I guess I’m just not your typical girly girl. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love playing dress up and having this diamond on my finger, but when it comes to wedding planning, I’m hopeless. I’d just as soon focus on my work and leave the preparations to someone else.
And that someone turns out to be my big, muscle-laden fiancé. He’s as manly as a guy can get and just when I think I couldn’t love him any more, he takes all the wedding prep off my hands, telling me there’s no shame in a man planning the wedding.
And he’s really good at it.
Yes—my fiancé has his own Pinterest account. He’s got a board for wedding colors, he favors white and gold, a board for cakes, he wants five tiers, and a board for honeymoon ideas. It’s adorable.
My vote is returning to Fiji. I want to relive every minute of our trip, this time with matching wedding bands on our fingers as we glide through the crystal blue waters.
He’s got everything on his end under control, the only task I’ve been left with is to set a date. Which, with my hectic schedule, is kind of a problem. Rawley owns his own business and can take off whenever he wants, but I don’t have the same luxury. You just don’t get that many vacation days your first year of residency.
So when I look at my work calendar and really evaluate, I determine that we’ll have to push the wedding off till spring.
Two years from now.
Rawley is not going to be happy about it, and so, I’ve avoided telling him. I learned my lesson about keeping things from him, though. So I know it’s time.
He brings the subject up again, just like he did the night before. “Babygirl, I can’t put in an order for anything until you give me a concrete date.” He flips through a few tuxes he likes, pinning them to a new board.
I set my notes on the coffee table and twist the ring on my finger. It’s finally time to tell him. “So, I’ve been looking over my schedule, and the first two years of residency are really grueling. I think we need to wait until I’ve gotten through them.”
He gives me a calm stare. Boy, he’s taking this well. “If we can’t get married for two years, then you’re moving in here.”
According to his tone, it’s not a suggestion. “I don’t know. You know how I always promised myself that I wouldn’t move in with someone until I’m married.”
He gives a groan, tossing his phone on top of my notes. “Yeah, but according to you, you can’t take off enough time to manage a wedding and a honeymoon, for two more years. I can’t live another two years going back and forth between our places, and sleeping without you in my bed every night. I miss you too much.”
I get where he’s coming from, and I want to be with him too. But I just can’t bend on this nagging thought of not moving in until I’m officially Mrs. Morrow. So, like every time a tough subject comes up, I try to distract him with kisses.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into me. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got other things we could be doing.” I kiss his cheek, but he backs away.
He takes my hands, pulling them down from his neck and holds them in his lap. “No, Emmeline. We are going to talk about this, now.” He uses that stern daddy tone and raises one brow sky high.
It makes me squirm. “But I don’t want to.” Ready to be done talking and move on to kissing, I try the babygirl pout on him.
His brow only goes higher. “I know what you’re trying to do. And you know where it’s going to land you.” And the brow goes higher still. “Right over my lap.”
My throat feels all tight and I swallow. “Fine. We can talk about it.” I tug my hands from his.
I’m still pouting.
“Babygirl?” His fingers slide under my chin, tilting my gaze.
“Yes?”
“Pouting gets you over my lap, too.”
“Ugh. Fine.” But I can’t seem to get that bottom lip to retract. “I just don’t know why we have to talk about this when you’re the only one who wants to talk about it.” I slide back on the sofa, crossing my arms over my chest.
He gives a shake of his head. “Because it’s our future we’re talking about. And I don’t want to live apart for two years.”
I don’t want to either. I really don’t. Still, I can’t help but nudge him a little.
“Oh?”
He glares. “Oh.”
I don’t either, daddy.
Suddenly there’s a little devil on my right shoulder, whispering in my ear. Push it a little. Give him a reason to spank you. You know he loves it. I imagine an angel with a golden halo whispering in my left ear, He’s a good man and what he’s saying makes sense. This decision affects him too. Talk to him.