Page 2 of One Touch

The theme of our wedding, according to Vlad, was “Till death do usparty.” Basically, that meant a lot of black.

When I’d asked him if that seemed a little morbid, he’d given me this strange sort of twisted smile.

“Isn’t it beautiful, babe? The death of ourselves as single people?” He’d sighed, overcome with the gorgeousness of it. “When I die, the congregation will wear white, celebrating my marriage to the universe.”

“Right. So what shall I write on the invitations regarding the dress code? Funeral attire?”

He’d looked at me with his interesting grey eyes. “I’ll leave that to you, Lily. I value your input.”

I’d nodded, trying not to think too deeply about the tightness in my chest.

The kicker was that I’d had to pay for it. All of it. The entire funeral. I meanwedding.

“There, it’s all come out,” Mary-Beth said. “We just need to dry you off with a hairdryer, and probably don’t sniff the fabric today, just in case there’s a lingering odor.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Vlad had designed the ceremony, too. He was going to perform as I walked down the aisle, miming along to a prerecorded version of his song, “Forever Mine.”

Was I doing the right thing? It was normal to have a few minor grumbles, right? Things about your future life partner that drove you completely up the wall?

As usual, my mind started racing through a hasty pros and cons list.

Pros: He’s handsome in a quirky sort of way, with that brooding musician mystique. His creative talent is sexy. He says he loves me. Sometimes he sings it.

Cons: He’s arrogant. Self-absorbed. Constantly away on tour, leaving me alone for weeks on end. And he’s broke—for someone semi-famous, he doesn’t seem to have two pennies to rub together.

I swallowed hard, my stomach suddenly tied up in knots.

Of course, when we first got together, I hadn't seen the cons. Actually, I'd found Vlad very exciting. I loved his spontaneity and found the fact he was always serenading me romantic. Heck, I even found the fact hesmokedromantic. That was my problem, unfortunately. I wanted so badly to find my happy ever after with someone that I kept missing all the warning signs. Normally, guys left me before it even dawned on me what douchebags they really were. But Vlad hadn't left me. He kept telling me he loved me so much he'd "literally kill" for me. Andthen he'd proposed. The first time anyone had asked me to marry them. It felt good, you know? Someone genuinely wanted to spend their life with me.

I wanted so much to settle down and be happy with the man of my dreams that I'd said yes.

And then I started to wonder . . . was Vlad the man of my dreams? Or my nightmares?

Mary-Beth must have noticed my struggle because she put a hand on my shoulder—the one the robin hadn’t anointed with poop. “Everything okay, Lils? You want me to go find Elara? Where is the maid of honor right now, anyway?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my churning gut.

Her concerned gaze met mine in the cracked mirror. “Don’t worry, honey. Pre-wedding jitters are totally normal. Just breathe.”

I nodded, sucking in a shaky breath. She was right. This was just nerves. Totally normal bridal neurosis and nothing more. I could get through this.

Desperate for a distraction, I blurted out, “So, what’s new with you? Any juicy publishing gossip to take my mind off . . . this?”

Mary-Beth hadn’t been my best friend at school—that was Elara, of course—but the two of us had run the high school newspaper together, and had bonded over a shared love of contemporary romance. After school, Mary-Beth had gone to study creative writing at Emory then joined a New York literary agency and Elara had moved to the city too, to become a chef extraordinaire, leaving little me in Bluehaven Beach, unable to afford college or big dreams. Eventually, though, after a lot of hard work, I’d saved up enough to set up Happy Ever Affogato, my romance bookstore and coffee shop, and finally, I was getting somewhere.

Mary-Beth’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I was going to tell you after the wedding, but I actually got a promotion! I’m a senior agent now. And I just signed an amazing new client—Marge Statten!”

“What! The maestro herself?” I practically squealed. “Oh my god. She’s, like, the greatest plotter in all of romance. Her novels never miss a beat. They’re meticulous. Not to mention downright addictive.”

“I know, right? I’ll let her know she has a fangirl in you,” Mary-Beth laughed. “Actually, I was thinking . . . what would you say to hosting a special event for her new book launch? We could do a signing, maybe a Q&A session . . . it would be great publicity for the shop.”

Marge Statten, in my little bookstore? It was a dream come true. For a moment, I let myself get swept up in the fantasy of a line around the block, buzzing media coverage, book sales galore. . . .

The bookstore had been struggling lately. I’d even had to let my only employee, Yolande, go. The problem wasn’t just all the money I’d poured into this wedding. Vlad has expensive taste. I’d helped him out with so much stuff—new guitars, recording sessions, and that ridiculous “Vladmobile.”

It was a 1970s Chevrolet that I’d bought from Ethan McCoy, Bluehaven’s resident broody mechanic. Vlad wanted it to be spray-painted black with purple flames on the hood. Ethan had tried to talk me out of it, asking me whether the car was: “For you or someone else? A clown, maybe?” I should have listened. I was too damn determined to make my man happy, even if it meant driving my own business into the ground.

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