AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I do,” she says succinctly.
“Then it’s decided,” I say. “Last day of next month. February twenty-eighth”
“It’s a leap year this year,” Curse says.
“Why the fuck do you even know that?” I ask him, baffled. “You’ve just got all the answers over there today. What’d we even call Valentina for? You probably could have drafted this entire announcement and planned the whole damn wedding yourself.”
He shrugs, and I know I’m not going to get any more out of him, so I turn my attention back to Valentina who’s currently putting the finishing touches on the engagement announcement.
February twenty-ninth. Celebrating our anniversary is going to be weird, but I kind of like that we’re getting married on a day that doesn’t even exist most years. Like the date conjured itself just for us, pulled itself out of thin fucking air. It feels lucky in a distinctly Irish way.
“Is there something special about leap years in Ireland?” I muse out loud, not to anyone in particular, but Valentina picks up her phone to check a search engine.
“Apparently February twenty-ninth is called Bachelor’s Day, or Ladies’ Privilege,” she says, reading from her screen. “I guess it’s a day where women ask the men to marry them instead of the other way around.”
What kind of dickless wonder waits so fucking long that his woman feels the need to propose?
I snort at what Deirdre is going to think about all this. She probably wouldn’t ask me to marry her in a thousand fucking years, but it doesn’t really matter at this point. Although it does remind me that I need to get the ring sorted out. I may have bluntly informed her of our impending nuptials instead of actually popping the question, but she’s still going to get a ring. And then there’s the wedding bands too.
I frown, trying to figure out how the hell I’ll wear a ring with my screwed-up hands. I think a ring will probably irritate the scar tissue, plus no one will be able to see it under the gloves anyway. And I fucking hate looking at my bare hands, so wearing an adornment on one of them that will specifically draw my attention feels kind of stupid.
I guess I could just not wear a ring. But I can feel my mouth pulling downwards even further in response to that because I do not fucking like that option.
Hmm.
“What is it?” Valentina asks, no doubt noting my displeased expression. “What part do you want me to change?”
I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t even realized she was reading the final engagement announcement out loud.
“I wasn’t listening,” I tell her with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Start again.”
She rolls her eyes but does so, clearing her throat before she reads from the beginning.
“Elio Titone of Toronto, son of Florencia Titone, is honoured to announce his engagement to Deirdre O’Malley of Toronto, daughter of Fiona O’Malley. Mr. Titone is a purveyor of multiple business interests, and Miss O’Malley is an accomplished violinist currently completing her Bachelor of Arts in Music at the University of Toronto, due to graduate with honours next spring. The wedding is set for February twenty-ninth of this year.”
“Good,” I say. “Now send that out to every one of our media contacts. I want this fucking everywhere. I don’t want a single person in this city opening their phone or their newspaper and not seeing this first-fucking-thing.”
“Got it,” Valentina says, rising. “Can I go up and see Deirdre? If we’re going to pull this together by the end of next month we need to get started today.”
“No. She’s sleeping and she needs her rest,” I reply. “And she has school tomorrow. You can come by after her classes to talk about whatever it is you need from her. But don’t bug her with too much event-planning stuff. She has classes and music to focus on. You take care of all the details. You’re good at that shit.”
“Yeah, I’m good at it, but most girls still want a say in their own wedding,” Valentina says, giving me an odd look.
“I’m not entirely sure you’re going to find that to be the case,” I respond dryly, standing up.
A mild way of implying that if Deirdre had her say, there wouldn’t be a wedding at all.
“I have so many questions,” my cousin says, rising and grabbing her coat. “You know that, right? Alright. Whatever. I’ll get this started.” She flaps the paper at me, then shoves it under one arm so she can do up the thousand-and-one fasteners on her weird coat.
Curse gets up too, opening the office door for her. Valentina walks through it, already typing furiously on her phone, paper still pinned under her arm.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she calls as she hustles away to the front of the house. A minute later, an email notification pings on my phone and computer at the same time. It’s from Valentina and it contains the digital copy of the engagement announcement she just wrote by hand on paper.
I print it off and fold it very carefully so that I don’t crease a single word. At the last moment, I take out my wax warmer from a drawer in my desk. It’s a small heated plate with a spoon that sits on top that you can melt the wax in. Takes a little longer to set up, but it beats holding an open flame in my hand while dripping wax onto paper.
Once the crimson wax is the right consistency, I pour the glossy, honey-thick liquid onto the paper then stamp it with the Titone seal.
It’s the exact same thing I did with the contract I signed with O’Malley a year and a half ago. Feels symbolic.
