I have said all of this to Damien, and while I know he doesn’t fully agree with my reasons for needing this wedding, I also know he understands them.
As for me, I understand his fear that I’ve taken on too much. But this is my wedding we’re talking about. The nightmares are only my fears; they are not my reality. I can handle it; I can handle anything if the end result is walking down that aisle toward Damien.
“Everything is going great,” I say to reassure us both. “I’ve got it all under control. Really.”
“You found a photographer?”
“Are you kidding? Of course.” It is a lie. And that’s a risk, because Damien can read me better than anyone. I force myself not to hold my breath as I wait for him to ask me details—name, studio, credentials. Those are questions I can’t answer because the truth is, I haven’t found a photographer to replace the one Damien fired last week after we learned the man had made an under-the-table agreement to sell unapproved candid photos of the wedding and reception to TMZ.
And that’s not even our only problem. I found out yesterday that the lead singer for the band I’d lined up had decided to drop everything and move back home to Canada, which means we are now entirely without entertainment.
I need to get off my ass and find someone—and I need to do it fast. As Damien had so kindly reminded me, the wedding is just a few days away.
But, hey, it’s not like I’m feeling stressed or anything.
I frown, realizing that maybe there is a solid explanation for my nightmares, after all.
“What is it?” Damien asks, and I fear that despite all my efforts to keep these minor ripples in the wedding planning out of his hair, it’s about to get gnarly.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about my massive to-do list.”
I can tell by his expression that he doesn’t buy it. But I am a bride, and like most grooms, he knows innately that “handle with care” is standard operating procedure. “In case it escaped your notice, we have the cash to pay someone to help you. Use it if you need it.”
“What? Like a wedding planner?” I shake my head. “For one thing, the wedding’s too close for that. For another, as I keep telling you, I want to do this myself. I want it to reflect us, not the latest fad in weddings.”
“I get that,” he says, “but you’ve taken on a hell of a lot.”
“You’ve helped,” I respond.
He chuckles. “As much as you’ve let me.”
I lift a shoulder. “You have a universe to run.”
It’s a simple fact that I have more time than Damien. I’m juggling only one small business, which has exactly one employee—me. He’s running Stark International, which has about as many people as an emerging country. Maybe more. And, yes, I have been busy, but that’s partly because Damien didn’t want a long engagement. And since I didn’t think I could stand waiting, either, I was happy to agree.
It’s been three months since he proposed, two months and twenty-nine days since I started diving into planning and prep, balancing my software development business against the business of my wedding. I’m proud of what’s come together, and I’m even more proud that I’ve done so much of it on my own. Hell, I’ve actually been getting some use out of all those etiquette classes my mother forced me to sit through. Imagine that.
I aim an impish smile at him. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, it is a bit stressful doing everything so fast, but I’m actually having a lot of fun working out the details of decorating the beach and organizing the caterer and pulling all the pieces together. I suppose we could push the wedding back a few months to make things even easier on me.”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t even joke about that. Not unless you want me to scoop you up, toss you on the helicopter, and elope to Mexico. Which, for the record, I still think is a fantastic idea.”
“Vegas would be easier,” I tease.