by Beth K. Vogt
Could she do it?
“Trust me, Nessa.”
Wasn’t that exactly why she was marrying Ted? Because she trusted him enough to say yes when he proposed?
“Maybe you’re right.” She picked the medical brochure up off the floor and gazed at the tranquil photo of white sandy beaches again. “Where we marry isn’t the most important thing—it’s who we marry. And who we are when we get married.”
“Exactly.”
But could she do it?
She’d been an immature eighteen-year-old girl reacting to circumstances the first time she said, “I do.” Now? She was twenty-eight. She knew who she was. What she wanted. Why she was getting married—and whom she was marrying.
There was nothing rash about marrying Ted. Nothing at all.
“And if I get in a few CME credit hours, all the better.” Ted sounded as if it were all decided. “I won’t be in classes all day. We can walk along the beach, ride Jet Skis, eat at some nice restaurants. Destin will be a great place to honeymoon.”
Vanessa chose to focus on the “it’ll be a great place to honeymoon” part of Ted’s comment. “When’s the conference?”
“The first week in April.”
A little more than six months from now. Absolutely doable. “We’ll have to cut down the guest list.”
“Saving money, remember?”
Vanessa swallowed her groan, chasing it with a gulp of her lemony cola. Ted wasn’t turning their wedding into a low-budget bridal event. She’d already gone that route once—her first wedding had cost less than a hundred dollars, including the motel room. She was all for practicality, but her parents had provided them a generous budget. They could afford a few splurges.
“Ted, I’m agreeing to combine the wedding with your conference. But, like you said, this is my chance—our chance—to have the wedding we want. So, yes, it will be small. Probably no more than thirty or forty guests. But I want our wedding to be beautiful. Elegant.”
“Absolutely, babe. I want you to be happy. I’ll handle the conference registration, but before I do, why don’t you call the hotel—” He circled the phone number with ink. “—and make certain they can accommodate a small wedding? Wait a minute . . .”
“What? What are you thinking?”
Ted tapped the end of the pen against his chin. “Don’t you have a vacation week coming up?”
“Ye-es. I have the week after next off. To relax. R-e-l-a-x.”
“This is perfect. You can fly down to Destin and talk to the wedding coordinator face-to-face. Check out florists . . .”
Of course his plan sounded perfect to him—he’d be back here triaging emergencies in the ER while she hopped on a plane and handled the wedding details on her own, all the while dodging her past.
“I’ll think about it.” She forced a smile, hoping she looked like a happy bride-to-be, eager to plan their wedding. “Let’s keep making a list. What else?”
“Invitations—and maybe those things they do nowadays . . .”
Vanessa scrawled a numbered list on the back of the take-out receipt from the Chinese restaurant. “Save-the-date announcements?”
“Yes, those.”
Vanessa wrote down the number three and circled it. “I also want to do engagement photos.”
“Engagement photos? How expensive are those?”
“Ted, you cannot ask ‘How much?’ every time we talk about wedding details. Most photographers have wedding packages, and engagement photos are included. I’ll look into it. And—” She held up her hand, fending off his next question. “—I’ll outline a basic budget, okay?”
“I was going to ask if you think the photographer would come to the hospital and take photos of us there.”
Vanessa dropped the list, pushing away from Ted, gathering up their plates and disposable chopsticks. “Not funny.”
“Who said I was kidding?” Once in the kitchen, Ted leaned against the white tile counter while she rinsed the dishes under scalding hot water and loaded them into the stainless steel dishwasher. “I’m not saying we have to wear scrubs. But you’ve got to admit the hospital is our life. We could get a picture by the ambulance or the nurses’ station. It’d be fun.”
Proof that she needed to let go of the idea of a normal wedding. Again. But was this worth fighting about? Probably not. After all, marriage was about compromise, right? Planning the wedding was giving her plenty of opportunity to practice. Creative engagement photos, check. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Ted bent to open the cabinet beneath the sink, talking over his shoulder. “So, with a small wedding, we’ll both have just one person in the wedding party, right? I’ll have a best man, and you’ll have a maid of honor.”
“Sure.” Even the simplest of weddings were complicated—not that she hadn’t learned that inescapable truth years ago. Now to figure out who could be her bridal attendant. Somebody. Anybody.
Nobody.
She retrieved another can of soda and a slice of precut lemon from her container in the fridge, along with a bottle of water for Ted. “Why don’t we skip the whole best-man-for-you, maid-of-honor-for-me tradition?”
“Really?” Ted looked up from loading soap into the dishwasher. “I should ask my brother to be my best man. Tradition, right?”
“Oh.” Right. Tradition. Vanessa shrugged. “I’m sure I can think of someone.”
Because, somehow, some way, getting married for the second time would be easier than the first. It had to be—even if she had to hire someone to be her maid of honor.
ALSO FROM BETH K. VOGT
Wish You Were Here
You Made Me Love You: an eShort Sequel to Wish You Were Here
Catch a Falling Star
Somebody Like You
Can’t Buy Me Love: a Destination Wedding eNovella
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Beth K. Vogt believes God’s best is often behind the door marked NEVER. She’s a nonfiction author and editor who said she’d never write fiction. She’s the wife of a former air force physician who said she’d never marry a doctor—or anyone in the military. She’s a mom of four who said she’d never have kids. Beth writes inspirational contemporary romance set in the Colorado Rockies because she believes there’s more to romance than the fairy tales tell us. To learn more about Beth, visit:
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Copyright © 2015 by Beth K. Vogt
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First Howard Books ebook edition May 2015
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ISBN 978-1-4767-8982-8