Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Only three?” Her smile falters, and I look down at her hands. She doesn’t appear to have made much progress. “Do you have any clue how to tie this?”
“It’s a weird angle because you’re a giant Viking.”
“I think, in fact, you’ve never done this before.”
“You might be right,” she says, frowning. “But I’m not a quitter.”
I lift my chin, giving her better access, feeling happy to stand here all night. “Okay, it sounds like we might be here for a while. Tell me more about this tea ceremony.”
“Well,” she says, and pulls free whatever progress she’s managed so far to start over. “After the groom proves his worth, he’s allowed to see the bride. They both wear the most beautiful traditional garments, and the bride and groom pay their respects to the family members—oldest to youngest—and a cup of tea is offered in turn to each of them. The family gives the lai see, which are red envelopes containing money, and the elders give them advice…” She trails off. Tilting her head, Fizzy takes a deep breath. “Honestly, I love the tea ceremony.”
An ache passes through me when I hear the wistful longing in her voice. She’s so rarely vulnerable, it’s both wonderful and devastating to see this tiny crack in her armor. “I can see that.”
“Anyway,” she says, straightening with a quick inhale, “we did that at Kailey’s parents’ house this morning, and got back here with just enough time to change, and that’s when I remembered the eighty thousand buttons on my dress.” She steps back, surveying her work, and frowns. “I’m going to be honest, the execution here is not great.”
I look down, undo the floppy mess of a tie, and Fizzy glowers as I handily fix it. “You don’t have to gloat, you mountain of jerkface.”
“I’d been trying to make you feel useful here, but you’ve just told me we’re in a hurry.”
She runs her hand down my chest, spreading sparking warmth beneath my skin. Her hand stalls at my pocket and she pats it. “Is this what I think it is?”
I reach inside the blazer, pulling out the red envelope with cash inside. “Like I said, Evan helped me figure out what to bring for a gift.”
She stares up at me. “That’s very sweet.”
“I like him,” I admit begrudgingly. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is, but I mean you. You’re sweet.”
I scowl this away. “I am absolutely not sweet.”
Fizzy reaches up, gently pinching my chin. “You, in fact, are the sweetest.”
thirty-two CONNOR
In the time that I was buttoning her dress and she was pretending to know what to do with my tie, the hotel lobby has turned into a madhouse. Black-tie wedding guests are everywhere, hugging, introducing, even crying in greeting. Looking around at the opulence that has spilled from the banquet hall into the lobby, I get the sense that the bride’s family is the kind of wealthy that is hard for most mortals to comprehend.
“Seven hundred guests,” Fizzy tells me sotto voce, leading me through the crowd. “Peter said they bought out several floors of rooms here for family on both sides flying in from all over the world.”
I let out a low whistle, taking in the decor in the hallway outside the main banquet room—small cocktail tables with tasteful bouquets, glass bowls of wrapped chocolates, and wedding programs—and then inside, where I nearly trip over my own feet because the scale of the decor is unlike anything I’ve ever seen: cream silk is draped down walls; at least seventy tables are each decorated with tall vases dripping with red and orange blooms. Our destination is outside, where the ceremony will be held before what Fizzy promises to be a night of food and dancing and partying. But we are stopped every few feet as someone Fizzy knows steps into view and she greets them with her unfiltered enthusiasm. Women are hugged with a joyous cry; male relatives are embraced and teased. I am introduced to at least fifty people whose names I immediately forget because I am in awe of Fizzy in her familial element: warm, loving, quick with a story or anecdote.
A few people comment on my appearance on the show, and I quickly divert their attention back to Fizzy. Getting stopped by strangers and praised for being in front of the camera is still something I’m trying to get used to. It’s not that I don’t like doing the interviews; I do. Verbally sparring with Fizzy has quickly become one of my top-three favorite activities, and even I see that we play well off each other. But the public recognition is not something I’d mentally prepared for.
As we move through the crowd, all that lingers is the impression Fizzy gives that everyone I’ve met is the most impressive, or interesting, or adventurous, or creative person to have ever lived. And then, as we step out to the massive lawn resplendent with flowers and satin ribbons, there are Fizzy’s parents, greeting guests as they come outside.