“I don’t like Luke because he’s dangerous,” I point out.

“Oh, right,” Chaz says. “You like him… why? Because he’s rich? Handsome? Suave? Debonair? Thoughtful? Kind? Going to save the children someday?”

“All of the above,” I say, “except rich. I intend to make my own money, thank you, so I have no need of his. In fact, I just took on Ava Geck as a client today.”

“The skanky crack whore?” Chaz looks horrified.

“Why does everyone call her that?” I ask in annoyance. “No one has ever actually seen her do crack or have sex in exchange for money, and yet everyone calls her a skanky crack whore.”

“I don’t have to see her do it,” Chaz says. “Have you ever checked out Celebrity Pit Fight?”

It’s my turn to look horrified. “What is a hard-drinking, hard-living, philosophy Ph.D. candidate doing watching Celebrity Pit Fight?”

Chaz grins. “It’s a really good show,” he says. “I mean, if you’re ever in the mood to examine one of the bleaker examples of the depraved depths to which we as a society have sunk. Or at least the depraved depths to which the entertainment industry is determined to make us think we’ve sunk.”

“Hey.” Luke slides back into the booth and hands me my glass of wine. “Sorry that took so long. This place is a madhouse. There are five different games on.”

I notice with a slight feeling of disappointment that he’s forgotten to get a side of ice. Oh well. We’ve been going out for only six months, after all. He can’t remember everything.

“You forgot the ice,” Chaz says. “Luke, tell your girlfriend she isn’t going to get ahead in the wedding gown biz if she takes on skanky crack whores as clients.”

I blink, not quite able to believe Chaz remembered.

“What ice?” Luke looks confused. “Wait. Who’s a skanky crack whore?”

“No one,” I say at the same time that Chaz says, “Ava Geck.”

“Who’s Ava Geck?” Luke wants to know.

Chaz guffaws. I take a hasty sip of my wine, knowing what’s coming.

“Do you even watch television?” Chaz asks Luke. “Do you ever even read a periodical besides The Wall Street Journal? Tell me, because I really want to know. When you’re in the dentist’s office, do you ever, even by accident, pick up a copy of Us Weekly?”

“Stop it,” I say to Chaz. I’m getting annoyed with him now. More annoyed, maybe, than the situation warrants. “Just because Luke doesn’t know who Ava Geck is—”

“Everyone knows who Ava Geck is,” Chaz bursts out.

“Who’s Ava Geck?” Luke asks again.

“She’s—” But suddenly I’m so tired I can’t even go on. I can’t take it, the voices of the announcers from the televisions and the screams of the fans and the clapping whenever someone’s team scores a basket—not to mention the drunk homeless guy I can see bobbing around outside the plate-glass window a few feet away, begging for change from anyone who passes by the place.

But what I really can’t take is the voice inside my head that’s returned. It’s a familiar voice. It ought to be. Because it’s the voice of the guy sitting directly across from me… the big, rumpled one in the University of Michigan baseball cap.

“Why, yes, Lizzie. I’m manically depressed because the girl I’ve finally realized I’ve always been in love with, and who I was beginning to think just might love me back, turned around and got herself engaged to my best friend, who, frankly, doesn’t deserve her.”

But simultaneously I hear that same voice saying, “You want a happy romantic relationship? Don’t ruin it by getting married. I know what I’m talking about.”

“You know what?” I say suddenly, my own voice tight with unshed emotion. “This has been fun. But I’m really tired. Do you guys mind if I call it a night? I have a big day tomorrow, and I think I’m gonna turn in early.”

“Oh, come on,” Luke says. “You just got here. Don’t go yet. The game just started.”

I look at Chaz. His face is impassive beneath the brim of his hat. But he’s looking right back at me.

“Yeah, Lizzie,” he says. “Don’t go yet. The game just started.”

It’s weird. But something in the way his gaze holds mine—not to mention his tone—tells me he isn’t talking about the game on TV.

Not at all.

“Okay, I’ll be seeing you guys later,” I say, my own voice pitched way too high, as I all but shove Luke out of the way in my haste to leave the booth.

“I’ll walk you home,” a confused Luke says, but I brush this offer aside with a quick kiss on his cheek and a whispered No, thanks, I’ll be fine, stay and have fun, then bolt for the door, where I stand gasping in the bitterly cold January air.

“Spare a quarter, miss?” the homeless drunk asks me, holding out a filthy, chipped coffee cup.

I don’t even answer him. That’s what a jaded New Yorker I’ve become. I never have a quarter to spare anymore. I need my quarters. I need all the quarters I can get. Do you have any idea how much it costs to do laundry around here?

“Fine,” the homeless guy says with a sniff. “Be that way, bitch.”

My eyes fill with tears. I’m not a bitch! I’m not! Any more than Ava Geck is a skanky crack whore. Any more than Chaz Pendergast is in love with me. Oh, why did he have to say that, anyway? Why does he have to be so mean? After having gotten those beautiful roses, I’d been completely ready to forgive him for all the nasty things he’d said yesterday morning… and then he’d had to go and say that.

… the girl I’ve finally realized I’ve always been in love with… who I was beginning to think just might love me back…

He’d only been teasing. He’s always teased me, the whole time I’ve known him.

So… why does it hurt so much this time?

“You want a happy romantic relationship? Don’t ruin it by getting married.”

But if you don’t get married… what’s the point?

The Elizabethan age brought us the flowering of poetry, literature, theater, and romance. So it’s no wonder we have Elizabethan England to thank for so many of our modern-day wedding traditions, including the exchange of rings, a more traditional (i.e., non-weapons-bearing) use of bridesmaids, the exchange of wedding vows, even bridal bouquets. Most upper-class marriages were still arranged during this time, often from birth. Only the lower classes had the luxury of being able to marry for love.

But if this hadn’t been the case, what else would William Shakespeare have had to write about?

Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster

Your sister-in-law-to-be might have the cutest kids in the world—and she just very well may have a point: Maybe they should have a role in your wedding. But don’t let her browbeat you into sacrificing one of your bridesmaid, ring bearer, or flower girl positions for her kids. Don’t upset one of your friends or family members just to placate his sister. There are lots of other tasks her kids can perform throughout the ceremony, such as guest book holder, confetti or program passer-outer, or even adorable, if slightly height-challenged, usher. Use your imagination, and you’ll both be happy.

LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS^™