Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“My favorite human,” I corrected him. “I know you didn’t specify what musical number you wanted to perform in the binder, but I feel like the song suits us so much, ya know? And don’t worry, I marked down several suggestions we can follow to a tee.”
“We really don’t need to.”
“Where is it?” Brows furrowed, I flipped the pages and snapped when I found the right one. “Here. Matching tattoos. That is such a romantic idea, Oliver. I’m thinking a full-blown portrait of each other’s faces in color. I know you only added black-and-white to your lookbook, but our love is so full of color that it would be a shame to dull it.”
A greenish tinge eclipsed his cheeks. “How about we pin that tattoo idea? We can start with the Frozen du—”
I cut him off. “When is our wedding, anyway?”
“We haven’t set a date yet.” He added under his breath, “And thank God for that.”
“I think it should be super soon. Like, this-month soon,” I said with conviction. “No point in waiting. Neither of us are spring chickens anymore. I want to start making babies right away.”
“You should probably get your memory back first.” He coughed into his fist. “I mean, you haven’t even chosen a dress.”
“Oh, but I have.” I slapped my palms over the dining table, sending a vintage cigar box careening across the surface.
He stopped it from hurling to the floor with heroic instincts, set it next to him, and pinned me with the reluctant gaze of an exhausted parent entertaining his toddler during a sugar rush from Hell.
Oliver laced his fingers together and studied me. “When did you have time to find a dress?”
“On the jet to Baylor. The girls and I watched the Barbie movie.”
He rolled his tongue over his inner cheek, folding his arms over his chest. “Uh-huh.”
I pointed between us. “We look so much like Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling …”
“Excuse me, but Ryan Gosling fucking wishes he had my jawline.”
“All the same.” I shrugged. “Anyway, she wore this gorgeous pink mini dress—”
“Mini dress.”
“… and I just thought to myself it would look so adorable on the altar. Especially if you wear a matching Ken outfit.”
“I’m not wearing a matching Ken outfit.”
I gasped. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to salvage however little I can of my pride after that Frozen duet.”
Perhaps I’d laid this on too thick. Oversold my brand of unhinged. I needed to make my acting more believable if I wanted to draw out his torture.
“Ollie. These are your ideas. What’s the problem? Or is it me? Do you not want to marry me?” I cupped my mouth and started to tear up, mentally thanking an Oscar-winning client for teaching me the trick to crying on cue. “I thought you loved me.”
Two maids in uniform strode into the kitchen carrying groceries, spotted me crying like a baby, and pivoted, speed-walking away to avoid the scene. Oliver looked between them and me, losing his patience.
“Fine,” he snapped, balling his fists. “I’ll wear a stupid Ken costume. Christ.”
“Stupid? It’s designer. Dal gave us the hook up. The suit is spun with real gold threads and studded with red diamonds. They cost almost twelve mil apiece.”
His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.
If Ollie hadn’t ruined my life, I’d feel sorry for him right now.
“Thanks for being a team player.” I stopped crying and wailing all at once. “Wanna know what else I have in store for us?”
He just stared at me with eyes that said his soul had been sucked dry, and an early death couldn’t come too soon. I took this as a sign to continue.
“Dal mentioned that you love sexual innuendos, so I want our wedding cake toppers to be of us 69-ing.”
He pushed the bases of his palms into his eye sockets, massaging them. “I also love polo. That does not mean I want to ride down the aisle on a horse.”
“Why not?” I perked up. “It’s a great idea.”
He just stared at me. I knew the wedding was hypothetical. His annoyance, however, was very real.
“Actually,” I continued. “I saw it on page 8, section 7, part A. You’re really organized, by the way. To honor the spirit of your organization, I marked my favorites with color coordinated sticky notes. The reds are a pass. The yellows are a maybe. The greens are a must.”
We both glanced at the leather clunker currently in my death grip. There had to be hundreds of green sticky notes sticking out of the binder.
At his silence, I kept going. “The only reason I didn’t bring up the horseback riding is because I didn’t remember if you could still ride at the skill level required to navigate narrow aisles.”
“Maybe we could take a class for that, too,” he deadpanned.
“I don’t think we can fit in another.” I frowned before replacing it with a giddy bounce. “Oh. I saw your idea for the goodie bags. It’s brilliant.”