Since Harry has to be in Manhattan for an important, urgent meeting with his potential new client, I had seventy-two hours – I refuse to use the term three days as it sounds like a short amount of time – to prepare myself before Harry and I have to make an announcement regarding our marriage to our families.
I've made up stories as to how Harry and I met, as to when we decide to get married, as to why we keep it a secret. To cut a long story short, I've come up with answers for every question that may be thrown at us later so we won't end up giving out answers that are the completely opposites of one another; I've seen that happening in movies and whilst it's comical, I can't risk the chance of it happening to us.
Despite having told myself that I'm ready, once my seventy-two hours are up I realise that I am, as a matter of fact, not ready.
My mum, undoubtedly, won't be happy with the news as she's made it clear to me over and over that she wants to be in charge of my wedding. But now that Harry and I are already married, she's lost the chance to go crazy over wedding gowns, wedding cakes, wedding venues or anything that is related to a wedding.
Guilt creeps into my blood, but I brush it off because although I love her, she can drive me up the walls sometimes.
The thought that I won't hear the end of this is enough to convince me that I'll never be ready to tell my mum that I'm married and she has no idea about it until a week later. Yet I know there's no point in hiding it anymore; she'll find out about it sooner or later and I'd rather that she hears it from me.
On the other hand, I'm not exactly worried about Indie because the worst reaction that I know I may get from her is her loud, irritating laughter – one that can infuriate almost everyone. She'll laugh, that's for sure, especially when our mum will start scolding me about my recklessness, about my lack of patience – she doesn't need to know that I got married whilst I was drunk in Vegas becauseI'll tell her that Harry's a busy, busy man and we've decided to settle for a simple wedding, one that no one but us knows.
"What's wrong with you?" Indie asks, out of the blue, her voice startling me and if she's not curious earlier, she definitely is now.
I clear my throat, hoping that my voice won't come out squeaky as it always does when I'm lying. "Nothing."
"I think we both know that you're a shit liar, Bev," she points out with a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and I hate to admit that she's right. Between the both of us, she's a better liar and she's never failed to remind me of that. "So, what's wrong?"
I open my mouth to tell her again that nothing is wrong when my mobile phone starts ringing. Indie tries to sneak a peek at the screen, but I quickly snatch it from the coffee table – it's Harry, thank God Indie doesn't see that – and make my way to the kitchen.
Certain that Indie won't try to eavesdrop, I answer the call, pressing the device against my ear, "What?"
His chuckle is the first thing I hear and I have to swallow the scoff that threatens to escape my throat. He hasn't said anything and yet he's already gotten under my skin – it's one of his talents I suppose. "What? Is that how you great your beloved husband?"
This time, I don't bother to hold back the scoff that leaves my mouth. It's something that I do a lot, I notice, when I'm talking to him even if our communication happens mostly through text messages. "Why, dear husband, are you calling me?"
"Hmm," he hums and an image of his lips curving into a smirk comes into my mind. I push it to the back of my mind. "I like the sound of that."
"I'm gonna hang up now if you keep beating around the bushes, I swear." I threaten him and at that he chuckles, mumbling his apologies that don't sound sincere at all. I let it slide, nonetheless.
