Page 2 of Wedding or Not

Finally—finally—those eyes lift from the phone to my face.

For a moment I wonder if I’ve actually made him angry. He’s one of those infuriatingly calm and controlled people it’s impossible to rouse a reaction in.

I know since I’ve been trying all my life.

But no. His mouth twitches slightly in a smug sort of amusement. “You’ve advised so. Too many times to count.”

“Then maybe you should pay attention. I’m nervous, and your superior attitude is making it worse.”

His face changes almost imperceptibly. His mouth sobers back to its normal nonexpression. “I know you’re nervous, Ella, but the nerves are wasted energy. He’ll either approve the loan or he won’t. Either way, we’ll go from there.”

My eyes widen. Indignation pulses against the edges of my being so intensely that my body jerks. I cover it by straightening the skirt of my dress—a boring, navy-blue shirtdress whose only claim to prettiness is the subtle embroidery on the collar and hem. (I wore it to look professional for this meeting.) I breathe in through my nose and blow it out through my mouth a few times until the outrage is under control.

He’s been watching my response, missing not a single detail of my body language. He’ll also see that my cheeks are flushed and my hands are clenched. “Say it,” he says in the clipped tone I’ve always hated.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re stewing with over there. It’s about to explode out of you, so you might as well get it said.”

Wes is one year older than me (he’s thirty, and I’m twenty-nine), and his parents worked for mine. We were thrown together all the time as kids but were never friends even though we played together a lot. He was bossy and superior even back then. The only time I liked him even a little was when he got kind of cute in high school and joined the soccer team. But by then he was ignoring me, treating me like a pesky little kid. So that brief glimmer of a crush faded quickly, and he’s been lurking on the outskirts of my life ever since—always there in the background but never penetrating deep enough to matter.

It’s only been in the past few years, after he gave up his big-city job in finance to move back to town and work remotely, that my annoyance with him became a daily thing.

Now I see him almost every day.

“Maybe you can approach this situation with that smug, heartless distance you live your life with, but this is my family and my home. I can’t approach it coldly like you. This matters to me more than anything, so I’m sorry about all the ‘wasted effort’ my nerves are expending.”

I’m speaking softly since there are other people in the lobby, including a young woman with a cute hipster vibe who moved a few minutes ago and is now facing us directly. She’s on her phone, holding it up close to her face and oblivious to anything else around her, but still… She’s in earshot, and no one else needs to hear our conversation.

“Don’t cry, Ella,” Wes bites out. “Sit there cursing me all you want, but don’t you dare cry.”

I’m one of those people who cries when I’m angry. I can’t help it, and it used to drive me crazy when Wes and I argued as kids.

He’d always take it as a victory when it was simply an overflow of rage.

But his clipped tone diverts the growing pressure behind my eyes like he sucked the tears right out of them. I make a hissing sound that doesn’t form a real word.

Elizabeth Bennet would come up with the perfect comeback right now to put her Darcy in his place, but not me.

I’ll never be the clever one. I’ll never be the lead character of the story.

I’m just Ella Blake. Boring and dependable. Not particularly competent at anything. Not even stylish and charming. With nothing to show for herself but a soft, slim body, long brown hair, and a pretty face that’s done nothing to fix her life.

And an overflow of anxiety I can’t always contain.

My eyes wander the lobby, seeking anything to focus on other than Wes’s cold face. Unexpectedly, I catch the gaze of the girl across from me. She’s still got her phone up, but she winks at me over the top of it.

I smile back because she’s being nice.

And I smile when someone smiles at me, no matter how obnoxious the man beside me is.

“Wesley.” A voice comes from across the room. “You and Ms. Blake can come on back. Sorry about the wait.”

Forty minutes later, I’m in the lobby again, standing by the wall of windows and trying not to cry.

I’m really not one of those people who cry at the drop of a hat. Today is not the best day to prove such a thing, but it’s true. But I cry when I’m very angry, and I cry from grief and deep disappointment.

This is all those things at once.