ian:

Gee. Low self-esteem much?

Amelie:

Am I wrong?

I stare at the phone, waiting. Sure, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but he can’t deny that the dress looks amazing on me. The designerweptwhen she saw me in it. She asked to take pictures of me to hang on the shopwindow, for crying out loud. They’restillthere.

Ian:

Do you really want my opinion?

Amelie:

Yes.

After all, I’ll love it either way.

Ian:

Are you sure? Because I remember some sort of threat being thrown my way.

Oh. So maybe hedoeslike it, and he’s lying because I told him he couldn’t say it’s beautiful. Now I want to know.

Amelie:

Just tell me.

Ian:

All right. Honest opinion.

If you’re not wearing that dress, you shouldn’t bother getting married. Forget about how good it looks on you. How divine, enchanting, or perfect you look in it, though you do.

That smile, right there, is the reason you should wear it.

The way your eyes sparkle is the only excuse you need.

That, Amelie, is your wedding dress.

A Typical Roberts

— TODAY—

Ian is… a Roberts? How is that even possible? How did I not know this?