Pre-Wedding Jitters

"...and the ceremony would take place here," Jill breezed past the ballroom at a fast clip, almost faster than Rosie could keep pace with. That wide, plasticky grin stayed on her Botox-filled face the entire time, her decoupaged clipboard tucked tight under her flabby arm. "Oh, and out here is the garden. Just look at all those flower buds! They should all be popped out by the big day. Can you imagine what a gorgeous backdrop that would make for pictures?!"

Rosie opened her mouth to comment, but as usual, Fran - her mother-in-law to be - beat her to the punch.

"Oh, it would be absolutely stunning," Fran cooed, hugging her son's arm with a gleeful little giggle. "This venue is the best we've seen yet! Don't you think, Bobby Darling?"

Bob looked up from his phone, blinking at his mother in a daze. "Huh? Oh, sure, Mom; whatever you say. Listen, I'll be right back. Got a little problem at the office I need to take care of. Excuse me."

Before he walked off, he at least had the good sense to peck Rosie on the lips. "If you like it, Babe, I love it. Back in a few, okay?"

Rosie started to answer - again - but Bob was already out of earshot before she even took a breath. As Jill and Fran walked off together to continue their tour of the venue, Rosie sat down on a stone bench in the garden with a heavy sigh. It was just as well; they probably wouldn't miss her anyway. Automatically, her eye fell to the diamond ring glinting on her left hand, which seemed to feel heavier every day.

When Bob proposed, it was the happiest day of Rosie's life. He pulled out all the stops for it, too: a nice dinner, roses, a string quartet. Even if she wasn't head over heels for that man, it would have been impossible to say no. If ever there was a perfect man, it was him. Thick, wavy blond hair; green eyes that pierced her to the bone; a figure that would make a Greek statue jealous. His charming wit, staggering 185 IQ, and 401K were just icing on the cake. Four weeks from now, she would be living the dream as Mrs. Robert Fauntleroy - wife of Forbes' most successful man in their "30 under 30" finance category.

So why wasn't she happy?

Maybe it had to do with the wedding itself. Bob had been pretty hands off for their entire engagement, acting more like a walking checkbook than a fiancé. Not that Rosie blamed him, of course. The life of an investment banker was busy to say the least, and lately there seemed to be one fire after another at his company that needed putting out. Being so hands on with his work was one of the reasons she loved him so much. He wasn't afraid to roll up his sleeves and get dirty if he needed to, unlike other trust fund babies who just sat back and farmed out even the smallest tasks to their woefully underpaid subordinates.

No, the problem certainly wasn't him. Fran, on the other hand, was starting to be. She hardly let Rosie get a word in edgewise, acting like it was her wedding instead of her son's. At first, Rosie just sat back and let her have her way. She'd lost her own mother when she was twelve, and the last thing she wanted was to start her married life at odds with her future in-law. As the wedding inched ever closer, however, Rosie regretted not speaking up for herself sooner. So far, she'd had absolutely no say in anything.

Fran had chosen steak and chicken for the entrees at dinner, even though Rosie was a strict vegetarian. Fran picked peach and navy blue as the wedding colors, which looked hideous together in Rosie's opinion. For the cake, Fran insisted on German chocolate, even though Rosie told her multiple times she was highly allergic to coconut. Even the dress she was wearing - although lovely - was not Rosie's style; a big, poofy ballgown covered in gaudy crystals and beads. Rosie didn't think it flattered her at all, and thought it was way too over the top... but Fran gushed over it so hard, it was impossible to tell her no.

Rosie sighed as she looked out over the garden. This venue - like the last five they'd looked at that day - was indeed stunning... but it wasn't what Rosie had in mind. She pictured a small, quiet affair in the church she attended weekly in downtown Manhattan; just close friends and family, with a reception at a chic, upscale hotel a few blocks away. Fran shot down that idea immediately, insisting that her precious baby boy deserved to tie the knot in style. That's how Rosie got dragged all the way out to the Hamptons, looking at mansions for rent that were big enough to host the three hundred guests Fran had invited. More than half of whom Rosie had never even met.

"Rosie, Honey? What are you doing? Are you okay?"

Jill's voice snapped Rosie out of her gloomy thoughts. She looked up with a start to see the wedding planner smiling down at her curiously. Apparently they had missed her after all. That was unexpected.

"I'm sure she's fine," Fran answered crisply, her heels clicking across the cobblestones to Jill's side. Her ruby red, manicured talons wrapped around her bony hips as she scowled at her future daughter-in-law, tapping her Louis Vuitton pump impatiently. "Well? Are you going to just sit there?! This is your wedding, after all! Do I have to do everything for you?!"

That did it.

Rosie stood up slowly, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of her jeans. She was ready to tell Fran exactly what she thought about the venue, their hyper-inflated guest list, the older woman's abysmal sense of taste, and the budget they'd maxed out three times over now all because of her. All those thoughts flew out of Rosie's head immediately, however, when Bob's strong, gentle arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Rosie?" he rumbled, "Babe... is something wrong?"

The spiteful words on the tip of Rosie's tongue all tumbled back into her throat, tangling up in a wad that clogged her esophagus completely. She couldn't bear to say all the things she wanted if he was around to hear it. The only person Bob loved more than her was his mother. As much as Rosie despised the old shrew, she cared about Bob more... and she refused to hurt him, even if staying silent hurt her worse.

They finished the tour of the stately old mansion in record time, after which Fran declared it was perfect for the wedding. Jill forked over the paperwork immediately for Bob to sign, which he usually had no problem with. As CEO of his own company, he was used to signing things all day long. This time, however, he hesitated. His piercing green eyes fixed on Rosie, but she couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking. After a moment, she realized he was asking silently for her permission, which she gave with a defeated nod. He waited another minute - studying her face the entire time - before taking the clipboard from Jill and putting his John Hancock on the dotted line.

Later that evening, Rosie and Bob were relaxing in his Park Avenue apartment over a glass of wine. They talked about their upcoming nuptials and where they should go for their honeymoon. Well, Bob talked. Rosie just half-listened, nursing her wine and murmuring her agreement with whatever he said.

"I hear Mars is lovely this time of year," Bob mused, which finally earned a surprised look from Rosie. When she finally blinked at him, confused, his handsome face stretched in a warm smile.

"So you are listening," he said, his smile fading into a worried frown. "Babe, c'mon... you haven't said two words all day. I can tell something's bugging you; don't try to deny it. What's on your mind?"

Rosie stared at the swirling, pale pink traces left in her glass, not sure she should say anything at all. Part of her feared he would break off their engagement if she told him even a fraction of the thoughts buzzing around her head. She must've stayed quiet for too long, because a moment later he pried the glass gingerly from her fingers and set it down on the coffee table, taking both her hands in his.

"Y'know," he sighed, rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs, "I love my mom... but she can get a little carried away. She means well, really. She's just stuck in her own ways, and I swear, sometimes she still thinks I'm eight years old."

Bob chuckled at his own comment, his nose crinkling in amusement. Rosie couldn't help but smile at the sight, as his laugh always made her heart flutter. Before she realized it, Bob had pulled her closer, seating her on his warm, muscular lap.

"Have you ever been to Las Vegas?" he asked suddenly. "I have, although it's been a while. It's nice: full of great hotels, restaurants, every kind of show you can think of... and chapels."

Rosie's eyes widened in surprise, realizing at last what Bob was getting at. Maybe it was the wine, or the warmth of his skin against hers as he cupped her cheek - drawing her into a kiss - that had her heart racing so. When he eventually broke the kiss, both of them were out of breath.

"Why don't I take you there?" Bob murmured, "tonight?"

Rosie didn't hesitate to give her answer. Not a second later, she wrapped her arms around his neck and yanked him into another kiss, running her fingers through his soft, wheat-colored locks. She could've kissed him all night, but he pulled back a moment later with a soft, breathless chuckle.

"I'll take that as a yes," he grinned. "You pack our bags; I'll buy the tickets."

Rosie nodded, grinning like a schoolgirl. She leaned in to give him another quick kiss, when suddenly his phone started ringing on the coffee table. Bob picked it up right away, and the look on his face when he read the caller ID made Rosie's heart sink.

"Duty calls," he sighed. "Hang on, Babe; this'll only take a sec."

He walked into his study to take the call, as usual, leaving Rosie alone on the couch. Their spur-of-the-moment Vegas elopement seemed to be coasting into a holding pattern, but Rosie didn't mind too much. She didn't care really how or when she married Bob, just as long as they were hitched. Operating on autopilot, and thinking Bob's work call would take a while to finish, Rosie collected their glasses and the empty rosé bottle, taking them to the kitchen sink. When she reached her destination, she paused at a snippet of conversation she heard wafting through his partially closed study door.

"No, I can't tonight," she heard Bob say. "...Yep, I'm still at the office; probably will be here 'til morning, too. Oh...? Really? Sounds nice... what else are you wearing, Babe?"

Rosie couldn't believe her ears. Her chest was so tight, it felt like a city bus had just dropped out of the sky and flattened it. Very slowly, she looked at the ring on her finger, and that oversized, sparkly diamond warped and swam before her eyes. So many questions bubbled up in her too-tight chest, but she was too shocked to let the first one slip through her lips. It all started to make sense now: the frequent phone calls and text messages, the long nights he'd been spending at the office lately, why he'd seemed to distracted and aloof the minute they became engaged. Suddenly, the idea of becoming Mrs. Robert Fauntleroy had lost all its appeal... but the longer she thought about it, the more okay Rosie was with that.

With a full heart - and not an ounce of regret - she worked that heavy ring off her slender finger and laid it beside the sink. It took less than five minutes to walk to the bedroom and pack up her handful of belongings occupying Bob's lowest dresser drawer. Within six minutes, she was out the door. Not stopping to say goodbye, and vowing never to look back.