The Wedding Menu (Love & Other Recipes)

by Letizia Lorini

“I’m full of great opinions about anything.” “Of course you are.” “I mean it. Ask me the first thing that comes to your mind.” “All right.” The song changes to a slower ballad. “Ariana Grande?” He slowly shakes his head. “Shamefully underrated.” “The color orange.” “Not nearly as good as green.” “Really?” “Really. Rainy days are better than sunny days, making your bed in the morning is a waste of time, pumpkin lattes taste nothing like pumpkin, and Christmas isn’t the best holiday.”

“I can’t live my life for anyone else, because in the end, I am all I have.”

I’m aware your fathers don’t always get along, but . . .” I tune the rest of it out. Our fathers? Who’s his father? He must be asking himself the very same question about me, because his eyes narrow, and just as I put the pieces together, he opens his mouth too. “Ian Roberts?” I ask at the same moment as he bursts, “Amelie Preston?” Oh, this is definitely a meet-atrocious.

“The problem isn’t that you didn’t choose me. The problem is that you didn’t choose yourself.”

Really, telling your fiancé you want him to fuck you hard is nothing special.” “Figures you’d say that,” I say, trying to divert his attention from me. “You’re a fuckboy.” “Maybe. But if you were my fiancée, you wouldn’t be asking another man how to get me into bed,” he says in a firm voice. “In fact, I’d keep you pinned to that mattress until it’s worn out, and then we’d move to the couch. Or the floor.”

“I meant it when I said I’m not looking for a girlfriend, Amelie. But you . . .” He shrugs. “You’re my favorite notification.”

Why is that the cutest compliment I've ever heard and MC give a FMC

“Water. It’s a very disappointing fluid.” “Excuse me?” “I don’t understand why someone would choose, among all the fun drinks out there, to drink water. Soda is better than water. Juice. Beer. Coffee. And of course—” “Chocolate milk, sure.”

“I just broke a door down. You bet your beautiful ass I can pick you up.” He smiles smugly, then holds both his hands forward. “But you’re gonna have to guide me.” “Yeah. Not—just a little down. No, not that hand, the other one. No, this hand is—” His open palm presses on my face. “Oh. Hi, Amelie.” “Can you be serious, Ian?” A chuckle bursts out of his lips. “Right now? Not really.” “Just help me up!”