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Did he just say our wedding?
He releases my hand and turns to face me. “If you call them tonight, maybe we can have dinner with them tomorrow. That way, they’ll have a chance to invite a few friends. And you can already talk to your coworkers and whoever else you want to be there. We should keep it small, for security reasons, but the venue will accommodate up to a hundred people.”
My tongue unglues from the roof of my mouth. “You want us to marry this Saturday? As in, three days from now?”
He tilts his head. “Is that a problem? I wanted to do it sooner, but I figured the weekend is better than mid-week as far as getting your friends to attend.”
I gape at him, feeling like I got hit by a freight train. “Next year would be better,” I finally manage. “This weekend is just… It’s impossible.”
“Why?” He takes my hand again and resumes walking, as though we’re discussing what to eat for dinner and not our freaking wedding.
A wedding he wants to have in three days.
“Because… because we can’t.” I scramble for ways to convince him. “What about invitations? We don’t have time to send them and—”
“You can just call the people you want to invite. It’s more personal like that, anyway.”
“What about food? And photographers? And the dress?”
“All taken care of. I hired an excellent catering company and a highly recommended florist, and the photographer is booked for all day Saturday, as is the videographer. For the dress, they’re going to come to your office to measure you tomorrow, and you’ll choose a design you like from their catalog. They promised me it won’t take longer than a half hour, so you could do it on your lunch break. The hair and makeup people will come to our apartment first thing Saturday morning, and for the music, I hired a band that’s currently on tour in Chicago—The C-Zone Boys, I believe they’re called. I think I’ve heard you sing their songs?”
If my jaw weren’t attached, I’d be picking it up off the floor. He hired The C-Zone Boys for our impromptu wedding? As in, the band whose singles have been topping the charts for the past two years?
“Why not Rihanna or The Black-Eyed Peas?” I ask when I can speak again, and he shoots me a sidelong glance as we enter the lobby.
“Is that what you want? I can see if we can—”
“No! I just…” I shake my head, unable to even find the words to explain. “Never mind that. C-Zone is perfect. What’s the venue?”
“It’s Silver Lake Country Club, over in Orland Park. The weather is supposed to be perfect, so we’ll have both the ceremony and the reception outdoors, right by the lake. Unless you want to take it inside? It’s not too late to do that.”
“No, that’s… The lakeside will work.”
He shepherds me into the elevator, and I numbly press the button for my floor, feeling like that freight train is dragging me along at madness-inducing speed. How could he have done all this? When? And why didn’t he consult me?
Is this what our life together is always going to be like?
Before I tackle that thorny issue, I need to voice one last rational argument.
“What if no one comes?” I ask as we exit the elevator. “It’s already Wednesday. Most people have weekend plans, and—”
“They’ll change them.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a set of keys—a set he must’ve had made today, as I have mine in my bag. Opening the door, he lets me in and closes it behind us.
I kick off my sandals. “And if they can’t?”
“Then they’ll miss out.” He removes his own shoes and turns to face me. “Do you really care, ptichka? Your parents will be there, and so will you and I. Who else do you need?”
No one—not really—but that’s not the point.
“Peter…” I take a deep breath. “I can’t marry you this weekend. It’s just too soon.”
His gaze hardens. “Too soon how? I told you, we have all the logistics covered.”
“It’s not about the logistics!” My voice spikes in volume, and I take another breath in an attempt to regain control. Striving for a calmer tone, I say, “I haven’t seen you for over nine months, and before that, we didn’t exactly have a… normal relationship.”
“So what?” His eyes narrow. “We have that now.”
“You railroading me into marriage and making all the decisions about our wedding is not normal, Peter. Not by a long stretch.” I’m proud of my composure so far. “We need time to get to know each other in this context, to see if we can make this work…” I trail off, seeing the storm gathering in the reflective silver of his gaze.
“Why wouldn’t we make it work?” His voice is dangerously low as he steps toward me. “This isn’t a trial run, a wait-and-see college roommate situation. Do you really think that if we argue over dishes, I’m going to let you walk away?”
