“Proposewhat?”
She held her hand up and wiggled her ring finger. “To me, your one true love.”
I chuckled. “Right. That.”
“We need to come up with something big and flashy. Stereotypical. A string quartet beneath a full moon, piles of roses, you in a tux. Cue the touching declaration of eternal love, then tears, andscene.”
It sounded exactly like how they’d stage something for reality TV. “Is that what you want when your dream man proposes?”
She grimaced, looking almost insulted. “No way, but it’s what Dorian and the audience expect, so we’ll deliver. Weddings aretheater.”
The waiter stopped back to refill our glasses and I wondered how many bottles we were going to drain as we worked through the planning.
“That’s a pretty cynical view for a wedding planner.”
“I’m a realist,” she answered quickly. “I give my clients what they want.”
“But I heard you go on and on during your one-on-one interview with Dorian about the beauty of true love, and how magical weddings are. So those were lies?”
She snorted at me. “Did you expect me to tell the producer of a reality TV wedding show that weddings are a crapshoot, and probably half the couples I work with will end up divorced in five years?”
For a second, I just blinked, totally taken aback. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, then took another swig of wine. “There are some couples where I’m legit shocked that they even make it through the ceremony. Rehearsal dinners can getugly. You’d think that might make more people see that as a cue to take a step back and say ‘Hey, is this really a good idea?’ but everyone feels so invested by that point that hardly anyone backs out. Even when they probably should. Yeah, eating it on cancellation fees is expensive, but do you know how expensive divorce can be?”
I did, actually. My brother Harrison had gone through a nasty battle with his first wife, Miranda.
“Hold on,” I said. “Why are you even in this industry? Because that’s not being a realist, it sounds more like a curmudgeon. Is it just for the money?”
I watched as she hesitated, like formulating a response was tricky for her.
“Honestly? Yeah, that’s part of it. I’ve got bills to pay. But it’s not just that. I reallydolove weddings, even if I don’t have a ton of faith in marriages.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Weddings are a celebration. They’re joyous and fun, and full of good food and good music and families and friends coming together. I love that stuff! It can be great for everyone involved, not just the couple at the center of it. But a marriage is about so much more than just the big day. Couples would be better off putting the same level of care and scrutiny into their relationships as they put into the party to celebrate it. But they hire me to give them a beautiful day, so that’s what I deliver.”
“That sounds fair,” I allowed.
Truth be told, it was a much more nuanced response than I’d been expecting. I’d thought we were complete opposites when it came to our views of romance, but it was sounding like we might actually see eye to eye.
“My feelings about whether the marriage will work or not don’t matter, my job is to make sure that the day is a wonderful experience for everyone there. Life can be hard and dark and awful sometimes—and it’s always going to be full of challenges that are just as likely to pull a couple apart as to bring them closer together. But sweet moments that give you joy can remind you to hold on to the good when everything seems dark.”
It was a strange dichotomy; a wedding planner who loved the party but not necessarily the reason for it. But I liked the contrast. It made her even more interesting.
“Anyway,” she said with finality. “My views don’t matter since our engagement is all a façade. Let’s get back to the plan. Like, where’s my big fat ring?”
“Right, of course.” I cringed at the plot hole. “We need to figure out why you’re not wearing one right now.”
“Easy. You got the wrong size and we’re having it fixed.”
“Absolutely not.” I frowned at her. “I would never make that kind of mistake. It’s so easy to make sure you’ve sized the ring properly.”
The waiter delivered a basket of bread and Emilia grabbed a slice before he’d even placed it on the table.
“Sorry, starving,” she said as soon as she’d swallowed. “Getting forced into a fake engagement and saving Winston’s life built up an appetite. What were you saying about how you do everything right?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I smirked at her. “My point was that it doesn’t track that I’d get your ring size wrong. I’m thorough.”
