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Oliver took the stack and began reading off the guest names while I wrote them down. Over the past few months, I’d adopted Oliver’s habit of writing things by hand rather than electronically. It made me remember them better. He paused, looking at me.
“I think I should write down the names,” he suggested.
“Does it matter?” I asked, puzzled.
“You’re better at this stuff,” he said.
I frowned. “What stuff? Reading names?”
“All this stuff. I’ve barely had input,” he admitted, a hint of frustration in his voice.
I sighed and rolled my eyes, but relented, handing him the pad and pen. I pulled the stack of cream-colored envelopes off the top and opened the first one. We went through over a hundred before I got a paper cut on my index finger. I sucked it into my mouth, wincing.
“You okay?” Oliver asked, concern flashing in his eyes.
“Just a paper cut,” I muttered, waving it off.
“You should use my letter opener. Want me to get it?”
“Why didn’t you suggest this before?” I huffed.
“I don’t know.”
He rose from the chair, and I took my finger out of my mouth to inspect the cut. It was minor, but it still stung. The letter opener helped, and I went through at least fifty more invitations before I came upon a name I didn’t want to see.
“Lara Harvin? I never sent her an invitation,” I said, my voice sharp with disbelief.
“I did,” Oliver replied calmly. “We’re friends. I can’t ignore her.”
“Oliver, I don’t like her. She wants you,” I protested, frustration bubbling up.
“She doesn’t want me. She was trying to get under your skin,” he said, meeting my gaze steadily.
“And it worked. Don’t you think it’s disrespectful to have someone who insulted me at our wedding?” I demanded, my hands clenched.
He ground his teeth. “I could say the same about Tyler. Don’t think I don’t know he’s been badmouthing me. I know he dislikes me,” Oliver countered, his tone firm.
“He is not. He’s protective of me,” I insisted, my voice rising.
“His services are no longer needed. You have me to protect you,” he said, crossing his arms.
“I’ve known Ty since I was a baby. You can’t expect me to exclude him,” I argued, my frustration mounting.
“And you can’t expect me to exclude Lara because you don’t like her,” Oliver retorted, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
I waved my hand in frustration. “You know what, fine. Put the bitch on the list, but she better keep her snide comments to herself. I don’t want to be insulted on my wedding day,” I snapped, my anger simmering.
“She’ll behave,” Oliver assured me, his voice steady.
“Can you guarantee that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes, or she’ll be escorted out of the reception,” he promised.
“All she has to do is keep her mouth shut,” I muttered, turning back to the invitations.
“I promise,” he said softly, his hand gently squeezing mine.
I went back to opening invitations, not saying another word. By the time the list was completed, we had four hundred and twenty-three guests. Everyone that sent in an invitation was a yes. We still had a few days before the responses were due. I was satisfied with the number of guests we had, but I was sure we would get more. Oliver leaned back in his chair, stretching.
