“But what if she’s wrong?”
“There is no right and wrong. There’s being on one side together or being separated. I choose to be with Sloane, and her with me. Always.”
That sent a shiver down my spine. It’s what I wanted too, desperately.
“When will I get a wedding invitation?” Ivan asked me.
I groaned. “Fuck if I know. That’s one of our points of conflict.”
“Well …” Ivan said. “It’s best to agree … but sometimes a little trickery is allowed.”
I was more than familiar with the bet Ivan made with Sloane to hoodwink her into marrying him.
I preferred not to stoop to chicanery to secure Sabrina, but I wasn’t ruling it out if her resistance continued.
It took two long years to convince her to marry me. It’s not that she didn’t want to—or at least, I don’t think that was it.
If I had to guess, the real reason is that the things that matter deeply to her are the only things that scare her. She’s afraid to fail when it matters most.
Plus, she has an instinctive distrust of anything conventional.
I promised her the ceremony could be anything she liked.
“You don’t have to wear a puffy white dress or stand in a church. Just promise to be with me … and make it legal, so it’s harder for you to get away.”
She laughed. Then, with more seriousness she said, “Will it make you happy?”
“More than anything.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
Sabrina
The morningof my wedding day, I wake up terrified.
It’s not that I don’t want to be with Adrik—I’m more head-over-heels obsessed with him than I’ve ever been. And we’ve been living and working together for over two years now, so it’s not like there’s any big surprises of what he’s really like.
I guess it’s the thought of me as a wife that scares me. I never saw myself that way, I don’t know exactly what it means or how I’m supposed to be.
Adrik and I weren’t planning to see each other until we meet at the venue.
I text him at 6:20 in the morning, saying:
Are you awake?
He responds a moment later:
I am now …
Sorry.
Don’t be sorry. What do you need, baby girl?
I need to see you.
He picks me up from my parents’ house thirty minutes later, driving a rental car. Just the sight of him calms me down immensely. We drive out to the Morton Arboretum so we can take a walk on the forest trails.
I’m still wearing the shorts and t-shirt I slept in, hair up in a messy ponytail. Adrik has on a crisp white t that shows how tanned he’s gotten now that it’s fully summertime. His hair is the longest it’s been in a while, black and shaggy. When he runs his hands through it, it makes dramatic shapes: a wave swooping down over one eye, or two curtains on either side of his face.