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After our fallout earlier, Liam returned to the breakfast table, as did I. We both stayed on, making conversation with my friends— Correction, he charmed them while I stayed silent. I barely managed to eat my breakfast, while he polished off the rest of the food on his plate. Typical male behavior. He’s able to compartmentalize everything. Whereas my guts were churning so hard, I could barely keep my food down. He even helped to clear away the breakfast dishes, no doubt, to earn brownie points with my friends, after which he left.
The girls retired to their rooms. Summer and Solene wanted to catch up on their sleep, but Zara and I made plans to get a work-out before lunch.
Later, as I’d made my way to the gym, Liam texted to say my phone was unblocked and I had access to my email and social media. Sure enough, notifications began to crowd my phone right away, although it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. The comments on the post I’d put up had died off. Apparently, our wedding doesn’t warrant as much public scrutiny as I thought it would.
Now, I click through to the social media platform again and check. Nope, except for a couple more comments, one of which is someone hawking their T-shirt and another of which compliments my choice of outfit, there’s nothing. It’s like everyone moved on to other news already. Huh. I guess Liam was right. People are happy to turn their attention to the next big thing that comes along.
Still. "This really is strange."
"What is?" Zara asks.
I switch off my treadmill and use my towel to pat the faint beads of perspiration on my forehead. "I thought I’d have trolls making my life miserable and passing judgement on me. But the attention has died down so quickly..."
I search through the internet. "We barely made any news." Except for a passing reference in some gossip blogs and a couple of wedding influencers who commented on 'brideswap,' all the other mentions are overwhelmingly positive. People bought Liam’s little speech about how he fell for me and how this is the right thing for both of us.
The tension in my shoulders drains a little. I hadn’t realized how stressed I was about the potential outcome of the post until now.
"That’s good, right?" She uncaps her water bottle and drinks from it.
"Y-e-a-h?"
"You don’t sound very sure."
"I mean, I’m glad there isn’t a bigger backlash." I step off the treadmill, then hold the phone out to her. "I mean, look. Some of the articles even mention how mature it is of all parties involved to do what’s best for us. When was the last time you saw the press being this measured?"
She reads it, then glances at me. "It does seem people are being more sensible about it than not." She hands the phone to me. "And you’ve got loads of positive coverage around the actual news of the wedding, including the fact that it’s a private affair being held on Liam’s island in the Mediterranean. So, enough to keep people engaged but not so much information that it comes across as crass, considering it comes on the heels of his previous broken engagement." She pauses and taps her chin. "It’s all tasteful, actually."
"Too tasteful," I stop my treadmill and jump off it with my phone in my hand.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing, it just seems strange there haven’t been more trolls commenting on the sequence of events. There seemed to be people taking sides initially, but even that’s died off."
"You do have your own joint hashtag," she points out.
"#Lisla," I half laugh.
"That’s not too bad.”
“I guess,” I hesitate.
“It could have always been #Liamsla or #Slam or #Ilam?”
"I don’t even want to go there.” I resist a shudder.
“Overall, things have worked out okay, eh?”
"They have.” I purse my lips, “I just wish I could be more hands on with the wedding preparations."
"Best you aren’t. The details would only stress you out. This way, your vision is still executed, but you don’t have to be involved with the nitty-gritty."
I narrow my gaze on her. "Is that your way of hinting I haven’t been delegating?"
"I’m the last person to find fault with you on that. God knows, I’m the same. It’s difficult to let go when you know you can do things better than anyone else. But it’s also the shortest way to burn out."
"So I've been too hands on." I purse my lips.
"Hey, I understand. When you’re building your own business, you have to do everything. You have been a bit of a workaholic, though."
