Waking Up with a Ring on My Finger and a Bad Boy at My Side [00]

Dear Samantha,

How are you? I heard you're doing well after you moved to New York. A friend of a friend of mine told me that a certain young lady of the name Samantha Bennett arranged her farewell party very efficiently. When she showed me a picture of you in a group photo, I immediately recognized who you are. After a bit of researching, I finally found where you're currently at.

And I heard the good news too. Getting married to Brandon Compton, eh? Your mother would be proud of you.

I'm guessing we have a lot to talk about...especially about the wedding. I'm in New York next week; we should meet up somewhere in the city. My e-mail is margarette.btt@haynes-corp.net

Hope to hear from you soon!

Your aunt,

Margaret Bennett.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The hell?! I want FRESH flowers goddamnit!" I yelled into the phone. Brandon Compton, my fiance looked up from his laptop. "Plastic? Plastic?!" I hissed when the florist told me a news that I couldn't really cope with at the moment.

"Sweetheart--" Brandon started but I glared at him. "I need it by tomorrow, do you hear me? Tomorrow! Of course I know it's winter!"

This job made me some kind of a ridiculously stressed out, cussing machine. It was a wonder how I haven't got high blood pressure...at least, not yet anyway. And I'd like for it to stay that way. "Sam," Brandon tried again.

"What? Wait, hello? HELLO?!" I screamed. I detached myself from my phone and started to punch in the florist's number again when I felt Brandon's arms wrapped around my waist from behind. His hand held mine before snatching the phone away.

"Hey," I whined, feeling exhausted.

"Hi," he replied, a smile on his face. "Are you done planning other people's wedding because you know...we have our own," he muttered, kissing my cheek lightly. My knees went weak, but I didn't think it was because of his wonderful act of affection.

Our wedding.

I turned around and pecked his lips with mine. He looked at me as if I was hiding someone. In fact, I was. "Sam, you...haven't even start planning yet have you?" he asked me. And I blushed furiously. "I've taken care of the..."

Damn. I haven't done anything.

"Centerpieces," I added bleakly. He snorted in laughter and I hit his arm playfully afterwards. "I'm sorry, I'll promise I'll see the caterers next week," I said. He shrugged and ruffled my hair. "I don't mind if we don't have a reception or any crap like those," he said, a bit bitterly.

"The only thing that matters is that we get married," he cooed. I grinned childishly. "Future Mrs Samantha Compton."

Mmm, I liked the sound of that.

"You're insane," I teased, throwing my hands up in the air and pulling away from him. "I always dream of having my own wedding," I blurt out. "I want it to be perfect!"

He grinned. "I want it to be perfect too, for you that is."

I had a feeling that if I dressed him in a potato sack on our wedding day, he won't even care that much. I went over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of mineral water. On the kitchen's island, there was a stack of envelopes.

We got a penthouse, by the way. It was so spacious that for a moment we didn't know what to do with it. "Let's start to move in the TV," he said after a while. "TV?! Let's bring in the sofa first!"

Good times.

I picked up the mail one by one. Most of it were bills...and an offer from a Thailand massage company. But when I saw the baby blue envelope with my name and address written in swirly writing in front of it, I tore it open.

There was a card in there with wedding bells and two bluebirds carrying a ribbon. I beamed and opened up the card.

"Dear Samantha..." I muttered under my breath and continued reading the message.

And then I re-read it.

And I did the same thing again.

And again.

...And again.

I have a...what?!