Page 34 of Married in Michigan

I can’t help a snicker at that. “The whole goal is for us to be as invisible and unobtrusive as possible. We’re not meant to be noticed.”

“With you, it only sort of worked. Once I really saw you, it was obvious that you’re far from average.” He holds my gaze. “Very far. As far as you can get, really.”

“Well…thanks?”

He nods. “So. This is it. I’m going to call Mom and get things in motion.”

I gulp. “So, it’s begun?”

“It has begun.”

I’m not ready. Not in any way whatsoever.

9

Silence between us.

“Now what?” I ask.

He exhales slowly. “I don’t know. We have a hundred and fourteen days. But the wedding is already planned, so I hope you don’t have any big visions of picking flowers and swans and shit.”

Wedding.

Gulp. I’ve never considered a wedding. I don’t know anything about weddings. Never been to one.

“Um. No,” I whisper.

He detects something. “No? Really? I was expecting pushback on that.”

I shrug. “I’ve worked two and three jobs at a time, eight to twelve hours a day, seven days a week since I was fifteen. I haven’t exactly had the time to sit around mooning about my dream wedding.”

He stares at me. “Oh. You really have no ideas or expectations?”

I stare back. “I thought you said it was planned out already, so what does it matter?”

“I mean, if you feel strongly about a specific flower arrangement, I could probably do something.” He gestures at me. “And you’ll have input on the dress. Not the designer, I imagine, as I’m certain Mom has already paid to have Vera Wang or someone design the dress last minute for a not-so-small fortune.”

My head is spinning. I just agreed tomarrythis man. As in, I do, till death do us part, wear a white dress, take his name, walk down the aisle and,get married.

I stand up, dump my cold coffee down the sink, and stand there gripping the edge of the counter. “Holy shit.”

He’s beside me. “What?”

“It’s just hitting me, what I’ve agreed to.”

“It’s not real, though, Makayla. I mean, yeah, you’ll be really married to me, but I won’t expect, like…”

I straighten, turn to stare at him. “About that.”

He lifts his chin. “Maybe we should cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Just, you know, don’t try to—”

He rests a hand on my shoulder, intending to comfort me, I imagine. “Makayla. No. Don’t even think that. I said we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, and I meant it. I do have a soul, you know.”

His hand doesn’t comfort me. The opposite, if anything. I brush it away and step out of reach, sit at my kitchen table. “I remember you saying something about an heir. Children being expected.”

“If you’re thinking I’m going to, like, force you to produce an heir like this is some kind of fifteenth-century monarchy, then I’m honestly insulted. I may be a self-important, entitled douchebag, but I’m not a shitty human, Makayla.”