"I don't have one. I'm a guy."
"Excellent point. Let's attack this from a different angle then. What's your nightmare wedding?"
The one on the itinerary we’re staring at. "Again, guy."
"Fine, in that case, what would be absolute deal-breakers for you?"
"Honestly, there's really nothing."
"Nothing." She purses her lips and stares at me for a second. "Not one thing would be a deal-breaker for you as far as your wedding goes."
"Okay, there is one thing," I say. "I didn't want to mention it at first because I didn't want you to think I'm being picky, but there is something that would cause me not to go through with it.” I pause for dramatic effect, then say, “If they replaced you with some other bride."
Arabella chuckles reluctantly, then swats me lightly on the chest. "Idiot."
"That's why I didn't want to say anything," I answer with a little grin. "Okay now, as far as this itinerary goes, it’s fine with me if it’s fine with you."
“Yes, it’s okay. Honestly, my biggest concern is making sure that your family feels completely welcome and as important as my side of the family. I'd hate it if they were standing in the church or at the reception feeling out of place."
"That is why I picked the right woman to propose to," I say, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the lips.
The car pulls up in front of the palace and comes to a stop.
“I’m so glad they were available for the meeting,” Arabella says casually before both our doors are opened, letting in a chilly blast of air. She climbs out, leaving me with my jaw at my chest for a solid ten seconds.
I hurry up the steps to catch her. “Umm, my family’s invited?”
“Yes, of course,” Arabella says with a bright smile.
“Who exactly?”Don’t say Rosy. Don’t say Rosy.
“Harrison and Libby, Emma and Pierce—Pierce can’t make it though— and of course, Rosy.”
Shit. Rosy. My heart sinks as I recall the email she wrote that I have yet to respond to.
Arabella stops and stares at me. “What's wrong? You don't look happy."
"No, it's a very, very kind gesture. The only thing is, there's a possibility that they may push to have the wedding at the resort—specifically Rosy."
"At the resort? In the Caribbean?" Arabella asks, blinking a few times.
"It's nothing you need to worry about. I got an email from her a couple of days ago and I haven't had a chance to reply, but honestly, I doubt anyone else in my family is going to be expecting anything."
"Oh dear,” she says. “We’ve never even discussed it. I just assumed it would be here, but really, why not have it there? I mean, we should at least consider it, right?”
“Should we?” I ask. “I really don’t think it’s realistic. The sheer amount of people who would have to fly there, and add all the security considerations… Wouldn’t it be much more sensible to have it here?"
“I suppose, yes,” Arabella answers, looking a lot less relaxed than she did a few minutes ago.
Two pages open the massive wooden doors and we walk in, only to see Gregory, my assistant, and Mrs. Chapman, Arabella’s assistant, waiting for us. Gregory is a stout, short, middle-aged man with a back so straight, it seems as though he’s hoping good posture will actually cause him to grow. He bows while Mrs. Chapman curtsies, and we exchange hellos before Arabella gets back to the topic at hand—my family. "The last thing I want is to have your family feel like they don’t have any say.”
“Honestly, it shouldn’t be a problem, but I really should’ve gotten back to Rosy,” I say. "Maybe I could call her right now and sort it out before the meeting."
"It starts in less than a minute and it takes nearly three minutes to get to the boardroom from here," Mrs. Chapman says, turning and leading us toward the meeting room, her heels clicking away on the marble floor.
Gregory turns to me. "Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Banks?”
“No, thank you, Gregory.” I smile at him even though inside I’m more than a little concerned about what’s about to happen.
