Page 38 of Love Without Demands

“I asked my son,” she said, tilting her chin up a bit. “He gave me the approval.”

My eyes went to Dwight, and he smiled and nodded. “It will be great, Lehra. I promise. The club is beautiful. Very classy.”

“Well, are the dates flexible? I always pictured a summer wedding.”

“I already said that’s the only date available for the next two years,” Mrs. Jones said with an edge to her voice. “Besides, summer would be too hot.”

Sensing an impending argument, Dwight broke in. “Mother, aren’t you tired? We should probably go ahead and check in at the hotel.”

“Yes, we can grab dinner there.”

I didn’t even mention the casserole I’d prepared because, to be honest, I was ready for them to get out of my apartment. I was overwhelmed and needed to get my thoughts together.

“Morning, Mrs. Jones.”

“Good morning, dear,” she said brightly as she swept into my apartment the next day with a large white book beneath one arm.

Dwight trailed in after her and stopped just inside the door to press a kiss to my cheek. “Hi, honey. Did you sleep well?”

“Not really,” I said in a low voice. “I’m already stressing about all this.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t stress, babe. My mother is here to help, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Yeah, that’s exactly the problem.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her setting the book on the coffee table and taking a seat on the couch. I’d thought about this all night and knew I needed to enlist my fiancé’s help in dealing with his mother.

“Dwight, I really need you to have my back with all this wedding stuff.”

“Of course, Lehra. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, but you didn’t last night. Not at all.”

He huffed out a long sigh. “The venue is already set, and there’s nothing we can do about it now, so just move on.”

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them again, Dwight was standing behind the couch, looking over his mother’s shoulder.

“Come along, Lehra,” Mrs. Jones said. “We have a lot to get to today.”

Trudging toward the couch where she was patting her hand on the seat beside her, I felt like I was heading to my own execution.Do all brides feel like this? Isn’t this supposed to be fun?

I sank down and took a look at the thick book in front of me.

“This is your bridal bible,” she explained. “I’ve taken the liberty of making some selections for you so you don’t get overwhelmed by all the choices.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” I said patiently.

“Of course you will,” she said in a patronizing tone. “I’ve made myself a duplicate of this book, so if you have any questions, you can call me and just refer to the page number.”

Wanting to make a sarcastic comment, I bit my tongue and flipped open the first page. There were several selections of bridesmaid dresses that were actually a very pretty style, though they were all in the palest of pinks.

“These are nice,” I said, pointing to one. “This one would look great in a darker pink or purple.”

“I think the blush color would work better for a February wedding.”

“Well, I like brighter colors.”

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Jones said, looking up at her son. “Dwight dear, why don’t you go get us some breakfast? Egg white veggie omelets, please.” Then she winked at me. “Lehra and I have to watch our figures for the wedding.”

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