Page 40 of The Wedding Menu
Ian:
It’s not fair that you’re so alone either.
Amelie:
Ian, you said you understood.
Ian:
I’m not saying you should text me, Amelie.
I’m saying you should talk to Frank and Martha.
Amelie:
Why are you like that?
Ian:
Like how?
Amelie:
Why do you care so much?
Ian:
Don’t worry about it. I’m not that well-endowed.
The Door Between Us
— TODAY—
“What the hell was all that about?” Barb asks, closing the door of our room behind her. Once she notices my crouched position and the tears on my face, she frowns. “Oh, Ames.”
She sits beside me, her hand rubbing up and down my arm. “I don’t understand. What happened between the two of you? I thought—”
“He hates me,” I whisper as his eyes, normally warm and loving, flash before me. Today, they were filled with enough poison to kill. “No, more than hates me—despises me. Is that more than hate?”
“I’m not sure.” Barb bites her lip—probably on account of the many questions she’s dying to ask. Lots of questions she asked before but I never truly answered. How could I, when I couldn’t even explain it myself?
“He’s a Roberts,” I say, facing the ceiling. At the very least, this bed is far more comfortable than my own ragged mattress. “How is he a Roberts?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. Did you really not know?”
My temples throb with pain as I wrap my mind around the huge mess I’m in. “I knew William had a son. I never knew his name, though. I never cared about the Marguerite and Dad’s stupid feud, so I didn’t bother learning anything about them.”
She nods, knowing all of this as well as I do. “Yeah. I knew he had a son, too, but he’s not a chef, so…”
So we never truly gave him a second thought.
She presses a hand to her bump, and sighs. “What… what did he say?”
Thinking back to our conversation, I sit up, my gaze falling to the fluffy-red-carpeted floor. “That I’m arrogant. And a doormat. And unassertive, and a lot of other things. That I led him on.”
“Did you?”
I cup my cheek. “Not with my words. But maybe… maybe I did with my actions.”
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