Page 114 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“The first part,” I say.

He thinks back. “I’m sorry?”

“After that…”

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he says, and I smile.

“Before that…”

“I…love you.”

I swallow hard, searching his eyes. And he goes on.

“It’s true, Quinn. I love…I amin love…with you. And I hate that it took me so long to realize that. To realize that nothing I have experienced before came even remotely close to this. To the way I feel when we are together, on wedding dates and at restaurants and in hotel rooms and doing everything and nothing. I’ve never felt it before because I’ve never had the real thing before. But you are the real thing, Quinn Delaney. You are smart and beautiful and sunny and funny and…and…I lose words when I’m with you. I talk for a living, persuade people for a living, and I can’t seem to figure out the right thing to say to you because–”

“Reid,” I stop him. “Shut up.”

He blinks.

“Just…don’t say anything else,” I tell him, and his lips go slack.

“Because it’s over?” he asks.

“No,” I smile, reaching up to touch his face. “Because I love you. And you don’t need to explain yourself anymore.”

With that, his smile comes back, and he presses his forehead to mine, just like he did the night we felt everything and shared everything, and yet didn’t need to say a word.

Then we kiss. Our mouths draw together, meeting each other in the middle, and we kiss so deeply that everything else fades from the room around us.

Because while it seemed hopeless, while I felt helpless, I realize something. I wasn’t looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. I was looking through my eyes. Eyes that believed in love. Believed that it isn’t just a feeling, but something that has to be worked for. Fought for. Chased.

And right now, Reid is showing me that.

The divorce lawyer is showing me that.

And it’s enough for me to believe that my love story, messy and infuriating and complicated as it is, is sitting right in front of me.

And I kiss him again.

Epilogue

Six months later…

“Doyou think we should have gone with the vanilla?” I ask as Allegra helps me with my fake lashes. Note to self: never again. Meanwhile, Dani, Ophelia, and Ashley (yes, that Ashley) are all helping with my stray hairs.

“Vanilla what?” Allegra asks with a furrowed brow. “Quinn, are you sure you want to wear these? They’re difficult and honestly not you.”

“All brides wear fake lashes,” Dani says.

“Not me,” Allegra argues, fighting with the lash.

“That’s because you’re kind of a hippy,” Dani says, and Ophelia looks over at her. “Not that that’s a bad thing.”

“The vanilla cake,” I say. “I picked almond and–”

“I don’t think we have enough time to change your wedding cake flavor,” Allegra says. “Seeing as how you’re walking down the aisle in like ten minutes. Quinn, I hate these lashes. As a friend, as a therapist, and as someone who really doesn’t think makeup does most people any favors, please ditch them.”

“I know,” I say. “I just. I love almond. But not everyone does and–”