Page 102 of The One I Love
“We can figure that out!” Shane says, his voice rising. Shit, I don’t want the kids to hear this.
“Yes, we can,” I say at a lower volume, hoping that he follows my lead. “And I’m not saying that we have to wait forever. But Iamsaying that doing it now isn’t the answer. Getting married because you feel like your hands are tied isn’t the answer.”
Believe me. I know.
That’s how I want to end that statement to Shane, but something inside stops me from saying that. Because Shane knows that’s how I felt before. I don’t want to have to say it out loud. The last thing I want to do right now is reiterate to Shane that I’ve already been pressured into getting married once, and I’m not about to do it again. But I need him to see that. Because comparing his proposal just now to what happened with me and Paul will likely end in a fight I don’t want to get into right now. Or ever.
“I guess,” he says. In no way is he seeing what I’m saying, but, like me, he doesn’t want to turn this into a fight. “Then what do we do now?”
“We go along with it,” I say reluctantly. “But every time we’re with our mothers, we try and softly bring up that we don’t want to rush, and we want to take this slow. Maybe if we get them to take their feet off the gas pedals, we can eventually talk to them in a rational tone they’ll understand.”
“Okay,” he says. “Whatever you want.”
“Shane…”
He starts walking out of the room before stopping to turn around. His face is sad, and it breaks my heart. I want to go to him. I want to take that look off his face. But I know the only thing that will make that happen is for me agreeing to marry him, and I can’t do that. At least not right now.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Just forget I said anything.”
Easier said than done.
Chapter 31
Shane
“That chicken piccatawas the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and if you don’t have it at your wedding I will boycott.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Simon slams his foot on the brake of his BMW. Luckily, we just pulled into the parking lot of the last caterer appointment of the day, so we aren’t in danger of causing an accident.
“Do you see any other friends here helping you pick out food for a wedding you don’t intend to have? No. That’s just me. So joke all you want, but if I boycott, you might be without a bridal party for this pretend bash.”
I roll my eyes as I get out of his car. He’s technically right, he has been the only one able to help me through all of this. Wes got back from his extended vacation but then had to jump right into his new job as the Rolling Hills High School football coach. Oliver is out of commission, which is a saga in its own right.
That leaves me with Simon.
Yay.
“You know there’s going to be a bridal party, asshole,” I say.
“For your pretend wedding? Or is there a real one you’ve failed to inform me about?”
I give him a glare as we approach the front desk of the catering company’s public entrance, which gives all the vibes of a small restaurant. I do my best to put away my sour mood, but I don’t think it works.
“We have an appointment. Name’s Cunningham.”
“Yes, right this way,” the receptionist says as she takes us into another room, where there are a handful of tables. “Just give us a minute and one of our staff members will be out to go over everything with you.”
“We’re in no rush. Thanks, darlin’.”
Simon’s smile and deployment of his exaggerated Southern drawl makes the receptionist giggle as she leaves the room. I just shake my head, because I can’t believe that shit works for him. I’ve seen him use it many times over the years, and it has an impressive success rate. Impressive in the fact that I don’t know how he gets women to go home with him.
“What’s on the menu for this place?” Simon asks as he looks at the menu that’s waiting in front of us. “Because if it’s another piccata, this place has already lost.”
“I don’t know. Don’t fucking care, either.”
