“Do you remember your address yet?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Yup,” she recited it with a smirk. “My memory returned along with my sobriety.”
“Convenient.”
“Indeed.” She watched me cook, an amused expression playing on her face. “So, about that proposal from Lia and Manny...”
And just like that, we were back to business. The shift was almost jarring.
“What about it?” I placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of her.
“Are we doing it?” She dug into the food, crumbs flying from her mouth as she spoke. “Working together?”
I leaned against the counter, considering her question. Working with Mari would mean spending more time with her, which seemed both appealing and dangerous given the electricity that sparked between us. It would also mean continuing my deception about the Modern Wedding feature under her nose.
But turning it down would mean losing the opportunity to plan a high-profile celebrity wedding; the kind that could cement my reputation independent of my parents.
“I think we should,” I said finally. “We’ve proven we can work together.”
She looked surprised. “Really? I thought you’d be more resistant.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re you, and I’m me,” she said, as if that explained everything. “We don’t exactly have complementary work styles.”
“I disagree.” I took a sip of my coffee. “The engagement party was successful precisely because of our different approaches.”
“My creativity, your control,” she said with a small smile.
“Something like that.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” She took another bite of egg. “But we need ground rules.”
“Agreed.”
“First, we split everything fifty-fifty. Workload, credit, etc.”
“Of course.”
“Second, we need clear areas of responsibility. You handle the logistics, timelines, vendor contracts. I’ll handle the creative direction, design elements, and general vibe.”
I nodded. It was a sensible division that played to our strengths.
“Third...” She hesitated, and uncertainty flickered across her face. “We keep things professional.”
“Last time you suggested that, I had to take two showers to get tiramisu out of my hair.”
“Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.”
“Okay,” I agreed, ignoring the twinge of disappointment. “Professional.”
“Good.” She nodded once, firmly, as if settling the matter. “Then it’s decided. We’re partners.”
“Partners,” I echoed, extending my hand across the counter.
