Rosalie knew her husband liked public jokes, which was exactly why she had warned him before the wedding. She thought he had listened until one moment at the reception left her covered in frosting and wondering what else he had ignored.
I asked Liam four times not to pull anything at our wedding.
Not because I hate jokes. Not because I wanted some stiff, joyless ceremony where everyone had to whisper and sit with perfect posture.
I asked because I knew the kind of jokes Liam liked.
At birthdays, he told stories about things I’d done wrong.
At dinners with friends, he’d bring up something embarrassing I’d said months earlier.
If somebody had a camera out, that seemed to make him worse.
And I’d watched his father do the same thing to his mother for years.
Twenty years, according to Liam.
His dad would tell stories about her forgetting things, mispronouncing words, crying at movies, and getting lost, burning dinner.
His mother would smile.
Then later, when it was just us women in the kitchen, I’d sometimes notice that smile disappear.
I knew where Liam’s sense of humor came from.
And I knew I didn’t want my wedding day to become part of it.
“If you want games or stupid stunts with your friends at the reception, fine,” I told him about three weeks before the wedding. “Just don’t make me the joke. Especially not during dinner or the cake cutting.”
“Rosalie.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Then, the fourth time I brought it up, he snapped.
“It’s one of the biggest days of my life too. Why would I ruin it? I’ve heard you. Stop going on at me about it.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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