The right couple.
Which was to say, the couple whose names were on the dang invitations that needed to be approved and sent to the printer that very morning.
“He’s your big brother!” I finished for her. “Gosh, how special for you to have someone who’s basically the nearest thing to a blood relation that a platonic friend could be. And of course, he’s very lucky to have you as his precious, beloved baby sister.”
Marissa laughed lightly, and her cheeks pinkened. “I mean… it wasn’t like that. Not back then, at least. I had a huge crush on him back in the day, and we… well. There was a time when I thought he had feelings for me too. You know, when I pictured my wedding day here on the farm as a little girl, Levi was the guy I sort of pictured waiting for me at the end of the aisle.”
Fuck. Super fuck.
“Too funny!” I laughed a little desperately. “When I was a sweet baby Quinn, I had a crush on Prince Phillip—not the British one, the one from Sleeping Beauty. I think we would have been an absolutely tragic couple in real life, though. I mean, who wants to shack up with a guy who goes around kissing maidens without permish. But that’s the thing about young love! It’s usually shortsighted and super foolish. Anyway.” I swallowed against the sticky lump of guilt in my throat and lied, “It’s pretty clear that he treats you like a little sister now, which is really lovely.”
She blinked at me. “You think he has brotherly feelings towards me?”
Sweet, merciful Jesus.
“Of course?” The words came out like a question, though I meant to say them with conviction. “I mean, the way he’s out here helping to make sure your wedding goes off without a hitch tells the tale, doesn’t it?”
One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “You know, I guess it does,” she said softly.
Ugh. I felt lower than pond scum.
But I reminded myself that just because she might have some leftover feelings for her childhood crush, that didn’t mean she didn’t have even more passionate feelings about her actual fiancé, did it?
“Enough about Levi! Tell me more about Trey,” I insisted avidly. “How did you two meet?”
“Oh. Um. We’ve known each other for a while too, I guess. His mom and mine are friends. We weren’t close at all growing up, but then last spring, we both had our mixed doubles partners cancel at the last minute, right before the annual charity tennis tournament at our country club, and we ended up playing together. He was really encouraging. I’m not a great player, but he kept saying things like, ‘Nice volley, Marissa!’ Which made the afternoon not so bad, you know?” Marissa smiled shyly. “Then he asked me to go see a musical with him the following weekend, and things just… happened from there. Turns out, we had a bunch of stuff in common. Like, we both love wine tastings. And, um, he likes to cook, which is great because I like to eat. And he understands that I need space, so if we don’t see each other for a day or two… or even ten, he’s totally fine with it. Not jealous in the slightest.”
“That’s… uh…” I couldn’t think of a way to end my sentence that wasn’t a lie. The way Marissa described it, she had as much in common with her fiancé as I did with Annie at the bakery. “Great?” I finally said.
“Right? Yeah. I think so too.” Marissa smiled. “Plus, our parents are ecstatic at the match. When Trey asked me to marry him over Christmas, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom as purely happy. She told him yes before I had a chance to!” She giggled. “Apparently, our star charts align perfectly, and our enneagram types are very compatible. Oh, and I told you about the whole virginity pact?” She lowered her voice though there was no one else around to overhear. “That was actually Trey’s idea. Isn’t that sweet?”
“The… very sweetest,” I agreed, while in my head, I heard Champ’s voice saying, “Gay. The man is gay.”
“He wants to show that he respects me.”
“Uh-huh. It’s so…” Once again, I was stumped. What was a word that meant “shady” but sounded positive? “Respectful,” I agreed.
“Yeah.” Marissa sounded a little less confident. “I don’t suppose you and Champ ever considered making a pact like that?”
“A no-sex pact?” I snorted before I could control myself. “No.” Little did she know, if you took the sex away from our relationship, there’d be no relationship.
None at all. Zero. Bupkis.
But then I thought of all the talking we’d done around the sex--of all the nights we’d stared up at my darkened ceiling while I told him things about my past I would never have said in the light of day, or laughed about how he found most children’s stories horrifying, or heard the cocky confidence disappear from his voice for a moment when he talked about frustrations at work—and wondered if that was strictly true.