“Probably something along those lines. I’ll instruct Chef to keep it simple,” Rhodes said.
“Okay.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “Can he make a chocolate cake like the one we just had?”
“You liked that?” He glanced down at all the empty plates. “Yes, you liked that.”
“I love the fudge frosting.”
“Then you shall have fudge frosting. Is there anything else—any details that are important to you about the ceremony?”
“Uh…”
I’d imagined my wedding day, of course. But I was light on details, and I couldn’t even imagine what a Barrington wedding should look like. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like Luke to be the ring-bearer. That will at least give him something to do.”
Rhodes looked surprised and touched. “That’s perfect. Of course.”
“Good.” I cleared the plates, brushed off the comforter, and sat back on the bed. “Will you choose my dress?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” I said. “I don’t know what’s appropriate. And I don’t want to end up looking ridiculous, like I did tonight.”
“You didn’t look ridiculous,” Rhodes said immediately. “But Miranda must’ve instructed your maid to choose that dress. She wanted you to be uncomfortable.”
“She succeeded,” I said, lightly.
Rhodes sat next to me, buton his side, his muscular frame sprawled out. “We’ll find you a proper dress for the wedding. You’ll make a beautiful bride, Rory.”
“Thank you,” I said, surprised.
He glanced over at me. “This is working out better than I expected.”
Another shiver worked its way through me. “Good,” I said, and I meant it.
But what I meant exactly, I wasn’t so sure.
WAKE
RHODES
I wasn’tsure why I found Rory so compelling in her sweats—particularly after she’d worn that revealing dress—but I did.
I don’t know why it charmed me that she ate the rest of my cake, but it did.
I wasn’t sure why sitting next to her on the bed, talking about planning our wedding—which was just for show, mind you—had me Feeling Things, but it did.
As someone averse to experiencing feelings of any kind, I had no idea what was happening.
So I did what any man in my position would do: I turned on sports.
“Oh—it’s the subway series,” I said, snuggling back against my pillows. “In case you were wondering, I’m a Yankees fan.”
“Of course you are.” Rory scowled at me. “In caseyouwere wondering, I’m a Mets fan.”
“No one’s a Mets fan,” I countered.
“Iam!” She gave me a sharp look. “They’re my Grammy’s team. She grew up in Queens. We’ve always rooted for them.”
“How can you root for them?” I asked, incredulous. “All they do is implode.”
