Is it fast? Yes. Sort of. But is it something bad? Something they’d regret? Is Will going to finally have her next to him only to discover that, hey, actually, the way she brushes her teeth is wrong and her hair routine takes too long and by the way it’s reallynotcute when she picks up a new hobby or tries out a new thing and maybe she could try being a littlelessspontaneous because it’s starting to look moreannoyingand lessendearing?
Um.
No. No, Will is not that type of guy.
I sigh, dropping my hand and ignoring the pang of horrible, selfish jealousy that shoots through me. I have to work double-time to squash it when I see Ruby’s freckled face soften, her usually tense jaw relaxing asbothcorners of her mouth tip up in a rare Ruby smile.
She’s happy.
My bestest best friend in the entire world is happy, and I’m fighting off jealousy.
I say an internal goodbye to the Best Friend of the Year Award and redouble my efforts to be nothing but joyful and supportive of Ruby and Will.
“September doesn’t give us a lot of time to plan,” a deepvoice rumbles to my left, interrupting my struggle to be a decent friend.
My nose wrinkles. “Who isus?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Roman, Ruby’s brother.
He narrows his back. “You and me,” he answers.
“You.” I point at him. “Andme?” I ask. Because… absolutely not.
Absolutely, 100 percent, unequivocallynot.
“Sweet, I’m not about to let you plan my best friend’s wedding by yourself. For one, you’re more likely to hire a Gregorian chanter than a DJ for the reception, and for two, it’s a lot of work. More than any reasonable person would take on by themselves.”
“Are you calling me unreasonable, Salty?” I growl.
“Of course not,” he replies. “Because you aren’t taking it on by yourself. We’re doing it together.”
“I would rather fling myself off the side of a mountain than plan a wedding with you,” I snip.
“I’ll be handling the DJ,” Ruby cuts in. “And any other planning that needs to be done should be simple enough, since Will and I don’t really care about the wedding aesthetics. We just care that it happens.”
Beside her, Will nods, wiping blueberry juice off his chin. “Yes, what my beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, smart, funny, incredible wifey said. Except also I care about the vows, but you guys don’t need to worry about that. I haveplans.” He grins, eyes going just the wrong side of manic. “Oh! And I’d like to have lots of do-it-yourself projects incorporated into the wedding. Personal touches. We did so many crafts for the Valentine countdown—bless that countdown for bringing my love to her senses—and I’d like to honor that time in our lives.” His grin goes goofy. “Plus, I love a good arts and crafts time.”
Uh.
I glance at Ruby, who apparently has zero input on arts-and-crafts time, despite the downturn of her lips.
Seriously, the character growth on that girl. Six months ago she would’ve been whacking him with her cane and calling him an idiot for even suggesting a DIY heavy wedding. But, then, six months ago she was whacking him with her cane and calling him an idiot forbreathing, basically. And now look at her, shrugging as the silence following Will’s request stretches taut and saying things like, “I’ll handle the DJ. Will will handle the arts and crafts. Problem solved, wedding planned.”
Somewhat aghast, torn between pride at my friend’s personal development and horror at the idea of classy, fancy,richRuby and Will having a DIY wedding, I look around for some form of support.
I find it, to my great horror, in the man sitting beside me.
Roman’s eyes lock on mine, blue to blue, and we have a never-before-experienced moment of solidarity as we think in tandem: WTF?
“Liam wanted to be involved in the planning also,” Will comments around another bite of scone, drawing our attention. “I’ll put him in charge of planning the projects. I don’t want to plan, obviously, which is why we’ve asked you, but I also don’t want you being overworked on this. You can just tell him what areas are ripe for an artsy touch, and he can arrange supplies and project plans.” He hums thoughtfully, eyes roaming the ceiling as he pushes another half a scone in his mouth. Crumbs fly as he says, “Maybe Brian can help him. He’s great at this kind of stuff.”
I inhale, exhale, and count to ten.
Roman, having done zero chill-out exercises, speaks before I reach the end of mine. “Again, September doesn’t exactly give us a lot of time to plan this. Have you guys considered pushing it? A little? Maybe a winter wedding?”
Ruby sniffs. “I’m not getting married at a time that’s riskiest for me for falls. That’s just asking for disaster.”
“Not to mention,” Will mentions. “Technically, we’re already married. This is just the ceremony and the reception and the ‘Hey, everyone on planet Earth, she really did say yes!’ I’d like that to happen as soon as possible, and also at a time when traveling doesn’t suck for people coming in.”
Right. That part. The technically-they’re-already-married part.
