Page 41 of The Wedding Menu

“Okay, well, at least Ian’s here. That’s what you wanted. Maybe he isn’t as thrilled as you pictured him being, but you have a whole week. You’ll change his mind, right?”

But now I know he’s a Roberts. William Roberts’s son. And… well, this changes nothing about my feelings, but it complicates the situation considerably.

Barb must be clued in by my expression, because her shoulders shrink inward. “Oh, come on. I know your fathers have a whole Capulets-and-Montagues thing going on, but you always hated your dad’s war against the Marguerite.”

I did; she’s right. But Barb has been gone for most of this year. Between the honeymoon and the pregnancy and simply being a newlywed, she’s missed a lot. She doesn’t know anything of the shitstorm Ian’s dad threw my way.

I stand and enter the bathroom, then come out with my toothbrush in my hand. “Barb, things changed a lot in the pastyear. I didn’t care; you’re right. But I never told you that… well, William Roberts is responsible for a lot of what resulted in the article.”

“The article?”

When I nod, there’s a knock on the door. It’s him. It must be Ian. Who else would show up at our room this late at night?

With my heart beating its way out of my chest, I scurry to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, then cringe. I don’t want him to see me looking like this; he’ll know I cried. I wait for a few seconds, then flinch at the sound of the door opening.

“Hi,” Barb says.

It’s him. I can tell by her greeting—the same sad, hesitant “Hi” you’d say at a funeral.

“Hi, Barbara, right? Sorry to barge in at this hour. Is Amelie…”

God, his voice. It breaks my heart and glues the pieces back together with every word. I’ve been thinking about him every single day since the last time I saw him, but I’ve only just fully realized how much I’ve missed him.

“She’s—um…”

“Amelie? Can we talk?” I hear him call in a louder voice.

I stand by the door, silent. What can I say? Ian knows every nook and cranny of me; heactuallyknows me. If he thinks I’m all those horrible things, then how can I face him?

When there’s a knock on the bathroom door, I jump back.

“Hey,” he says from the other side. His tone is much gentler now, but I press my lips together and wait, as if he’ll hear it if I breathe, if I move. It’s not like he doesn’t know I’m in here. This makes no sense. “I’m here to apologize.”

The lump in my throat is as fiercely stuck as before.

“I shouldn’t have said those things. You’re not any of that… well, you’re notmostof that.” His smile penetrates the door, and Ican’t help a small one too. “And I’m sorry about—uh, the thing I said about… The ‘yes’ thing.”

Oh, thank God he’s not saying anything more in front of Barbara, because I wouldn’t be able to take the questions. Although it’s true that, technically, we’ve never shared so much as a kiss, I’m not ready to talk about that specific situation.

Leaning against the sink, I stare at the door.

“I was insensitive. You—what happened was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I rush to say.

There’re a few beats of silence, then: “You know, you always answer when I think you won’t.”

I smile down at my shoes. “And you never give up when I think you might.”

The wood of the door creaks as he leans against it. “Well, I’ve been told I’m relentless.”

“That you are.” I approach the door, the tips of my fingers touching the glossy wood.

“How come we always end up talking without looking at each other’s face.”

A rush of memories surge through me, each one tugging at my heart, as I clasp my necklace. “At least it feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Like old times.”