Page 96 of The Temporary Fiancée
“It’s more or less what I thought would happen,” I admit. “But it was just frustrating. She dismissed every single one of myideas. She didn’t care what I wanted at all—I might as well have stayed home.”
Reed nods pensively. For a few moments, it’s quiet in the kitchen as I finish up my second s’more, scraping the gooey marshmallow onto one of the ginger cookies.
Then he says, “What would you have wanted?”
I pause, the s’more halfway to my mouth. “What?”
“What would you have wanted?” he asks. “For the wedding.”
I’m so taken aback by the question that I don’t respond right away. I set my s’more—which is an oozing mess—back down on the napkin. “What do you mean? There is no wedding.”
“If it were real,” he says, shrugging. “Just a thought exercise. What would you want it to look like?”
I’d barely even considered the question. It didn’t feel like something I could ask myself, even when the wedding planner wanted to hear my opinions—even while I was making my Pinterest board in the car.
I’ve never really thought much about a wedding before this, either. I didn’t see myself getting married anytime soon. I definitely didn’t see myself at the center of a huge, blowout wedding, either.
The few times I’ve given it any thought, it’s always been small, cozy, and intimate. An elopement, even. It’s the kind of wedding I’ve always been drawn to in movies—something simple, but beautiful.
Reed is still staring at me, expectant. I shrug uncertainly and say, “I don’t know. I mean… the wedding planner told me to make a Pinterest board, so I did. In the car, on the way back from Long Island.”
“Can I see it?”
I suppose there’s no harm in showing him some pictures. I pull out my phone, leaning across the counter to show him the board I made.
He scrolls slowly through the photos. There are a lot of pictures of libraries—old, lovely places with towering stacks of books. The dresses featured are classic but simple, and the suits are all plain tuxes. No frills, and nothing huge. The venues I’ve pinned are all just big enough for the few people who matter most to me.
Reed studies the Pinterest board for a long time. His face gives away nothing, and there’s a sense of anxiety that makes my heart race.
What if he thinks this is stupid? What if he hates all my ideas just as much as his mother did? He might say they’re cheap. Shabby. Overly sentimental.
I’m starting to feel light-headed with nerves by the time he looks up at me.
But he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I love it.”
“Wait—” I stare at him, disbelieving. “You do? Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s perfect,” he says. He turns the phone around, showing me one of my favorite pictures on the entire board: one with an archway set up in front of shelves of antique books, adorned with string lights. There are a few neat rows of wooden folding chairs on either side of the aisle, and simple bouquets of white flowers.
“You’d be okay with this?”
“Are you kidding? This is a great idea.” He slides my phone back over to me. “Where’s that photo from?”
“I think it’s one of the university libraries in Manhattan. Inside one of their rare book collections.” I can’t keep the smile off of my face now that Reed is on board with my idea. It makes me feel seen—finally, an acknowledgement that my ideas aren’t total shit.
If Reed is on my side, then maybe this process won’t be so painful after all. I feel like I finally have an advocate, someone who’s going to take my side throughout all of this. It’s soothing.
I reach for the bag of marshmallows, suddenly a little self-conscious about the fact that he walked in on me stuffing my face with s’mores.
“You want one?” I ask.
“A s’more?” He smirks. “Aren’t you supposed to make thoseoutside?”
“Traditionally. But I’m an innovator.”
He chuckles at that, then nods. “Sure, why not. But you have to show me how to do it.”
“Come on over.”
