Queen of Babble Gets Hitched by Meg Cabot Page A

I’m not sticking around with that old coot poking into our business.”
    “Tiffany,” I say. “This is his place. It’s called Chez Henri. He’s the owner, remember?”
    “I don’t care.” Tiffany folds her arms across her chest. “He’s a guy. He totally spoils the ambience we’ve established.”
    I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but Tiffany was kind of right. I mean, it’s a bridal shop, after all. What’s Monsieur Henri doing, getting so bent out of shape about a salmon-colored awning? Besides, Madame Henri and I spent a lot of time and money on that awning. It looks totally great, sort of Lulu Guinness meets Fauchon chocolate shop. Speaking of which… mmmm, chocolate…
    “Come on,” Tiffany says, as usual refusing to let the subject drop well after I’ve tired of it. “You know I’m right. And what’s with this pétanque stuff? What is pétanque?”
    “It’s a bowling game,” I explain, “called boules or bocce here, involving a dirt lane and a small metal ball—”
    “Is that all?” Tiffany asks scornfully. “Well, what does he keep going on about it for, then? Is he going to start selling pétanque equipment in here?”
    “No, I’m sure he—”
    “What are you going to do, Lizzie? He’s going to ruin everything you’ve been working so hard for. Everything!”
    Another thing Tiffany has a tendency to do is be way overdramatic about things. Monsieur Henri isn’t going to ruin everything.
    I’m pretty sure.
    Fortunately my cell phone rings, sparing me from having to discuss the matter further… at least with Tiffany. I see that it’s Luke and pick up eagerly. Things are going really well with him—well, aside from the fact that we haven’t picked a date for our wedding. Or a venue. Or really even talked about it much. Or at all, actually.
    Still, living in our own separate apartments is working out really well. We each have our own space, so we don’t get on each other’s nerves, and we totally appreciate the time we spend together. Consequently, the sex couldn’t be better.
    And, okay, maybe he still doesn’t know about my Spanx.
    And maybe I continue to refuse to be on top when we make love. Or turn my back on him when I’m naked.
    And, yeah, any time Luke says he wants to spend the night at his own place—alone—so he can study for an exam, I become convinced he must be sleeping with other girls in his classes.
    And, yes, every time he says he’s spending a Saturday afternoon studying at the library, I’m sure that what he’s actually doing is seeing some other girl behind my back, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from sneaking down to NYU to spy on him (except I don’t have a student ID to get into the library).
    But you know. Other than that, things are total bliss!
    Of course I have no reason to suspect these things of him other than, nearly a year into our relationship, I still can’t believe a guy as amazing as Luke actually wants anything to do with a neurotic mess like myself. As Shari frequently remarks, it really is astonishing that a woman with as much business savvy as I have is as insecure in her romantic life as I’ve turned out to be.
    But I blame this on my obsession with Lifetime Television. Of which I’ve been watching a lot more now that I live alone and there’s no man in the house to groan every time I switch it on.
    “Hi,” I say to Luke now.
    “What’s wrong?” he asks right away.
    “Wrong?” I echo. “Nothing’s wrong. What makes you think something is wrong?”
    “Because I know you. And you sound like someone just told you Lilly Pulitzer died.”
    “Oh,” I say, lowering my voice so Tiffany, who is picking up a call, can’t overhear. “Well, actually, Monsieur Henri stopped by the shop a few minutes ago, and he wasn’t too pleased with some of the changes I’ve made since he’s been out sick. He was acting kind of… strange.”
    “What?” Luke sounds adorably indignant on my behalf. “You’ve worked your