My life took a bit of an unexpected detour two weeks ago, and although I live in New York, I’m working in London for the next two weeks. If you are interested in getting married in London, I’m happy to take care of all planning expenses on this end, as long as you can get yourself here for the wedding by June 15. If you would prefer to get married in New York, we can plan for June 22. It’s up to you.

  I’m scared, CJD_NY, but I was scared the first time I tried riding a bike, or driving a car, or applying to college, or skydiving (I only did that once!). But I figure it’s going to be you and me against the world, and as long as you believe in this process and agree that arranged marriages can work with patience, persistence, and mutual respect, I know that we can make it too.

  Huge thanks to Dr. Jake, Pastor Ken, and Dr. Sydney Morningstar. I hope that my husband and I will have a chance to thank you in person one day soon.

  With hope and joy,

  CJS_NY

  It’s so Courtney.

  So, so, so Courtney, I can hear her saying these words, and it makes me feel strong and protective. What if she’d been matched with someone else and some other guys was reading these precious words right now? It makes me want to punch something and thank someone at the same time.

  Thank God for Dina’s push last weekend and for her interference in general. She helped fast-track me to the place where I need to be today, and I’m grateful to her.

  Like Courtney, there’s a part of me that’s scared to death, but also like Courtney, I’m getting to a place where even if I hate these “experts” and this “process,” I’m committed to her. Part of me is terrified to think of Courtney as my wife, but there’s a stronger part of me that’s growing to love the idea too. When I say my vows to her on June 15, just like her, I’ll mean them. And as best as I can, I’ll live up to them.

  So many feelings are bubbling up inside of me, I figure I may as well write her back now and let those emotions drive my words.

  Dear CJS_NY:

  I know what you mean. This is really unconventional, but I guess we both have our reasons for choosing this path. Maybe our reasons are really different, but we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure out “the why of everything” together.

  When I say “I do,” I’ll mean it, and I’m going to do everything I can to make you happy. Let’s make a promise that whomever we see at the altar, we’ll still go through with this, okay? I’m not covered in warts or scars or anything like that, but I just want to be sure that we’re both committed to each other and this crazy journey—no matter what. Can you give me your promise?

  Turns out that London is one of my favorite cities, and I have a little vacation time coming up. I choose to marry you on June 15 in England. Just tell me where to be.

  I’ll be the one in the penguin suit.

  With affection,

  CJD_NY

  I read it, reread it, make a couple of small edits, and then hit “Send.”

  Once I do, I’m so jittery with a mixture of nerves and excitement, I pull on some shorts and a T-shirt. I have just enough time to take a run and have lunch before heading to Tidewaters for my final shift.

  ***

  When I told Lulu and Harvey that I needed to take off the month of June, they weren’t too happy, but Lulu said that as long as I walked back in the door by June 30, I could have my job back. The thing is, I have no idea what my life will look like by the end of June. The only thing I know is that I’ll be married to Courtney by then. Still, I’m really grateful to know that the option’s open if I need it.

  Annie pinches me on the ass when she arrives for her shift at three o’clock.

  “What’s this I hear about you taking a month off?”

  The bar’s quiet, so I’m wiping down glasses that have just come out of the dishwasher. “Yep. Headed to London tomorrow.”

  “For your playwriting?”

  Among other things. “Yeah. I hope to do some writing over the next couple of weeks.”

  “You’re abandoning me, Joshua.”

  “Never. I’ll be back.”

  “Sure about that? Lulu didn’t seem positive.”

  I lean forward and kiss her cheek. “Whether I come back to work or not, I’ll come back to see you, beautiful.”

  She blushes. “My grandson had me up at the crack of dawn. Let’s hope I can get through this shift, huh?”

  “I’ll stay late. You go at midnight.”

  “You’re a prince! See? This is why I’m going to miss you, honey.”

  She heads to the break room to change, and I pick up my phone.

  I got another message from Courtney right before I got to work, and it said two things:

  Yes, she promised to marry me no matter what.

  And that she’d see me on June 15 in England.

  From now on, all necessary details will come from our ArrangeMyWedding coordinator, Melissa. I lean back against the bar and reread her first message, my heart swelling when I get to the part about her fears. I wish I could walk around London holding her hand and reassuring her that everything was going to be okay. And when I get to the part about “you and me against the world,” I smile to myself like a lovesick teen. Something about me and Courtney against the world just feels…good.

  The front door swings open, and I look up to find Dina rushing in.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey!” she says, perching on a barstool. “I only have a minute. I’m leaving for JFK in, like, ten minutes.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Where are you headed?”

  “It’s a secret,” she says, winking at me.

  “A secret, huh? I’ve never known you to be cagey about anything, Hot Stuff. You’re an open book.”

  “Not about everything.” She shrugs. “Can I get an Amstel or what?”

  I pour a glass of beer for her and place it in front of her. “No charge.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” She looks nervous. “So, um, are you going anywhere? Any trips planned?”

  “I’m leaving for London tomorrow.”

  “Yes! Phew!” Her smile splits her face. “I knew it. Oh, my God. Yes! I mean, when she told me she’d been arranged with someone called CJD, I might have worried for a second, but I hoped it was you!”

  “Why’d you worry?”

  “C…JD. Who’s C?”

  “Ohh.” I nod, immediately understanding her confusion. “It’s me. Charles Joshua Dalton.”

  “Ah-ha! There we go.” She takes a drink of her beer. “I mean, what if some hot guy named Christian got the jump on you?”

  I chuckle, looking up as two women sit a few stools down. They order white wine, and I give them generous pours so they’ll leave me alone to chat with Dina for the few minutes she’ll be here.

  “Any last-minute advice?” I ask her.

  “She’s gonna be pissed.”

  I wince. “You think?”

  “Oh, yeah. She had a plan, and it didn’t include you.”

  “She had no idea who it included. May as well be me.”

  “She’ll still see it as interfering.”

  “Well, she promised to marry me no matter what.”

  “Wait. She knows it’s you?”

  “No. She promised to marry CJD. And that’s me, so…how about that advice?”

  “Relax your jaw before she gets to the altar,” says Dina, looking at me over the rim of her pint glass.

  “Why?”

  “So that it won’t hurt so bad when she punches you in the face.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you suck at pep talks?”

  “Aw. And see, I was sort of patting myself on the back for playing Cupid so well.”

  I flatten my hands on the bar between us and look square into her dark eyes. “I can’t thank you enough, Dina. Seriously. You pat your back as much as you want. Just be careful of your wings.”

  She places her hand over her heart and pretends to swoon. “And just think, if I’d made my move, you’d be all mine by now.”

  I grin at her. “Nah. We wouldn’t have worked out.”

  “We might’ve,” she teases. “For one night. In a very dark room.”

  “Bad girl,” I say.

  “Always,” she promises, finishing off her beer. She wipes her lips and gives me a smile. “Wish me luck?”

  “You don’t need it.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  I offer her my hand.

  “Good luck, Dina,” I say.

  “Good luck, Josh,” she answers. “Be good to my best friend or you’ll have to relax your balls too.”

  I bust out laughing, and she slides her hand away, waving over her shoulder as she breezes out of Tidewaters and slips into the town car waiting for her by the curb.

  CHAPTER 13

  Courtney

  If I thought that Aunt Lucy was going to be supportive of my married-at-first-sight plan in light of her very short courtship with Uncle Roland, then I was sorely mistaken. Sorely as in completely.

  The first thing she asks me is, “Do your parents know about this—this scheme?”

  “Not yet. I thought that maybe we could—”

  “We? We? No, no, no. Absolutely not! I’m not—my God, what are you doing? What are you thinking? Why are you doing this? This is ridiculous, Courtney Jane! Insanity! Dangerous!” she shrieks at me, becoming increasingly more hysterical. “I’m calling my brother! No! First, I’m calling Dr. Phillips to come out for a home visit. You need to see someone! To—to talk to someone! You need help! With your head!”

  She bustles off to find her psychiatrist’s phone number, muttering under her breath about her insane niece, and I stand in the front hall of her country estate and let my duffel bag fall with a light thud to the white marble floor.

  “Miss Salinger,” says her butler, who appears discreetly out of nowhere. “May I take your bag upstairs?”

  “Thank you, Earnest,” I say. “The pink room?”

  “Your aunt insisted that we prepare it for you.”

  Aunt Lucy decorated one of her guest rooms in fuchsia to celebrate my first visit to England almost twenty years ago, and even though it feels a little “sparkalicious” for my adult self, I never stay anywhere else when I visit.

  I climb the familiar stairs, wondering what it was about my news that set her off so thoroughly.

  “Hi, Aunt Lucy.”

  “Hello, darling.”

  “Thanks so much for having me stay.”

  “I couldn’t be more delighted!”

  “I have news…”

  “Tell me!”

  “I’m getting married!”

  “W-What?”

  She stood there staring at me, so I gave her an overview of the Arrange Me Too process and told her that I’d been matched and that I planned to be married in two weeks. When she didn’t say anything, I asked for the name of the hotel in Gretna Green where she and Uncle Roland tied the knot so I could book it. I guess that jolted her out of her state of shock, because that’s when she started yelling at me.

  I’m halfway up the stairs when she calls from the vestibule, “Dr. Phillips will be here at four o’clock. I’m paying him triple to drive up from London, so you best be ready to meet with him. Do you hear me, miss?”

  I hear her, and if it makes her feel better, I’ll talk to her shrink, but my mind is made up, and nothing he says is going to change it at this point.

  “That’s fine.”

  She follows me up the stairs. “Darling, I’m—I’m sorry I yelled, but I’m worried for you. I’m concerned. I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

  When I reach the landing, I turn around and give her a dry look. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Arranged marriage is a common practice in many countries.”

  “Not this one!” she bellows. “And not yours!”

  “Aunt Lucy,” I say, placing my hands gently on her shoulders. “It’s happening in two weeks. I’m getting married in two weeks. No matter what.”

  She crosses her arms over her ample bosom. “We’ll just see about that.”

  Two hours later, her psychiatrist arrives from London, and the three of us sit together in her living room to discuss my descent into madness.

  Aunt Lucy sniffles. “I’m afraid she’s having a nervous breakdown.”

  Dr. Phillips, who is in his sixties with gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses, raises his bushy eyebrows at me. “Are you having a nervous breakdown, Courtney?”

  “No. I just don’t want to date anymore. I want to get married.”

  He asks me to share the story behind my decision, and I tell him about my abysmal dating life, my fears of never finding happiness, and my decision six weeks ago to be arranged by expert. At his request, I bring down my laptop and show them both the matchmaking website and e-mails. When I have finished answering all of their questions as thoughtfully as possible, I sit back on the couch and wait for Dr. Phillips’ diagnoses.

  “Well?” says Aunt Lucy, worrying a Kleenex in her hand.

  “You may not like her decision, Lucy,” says Dr. Phillips, “or agree with it, but in my opinion, your niece’s mind is sound. She has chosen an uncommon method of finding a spouse, but I think she’s been mindful and deliberate in making her choice.” He pauses, then looks over at me. “I cannot imagine this was a popular decision with your parents either. What feedback did they give you?”

  “I only met my match yesterday.” I take a deep breath and hold it for a minute, feeling like I’m back in grade school when I grudgingly admit, “I haven’t told them yet.”

  He lifts his chin and stares at me extra hard. “You need to tell them.”

  “I will.” Eventually.

  “Within the week,” he says. “Before the ceremony.”

  I don’t mean to roll my eyes, but I do, because if my aunt overreacted, my parents will absolutely, positively Lose. Their. Shit over this.

  “Why?” I ask him. “They’ll just be awful and try to talk me out of it.”

  “You don’t know that,” he says. “What if they want to come? What if they’re hurt that they weren’t invited? What if it causes a rift that could have been avoided?”

  “They won’t want to come. They’ll be as upset as Aunt Lucy. Even more.” My aunt is sobbing softly beside me, which I hate because it kills me to hurt her, so I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her closer. “Once they come to terms with it, they could host a reception at their country club to introduce C to their friends as my new husband.”

  “Courtney, I’m here to give you my honest and professional guidance, and I don’t agree with—”

  “They’ll try to stop it,” I say in a rush. For the first time since our conversation began, my eyes fill with tears, and I blink at Dr. Phillips. “They’re wealthy and connected, and they’ll—they’ll do everything they can to stop it. I know it.”

  My aunt pipes up. “You don’t know that—”

  “Aunt Lucy,” I say, “why did you elope with Uncle Roland? Why did you go to Gretna Green? Why didn’t you go home to Connecticut and get married?”

  She takes a deep, sobby breath and reaches up to dry her cheeks with her soaked tissue. “Please, darling, that situation was completely diff—”

  “Why did you elope?” I ask again, this time with an edge in my voice.

  “Because…” she starts. She clears her throat. “Well. Roland was quite a bit older than me, and we’d only known each other for a few months when we—”

  “Please, Aunt Lucy,” I beg her. “Tell the truth.”

  “Oh, fine.” She exhales loudly, grumbling at me. “Because my father and brother would have tried to stop me…us. They never would have gone along with it.”

  “Your brother,” I say. “Who is also…my father.”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “Your father is controlling?” asks Dr. Phillips.

  “He loves me,” I explain, “but I’m his only child. I’ve tried very hard to live up to his expectations, to live my life in a way that would make him proud. But…but I don’t want to date some prep-school guy who still funnels beers at parties, has a junior golf membership at Waveny, and knows everyone I know and marries me because I’m an appropriate choice from a good family. I just want someone who matches me. Someone chosen especially for me. Someone who’s the right match for me.” I squeeze my aunt’s shoulder. “Like Lucy and Roland.”

  “I understand,” whispers Lucy, sniffling as she leans her head against my shoulder. “I understand, darling.”

  “I’m not crazy,” I say.

  “I know,” she says.

  “I want this.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’ll tell my parents when it’s done. I promise.”

  I feel her flex her jaw against my shoulder, but she doesn’t argue.

  “Well, that’s that. I think my work here is done,” says Dr. Phillips. He reaches for the briefcase at his feet. “I’ll bill you, Lucy?”

  She stands up and gives him a hug. “Thanks for driving up.”

  “My godson’s at Milton Keynes. Thought I might continue up and surprise him with dinner tonight.”

  “How nice,” says Lucy. “We won’t keep you any longer.”

  I stand up and offer my hand to Dr. Phillips. “Thanks for helping us sort things.”

  “You’re an unusual young woman,” he says, shaking my hand. “I wish you all possible luck, Miss Salinger. I hope everything works out as you hope.”

  “Me too,” I say, sitting back down on the sofa as my aunt walks him to the front hall.

  When she returns to the room a few minutes later, Earnest follows her, carrying a silver tray with two champagne flutes and a bottle of wine on ice.

  “I guess we should toast your—your joy,” says Aunt Lucy, her tone lackluster.

  “I’d love that,” I say, standing up to put my arms around her and kiss her cheek with gusto. “And then…how about you tell me all about Gretna Green?”

  ***

  It takes two hours on Sunday to fill out the dozens of forms for my planner, Melissa, from ArrangeMyWedding.com, but it’s so exciting, I’m smiling at my laptop the entire time.