“How did he do it, Janie?” Sandra bounced in her seat next to me. “Leave nothing out. We want all the juicy details.”

So I told them.

When I came to the part about the glass case filled with rings, Elizabeth chimed in.

“That was my idea! He came across an estate sale—or, I think his secretary did—where some ancient family in Scotland was auctioning off all their jewels. He had over two hundred to choose from, so it was hard to narrow them down to one. Do you like it?”

I nodded and held my hand out so everyone could see. “Yes, it’s perfect.”

“He thought so, too. I narrowed it down to five, and he picked out that one. I’m so glad you like it.”

“I love it,” I admitted. “I feel somewhat uncomfortable about loving a material thing so much. I worry it’s unhealthy.”

“More than your shoes?” Ashley asked, “I know how much you love your shoes, because I love your shoes.”

I responded without hesitation, “More than my shoes.”

“Whoa.” Ashley’s eyes were huge. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Makes sense to me.” Fiona’s words caught my attention. “It’s a symbol, the ring. Really, it’s him you love. The ring is symbolic of him and everything you are to each other. Of course you love the ring.”

“I like that,” Kat interjected, a soft smile on her face, her eyes a little dazed. “It’s so romantic, him taking you to London to see the Crown Jewels, then giving you a priceless, antique ring from a noble Scottish family.” She sighed as she leaned back in her chair.

“Is that how you want to be proposed to?” Marie asked Kat, handing me my lemon drop and placing a pitcher full of liquid happiness on the coffee table.

Kat’s eyes lost some of their dazzle. “Honestly, I’d settle for someone who’s honest, doesn’t rely on emotional blackmail to solve arguments, and treats me like I matter more than who my family is. I sometimes wonder if guys like that exist.”

“They do.” Fiona reached over and squeezed her leg. “You just need to find your own version of Quinn, but maybe not as grumpy, and nicer to your friends.”

I was about to ask Kat to explain her concerns, as I had no idea who her family was, but Sandra spoke before I was able to.

“Everyone be silent so we can hear the rest of Janie’s story!” Sandra commanded, waving her hands through the air. She then turned to me, her elbow on her knee, her chin propped in her hand, and a giant grin plastered on her face. “Okay, go on. What happened next?”

I continued with my story—about how Quinn was called away and how I was led to the torture device room—and Ashley guessed that he hadn’t actually been called away for a phone call, but rather to get the ring out of the case so he could propose.

This theory was met with nods of approval and more shushing from Sandra.

Then, I told them about the rack, and the room broke into chaos of laughter, gasps, high fives, and whooping.

“That sly dawg!” Ashley giggled, slapped her knee, and lifted her drink toward me. “What an opportunist. I love Quinn.”

“That’s so amazingly awesome. That’s how I want it to happen. I want to be on the rack when I’m proposed to. Someone make a note!” Sandra hugged me as she made this assertion.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Of course. Of course he proposes while you’re incapacitated. Typical McHotpants.”

“I think it’s sexy.” Marie clinked her glass with Ashley’s. “I like his entrepreneurial spirit. Maybe if David had asked me to marry him while I was tied up, I might have given him a different answer.”

Her statement shocked me. David was Marie’s boyfriend and they’d been dating for more than five years. I was tangentially surprised to learn that he’d asked her to marry him; this was the first I’d heard of it. Again tangentially, I wondered whether Marie was at all interested in marriage; she seemed to value her independence above everything else.

Fiona merely shook her head and chuckled to herself. Kat gaped at me with wide eyes, obviously stunned.

Rather than asking Marie to clarify about David, I finished my story. I told them about the dinner on the river Thames and our agreement to have a big wedding, but I left out the frantic tent interlude because it felt like that would be oversharing.

“He wanted to get married today? As in, less than a week after he proposed?” Fiona frowned at me, perplexed.

“That was my reaction too. And, as it turns out, he’s in New York right now, called away on a trip, and we would’ve had to postpone the ceremony in any case.”

“I’m confused.” Marie leaned forward and withdrew a knitting work in progress from her bag. “Let me see if I have this right: he wanted to get married immediately, you then negotiated the timeline, and now you’re getting married in three months? And you insisted on a big wedding?”

“Yes, except it’s two months and twenty six days.”

“I’m really surprised.” Elizabeth reached for my now empty lemon drop glass and refilled it. “I didn’t think you’d want a big wedding.”

“It’s not that I want a big wedding; it’s that I think Quinn and I need to experience something other than dating bliss before we get married.”

“I don’t understand.” Fiona glanced from me to Elizabeth then back again. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re having a big wedding so we can be miserable together before we’re happy together. We’ve never been miserable before. How can you make a decision to marry someone if you’ve never been miserable with them?”

“Janie….” Fiona’s face scrunched in confusion. “Happiness is not fleeting if you accept it. But if you keep looking for ways to postpone your own happiness, it will always be elusive.”

I frowned, blinked at her. “I’m not trying to postpone my happiness. I’m trying to make sure we’re solid before we make promises.”

“So….” Elizabeth raised a single eyebrow at me, her chin dipping to her chest. “Are you going to do that thing where you stop ha**ng s*x prior to the ceremony?”

“Elizabeth….” Fiona’s voice held a note of warning. “Be nice.”

Elizabeth gave Fiona her very best Who, me? I’m completely innocent! look. I knew that look well. It didn’t work on me anymore, and considering Fiona’s stern eyebrows, I didn’t think it was working on Fiona either.

“No, really. It’s a real thing.” Marie nodded. “Elizabeth’s wanting to torture Quinn aside, I read an article about it in Cosmopolitan. Since so many couples are ha**ng s*x before marriage these days, abstaining while planning the ceremony is supposed to be a way to make the wedding night special.”

“By making the bride and groom go insane?” Fiona asked, glancing away from her knitting. “Planning a wedding is stressful enough without having to abstain from physical intimacy.”

My mind snagged on the idea, picked it up, turned it over, and began assessing it from all angles. Then, my mind ran with it.

Rather than belt out, Eureka! I asked without thinking, “Do you really think abstinence would dramatically increase the level of stress prior to the wedding?”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as she studied me. “Janie, you make it sound like you want the wedding planning to be stressful.”

“I do,” I admitted, nodding emphatically. “I do want it to be stressful. Quinn and I have only been together for five months. Like I said, we have to fit years of the worst into approximately two months so we can both say our vows with our eyes open.”

Fiona stared at me, her mouth agape, her expression plainly shocked. “That’s craziness. You’re crazy, Janie. I can’t…I can’t even….”

Elizabeth laughed. “I’ve never seen Fiona speechless before.”

“Well, I think it’s a good idea.” Sandra shrugged and lifted her chin in my direction. “I can’t imagine marrying someone I’ve only known for five or six months. Good for you, making him wait another twelve weeks before tying the knot, and you’re a smart woman for introducing some hardship—even if it’s contrived—and being honest about your concerns. Granted, this is coming from the girl who makes all her first dates cry and whose longest relationship was in high school…so…grain of salt.”

“I’m afraid to voice an opinion,” Ashley volunteered, her eyes focused on the scarf she was knitting. “On one hand, I see your point, Janie, and I think your plan is very pragmatic; it would make logical sense if feelings weren’t involved. On the other hand, you two crazy kids are in love with each other. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but applying logic to love is like buttering a pig before you slaughter it.”

“You have a romantic in you?” Sandra teased, fighting a smile.

“Yes I do, Freud,” Ashley responded, issuing Sandra a look of mock dissatisfaction. “I just save my love for fictional characters and my knitting group, and God knows why I put up with you.”