Free Bangkok (That Wedding Girl Book 3) by Maggie Way

Ballroom. Right now, it’s full of chairs but I can see just how beautiful it will be. It will be divided into two for Yvonne and Terry’s wedding. The walls are covered with a shimmering white paper and in the middle of the ceiling hangs a couple dozen white lantern lights. The ceilings are high, windows wide.
     
    I can see modern sliding doors, left slightly ajar to let in the scented summer air. I wish I was contracted to help with the reception too, this would have been so great if it was in my hands. I can already see what the head table can look like, white bows and silk sashes scream at me.
    Suddenly I can hear muffled sounds. At first it sounds like someone is coughing and I ignore it, walking around to myself. But then it gets louder, and louder.  It’s crying, hysterical crying. The sobs are only interrupted by the person’s need to draw breath. And that person is just behind where the head table would be. Shit, it’s Yvonne. It’s the bride I just met two days ago. The bride getting married in just over forty-eight hours, and she’s here crying alone.
    I can’t ignore it, and I call out, “Are you okay?”
    Suddenly the sobs stop, and she looks into the distance in my direction.
    “Oh, it’s you…” she struggles to say, panting with every sob.
    I put my folder and phone down, striding towards her. She looks much too warm in a baggy dress that covers her knees, and I sink down to take her in my arms. She is shaking in my arms; her tears flowing unchecked. And I feel her grief, whatever the cause for it is.
    I pat her back, gently cooing her to calm down.
    “Hey, Yvonne…are you okay?” I blurt out, idiotically. She is clearly NOT okay. Yvonne raises her hand and wiped the tears dripping down her cheeks. 
    I pull her to my chest where she stays until her crying subsides. When she finally looks at me, her beautiful brown eyes are swollen and sore.
    “This is super-duper embarrassing; no one was supposed to see me…” she sniffles some more.
    Good one, Ryan. Way to be a nosy wedding planner, looking at something I’m not even meant to be responsible for.
    “I’m sorry, did you want me to go?”
    She shakes her head weakly. “No, stay. Please”
    I’ve spoken to wedding planners who refused to deal with clients that get emotional, nervous, or angry. Translation - they refuse to be a shoulder to lean on or a therapist. I can’t do that – my clients are human at the end of the day, they have feelings. And this girl is in pain.
    “Shall I assume what the problem is, or do you want to tell me?” I ask gently, patting her back.
“It’s supposed to be the best day of my life, I thought I was really excited. But...”
There are always so many possibilities at the end of that word.
“But?”
    “We’re completely different, we want completely different things.” Dean had spoken about the fights they were having. Is this what Yvonne was referring to?
“What kind of things? Are they things you both can compromise on?”
She shakes her head furiously. “No, and do you know why? Because he’s as stubborn as a stinky mule!” she snaps, and I can sense she’s been bottling this up for a while. Perhaps that’s why she was so bubbly and cheerful when I met her, almost too much. 
“He wants kids straight away, I don’t,” she looks down at her nails, picking at them. “I’m not ready to be a mother yet, but he wants to have kids as soon as he’s married.”
Oh, that’s a whole different ball game.
“Three kids we will have, apparently. Ideally two boys and one girl. He’s already picked out the names, of course.”
Is it too soon to voice my opinion? 
“That’s quite a—”
“And as soon as I have the first kid, he wants me to quit my job. I love my job!”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a pastry chef. But he says once I have the kids they have to be my only priority,” she says slowly, as if she needs to remind herself that this is real. 
“Wait, he wants you