Page 85 of Vows We Never Made
It’s not that I think she actually wants to marryme.
No, it’s obvious she has more of an eye for this than she initially let on. When the planner asks for our opinions, after asking politely if I have one, I tell Hattie to choose.
Thank God for small favors.
Sometimes, I wish I knew what was going on in her pretty blonde head.
The process takes hours, yet she doesn’t seem to mind. Or maybe she just doesn’t notice it passing when she’s so engrossed in girly wedding day fantasies.
I resist the urge to check my watch again.
Eventually, Mrs. Radish leaves, assuring us she’s got the basics—the fuckingbasics?—down and she’ll get follow up soon.
“That was fun!” Hattie chirps with a smile that’s way too relaxed after enduring over three hours of style interrogations.
“Fun? Do you stock dictionaries at your bookstore? That’s not the right word.”
She smacks my arm.
“Oh, hush. It’s not every day a girl gets to plan a wedding with an unlimited budget.”
“I thought you wanted to keep itsmall?”
She has the grace to flush.
“Okay, so…maybeit can be medium-sized. Maybe?” She bats her eyes.
“She suggested two hundred goddamned guests.”
“Only for the reception! That’s the part where we need to put on a show, right?”
Damn her, I nod.
She has a point.
I would be pissed off, except she’s got the most adorable smile at the corner of her mouth.
I can’t find it in me to be annoyed with her enthusiasm.
“Margot will have a field day whenever you throw her a bone,” I say. “Hell, even after you tell her about all the decisions you’ve made.”
Hattie beams me a heavy look, tucking some hair behind her ear.
“Maybe after she gets over you cutting her out of the process,” Hattie says.
I shrug. Margot’s feelings aren’t my problem.
“She’ll plan her own wedding someday. Assuming she finds a man who can handle her spoiled ass.”
“She will,” Hattie says, rolling her eyes. “But what’s next?”
I check my watch again. “Dresses. They should be here any second.”
“What dresses? Who should be?”
“Stylists from Seventh Haven in Manhattan,” I say. “They specialize in wedding dresses.”
Her eyes light up. “Wedding dresses? You mean—”
