Page 19 of Enemies, Lovers & A Valentine's Baby

Mom is already here in Boston. She and Dad live in Florida but got here early to help with the wedding preparations, and since we’re in a time crunch, I can use all the help I can get. Especially from Mom. It’s almost as if it’s her wedding too, and I love being able to share this with her. My big sister, Joanne, lives here in Boston, so we basically shopped for everything together, along with Sue.

My smile falters as I go back to staring at the catalogue in my hand. Everything is coming along perfectly, except for the dress.

I can’t count how many bridal stores I’ve been to, how many dresses I’ve tried on, and how many catalogues like this one thatI’ve looked through. I just haven’t found one that feels right. I haven’t found THE dress.

The struggle was cute at first. Mom said ever since I was a little girl I’ve been planning my wedding day. I was a huge Disney princess fan, and I wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t have a happily ever after. I guess I’m still looking for that perfect Cinderella dress.

Now though, this close to the wedding, it’s definitely not cute anymore. It’s stressful. I need to pick a dress, and fast. The lady at this bridal store whose catalogue I’m looking through told me I wouldn’t find any better designs than what’s in here, but halfway through it I’m already starting to lose hope.

“I really hope the other half surprises me,” I sigh.

Just as I set the catalogue down on my nightstand, my phone starts to ring. I sigh, pulling it out to see who it is calling so late.

“Mom, it’s after 9 P.M. Is everything okay?” I ask softly, stifling a yawn.

“Sorry, sweet pea, it’s important. So, you know how I’m supposed to go check out the flowers at the florist’s tomorrow morning?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, the florist just called me. He’d like to confirm the quantity of roses and peonies that were on the order.” Apparently, the person that was in charge of your event quit, and there’s been a bunch of miscommunications with other customers, so he just wants to confirm that everything is as you requested.

“Mom, I don’t—I don’t know,” I sigh tiredly, dragging a hand across my gritty-feeling eyes.

“Seth and the wedding planner, Sophie, are the ones who have that information. He told me she sent him a list of everything we’d need for the decorations.”

“Well can you check with him? The florist needs an answer ASAP.”

“Ugh, Mom,” I sigh.

“Or do you know where he keeps a copy? Can you go find it?”

“He’s got it in his email. We were looking at it on his phone the other day. You know what? I’ll ask him and call you right back.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Thank you.”

I hang up and call out to Seth.

“Seth?” I call out to him, hoping he can hear me from the bathroom as the water seemed to have stopped running. No response. I sigh, contemplating getting up to go ask him, but I’m too tired to do so.

“Hey, babe?” I try again. “Do you know how many roses and peonies Sophie mentioned were being ordered?”

“Huh?” he responds, his voice muffled by the door in between us.

“The florist needs to reconfirm the floral arrangements. I need to know how many were ordered,” I try again. He mutters an incomprehensible response to me, and I roll my eyes. I contemplate walking over to him again but decide against it. Instead, I reach for his phone beside me on the bed.

No password is needed, so I open his email app and scroll through looking for the ones with the wedding planner. All I want is to give Mom the info so I can finally get a good night’s sleep.

Jeez, who even gets so many emails? I swear he got that confirmation email not more than two weeks ago. I groan as I scroll through what feels like a never-ending list.

“Finally,” I mutter when I come across Sophie’s name.

I open the thread, expecting to see a conversation on floral arrangements. It’s probably the last thing she sent to him.

But…that’s not what I see.

My eyes are staring at the words, but they might just as well have been in another language, because I can’t make sense of anything that I’m seeing.

I blink numbly, my throat suddenly dry enough that it hurts when I try to swallow. I try to form words, make a sound, anything. But only a desperate croak slips past my numb lips.

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