{"product_id":"i-take-you-isbn-9780553417845","title":"I Take You","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eMeet Lily Wilder: New Yorker, lawyer extraordinaire, blushing bride. And totally incapable of being faithful to one man.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      \u003c\/b\u003eLily’s fiancé Will is a brilliant, handsome archaeologist. Lily is sassy, impulsive, fond of a good drink (or five) and has \u003ci\u003eno\u003c\/i\u003e business getting married. Lily likes Will, but does she love him? Will loves Lily, but does he know her? As the wedding approaches, Lily’s nights—and mornings, and afternoons—of booze, laughter and questionable decisions become a growing reminder that the happiest day of her life might turn out to be her worst mistake yet.\u003cbr\u003e     \u003cbr\u003e Unapologetically sexy with the ribald humor of Bridesmaids, this joyously provocative debut introduces a self-assured protagonist you won’t soon forget.\"A salty, lively first novel... crackling, bawdy, and modern.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eSTEPHANIE CLIFFORD, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In the first big beach read of the season, New York lawyer and bride-to-be Lily Wilder has a hard time staying faithful to her perfect fiancé- but that won’t stop this hilarious debut novel from winning you over and warming your heart.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's the smartest, sexiest, funniest (like, hilarious) beach read on the shelves right now.\" —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eHuffington Post \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Lily Wilder is a young lawyer who compulsively drinks, swears and sleeps with random strangers-even as she prepares to wed her fiancé in just a few days. But she grows on you. This debut novel's take on modern gender roles is aggressively provocative, with graphic sex. It's also funny and, eventually, wise.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePeople\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Saucy, sexy and funny as hell, all aboard this irresistible train wreck with narrator Lily Wilder. She’s a work (and sex!) driven high-powered New York litigator who drinks like a fish and enjoys the company of other men, even if they aren’t her fiancé. She’s also getting married in Key West in one week. Oh boy! Eliza Kennedy’s debut novel will have you blushing, laughing and loving the lavish antics of our new favorite protagonist. This is your next book club read.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—USA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Kennedy's] snappy comedy of mis-manners delights in subverting expectation... \u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e, as salty-sweet as a margarita, will appeal to fans of \u003ci\u003eSeating Arrangements, Where’d You Go, Bernadette,\u003c\/i\u003e and, looking further back, Laurie Colwin’s \u003ci\u003eHappy All the Time\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ethough it’s far more ribald. Kennedy’s novel, tailored for summer wedding season, is a sassy paean to pleasure and romantic love that may well leave you singing that classic Gershwin line, ‘Better call the calling-off off.’”  \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eHELLER MCALPIN, NPR.org\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Kennedy’s debut novel sparkles with candor and wit…[her] ribald story is both engaging and atypical, the perfect combination for a new voice in women’s fiction.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublisher’s Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“…hilarious, frank and boundary-pushing.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eBookPage\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e is fast-paced, with a medley of subplots and interesting characters. It’s also an examination of gender roles and cultural expectations…an enjoyable read with a darker spin on the chick-lit formula.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eRoanoke Times\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I have not laughed this hard or this much at a book since \u003ci\u003eBridget Jones's Diary\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e is wickedly smart, hilariously funny, sexy, clever, and stupidly accomplished for a first novel. In short, the most enjoyable read I have had in YEARS. I completely loved it.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e—JANE GREEN, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eTempting Fate\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! \u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e is the funniest book I've read all year. I drank four bottles of chardonnay by myself because I couldn't get to a book club fast enough. Eliza Kennedy makes infidelity sexy again!”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e—GARY SHTEYNGART, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eSuper Sad True Love Story\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e is sexy and smart in equal measure—Eliza Kennedy’s heroine Lily Wilder is great fun to be around, even if she’s not always sure who she’s taking to bed. Kennedy’s witty and brash voice will win you over by the end of the first page.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e—EMMA STRAUB, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Vacationers\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “This fun, warmhearted novel is the rare great read about love and marriage that doesn’t tacitly promote a set of dated ideas about how women should feel, think and behave. Instead, it romps along merrily while being subtly revolutionary about sexual politics—no small feat, as anyone who’s tried to romp merrily while revolting can attest.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e—EMILY GOULD, author of \u003ci\u003eFriendship: A Novel\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eEliza Kennedy\u003c\/b\u003e is a screenwriter and author of two previous novels,\u003ci\u003e I Take You\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDo This for Me\u003c\/i\u003e. Her nonfiction and essays have appeared in \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e Glamour\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e Real Simple\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan\u003c\/i\u003e. A graduate of the University of Iowa and Harvard Law School, she lives in Hudson, New York.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m getting married.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s perfect!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a disaster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re crazy,” Freddy says as she hands me another drink. “Will is adorable. He’s got a cool job. He cooks. He’s super sweet.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He’s everything I’m not,” I say. “He cancels out all my flaws.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ha ha!” Freddy says. “Nope.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe’re at a club downtown. It’s dark, hot, crowded and insanely loud. Nicole is playing with her phone at the other end of the table. The rest of the girls are dancing by the DJ booth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re a pig in a poke!” Freddy shouts over the music. “You look good on the outside, but buy you and bring you home?” She tosses back her drink. “Forget it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sigh. “I’m not even sure how things got to this point.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Is that right?” She jabs at me with one of her pointy purple nails. “Did he trick you into saying yes? Did he distract you with, like,” she waves her hands in my face, “whoo! whoo! pretty lights? Then shove the ring on your finger?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It was very romantic!” I protest. “The moonlight, the museum!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe nods thoughtfully. “When Patrick proposed, he hid the ring in the mouth of his bearskin rug.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The one in the foyer?” I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The one in the media room,” she says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Why have I not heard this story before?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He made me crawl around on the ground, searching for it,” she adds. “Stark naked.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI miss Patrick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Also handcuffed,” she says. “Which, you know. Helped.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m about to follow up on this little tidbit when someone sits down next to me. He’s cute. I smile at him. He smiles back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I can kill people with my mind,” I tell him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe laughs and says, “Can I buy you a drink?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s British. I fall deeply in love.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI reach up and touch his curly hair. Soon we’re kissing. He tastes like smoke and bourbon. I could kiss him all night, but Freddy pulls me onto the dance floor. We weave and twist and shimmy. We twirl and bob. We spin each other around.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Did you bring las drogas?” I shout.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe looks surprised. “I thought we were cutting back.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Winifred! Tonight of all nights?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe grabs her purse from our table and leads me to the bathroom. When we get back, the cute British guy is gone. Nicole is still texting. Leta and Chelsea and Joy are bouncing up and down in their seats like maniacs, shrieking along with the music, their drinks flying everywhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI love this. I am so happy right now. I want to have a bachelorette party every week.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Let’s make prank calls!” I say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Let’s go to a strip club!” Freddy says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes!” we all yell, except for Nicole, who is still goddamned texting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy phone pings. It’s a message from Philip.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e--Wilder. I need you to come in right away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stand up, a little wobbly. “Kiss Mommy good-bye, girls!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Now?” Freddy cries in disbelief. “They can’t do this!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI pat her on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHa ha! Nope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe office is a madhouse. Paralegals racing through the halls with stacks of binders and file folders, night secretaries printing and photocopying like the fate of the world hangs in the balance. I’ve never shown up to work in this condition before, so everything is strange and new and a little hilarious. I start to laugh, which gets me some dark looks. Then I hit an unexpected pocket of turbulence in the hallway. Oh no--I’m going down! Fortunately, a wall saves me. You know what? Thank God for walls. Whoever put them in this hallway had a lot of foresight. Whoever invented them was a freaking--\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI slip inside a bathroom and splash water on my face. That’s better.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI head for my office. The light is on in Lyle’s room, so I stop by. There he is, surrounded by piles of paper and greasy take-out containers, banging away at his laptop, looking all sweaty, pale and infarcted. Lyle and I work on the same litigation team, for the same partner. I’m in my second year at the firm, he’s in his fifth. You could say we’re friendly rivals. Kindred spirits. Just super, super close.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Go fuck yourself,” he says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI drop into a chair. “What’s up, Mighty Mouse?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe sighs heavily. “How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Eleven. What’s going on around here? It’s after midnight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The plaintiffs in the Lucas case filed a motion for a preliminary injunction.” He’s still typing furiously. “We have forty-eight hours to respond. Can you help?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI flick at a piece of sparkly club confetti stuck to my dress. “Afraid not.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLyle reads through what he’s typed, hits return, hits it harder, shouts “Fuck God!” at the screen, hits return really hard, exhales, cracks his neck and turns to me. “She. Cannot. Help.” He’s doing his annoying third-person zombie monotone thing. “Why. Is she. Here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePesky confetti--I flick at it again. “Because Philip. Texted. Her.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLyle frowns. “He’s here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Apparently, Wee One.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Philip doesn’t know how to text.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shrug. “Maybe his secretary taught him.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Betty’s ninety. Why did he text you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lyle is. Troubled. Lyle wonders why the partner. Did not text. Him. Lyle fears. He is out. Of the loop.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe picks up a pen and grips it tightly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“There is so much love in your eyes right now, Lyle.” I hold a hand to my heart. “I can hardly stand it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a second I think he’s going to lunge across the desk and stab me in the eye, but he manages to rein it in. “Out,” he says, pointing at the door with the pen. “Now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI walk up two flights to the forty-fifth floor, where the partners have their offices. The lighting is dim and expensive, the carpeting plush. Even the air smells better up here--crisp and fresh, like it was just imported from the Alps, which, who knows? I stroll the hallway, admiring the expensive art and framed artifacts from the firm’s glorious past. Sepia-tinted photographs of the founding partners. Thank-you notes from robber barons and titans of industry. A letter from Theodore Roosevelt bitching about his bill.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip is reading a brief, feet up on his desk. I pause in the doorway. I oh-so-casually lean against the door frame. I kind of miss. So I knock and say, “Yeth, Mathster?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe glances at me over his reading glasses. “Wilder. Come in.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s wearing a tuxedo. “I just came from a charity function,” he explains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Whoa.” I hold up my hands. “Hey. A charity function. Let’s not get so specific, okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe regards me silently for a moment, then returns to his reading. I perch on the edge of one of his wing chairs and wait.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a nice tuxedo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shift my attention to his desk. It is massive, baroque, intimidating. I get completely lost in its swirls and whorls and ornate floral motifs. I wonder who carved them. Orphans, probably. Eighteenth-century French orphans. I picture them toiling away at the workhouse, their tiny, chapped hands trembling in the cold wind sweeping across the plains of . . . wherever. Someplace French. Fumbling for their woodworking tools, dropping them, lopping off a finger here, a toe there. Tearing strips of lace off their smocks to make chic little tourniquets, then getting back down to business.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI start to ask Philip about them. I think better of it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI fold my hands in my lap. My dress is riding up. Way up. Red zone! I tug at the hem. Something rips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip tosses the brief on his desk. “So,” he says. “You’re getting married.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeppers!” I give him two dorky thumbs‑up. Why? And why am I here? I really shouldn’t be. “We’re flying down to Key West tomorrow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe smiles. “Congratulations.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Thank you!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We need you to cancel it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Postpone it, rather.” He lifts his feet off the desk and sits up. “Just for a few months.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m outraged. They can’t do this! I want to get married! Will and I are soul mates!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No way,” I say. “Je refuse.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip is sifting through a pile of papers, searching for something. He stops and looks up. “This is your first marriage?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes, and--”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I remember my first.” He goes a little misty. “It’s true what they say. The first marriage really is the best.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Good to know, but--”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The next deposition in the EnerGreen litigation is scheduled for Friday.” He’s consulting a sheet of paper plucked from the disarray. “The witness is an accountant. Peter Hoffman.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hoffman?” I say. “The guy with the e‑mails?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“According to Lyle, Mr. Hoffman is not ready to be deposed. We need someone to prep him.” He glances at me, eyebrows raised.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh. Philip’s just confused. “That’s the fraud part of the case,” I remind him. “I work on the environmental claims.” I cross my legs and smile at him. Problem solved.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he frowns and shakes his head. “Lyle says that you know the documents. You know the record. It has to be you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI should have known who was behind this. “Lyle is lyling--I mean, he’s lying, Philip! He’s just trying to ruin my wedding. He--”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip looks at me over his reading glasses. He’s all stern schoolmaster to my unruly little student. I’m totally digging it. I lift my chin and stare back at him defiantly. I try propping my elbow on the arm of the chair, but it’s really slippery, which is weird for brocade. I fold my arms instead. “You’re just going to have to find somebody else.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip launches into this big speech about how EnerGreen is the firm’s most important client . . . this is a historic case . . . billions of dollars at stake . . . furious government agencies breathing down our necks . . . so much public scrutiny since the oil spill . . . the true test of a lawyer’s commitment is her willingness to make sacrifices for the good of the client . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHonestly? I can’t focus. His voice is so smooth and measured. Almost hypnotic. And I’m distracted by how the light from the desk lamp makes his silver hair gleam. Philip has good hair. Great hair. But then, he’s a good-looking man. He--\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“--because this witness’s documents are rife with potential pitfalls, he must be well prepared for his deposition, and you, Wilder, must be the one to prepare him. I do have some information that you should find welcome, however. By a happy coincidence, Mr. Hoffman is vacationing in the Florida Keys this week. He wishes to be deposed there, and the plaintiffs have consented.” Philip smiles at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe tuxedo, plus the reading glasses, plus the smile?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s killing me right now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This, then, is our plan,” he continues. “You will meet with Mr. Hoffman on Tuesday at his resort, a place called,” he glances down at the sheet, “Tranquility Bay. Doesn’t that sound charming. I will fly down Thursday evening. On Friday, I will defend the deposition,” he glances up, “with your assistance, of course. By Friday evening it will all be over, and you will be free to enjoy your well-deserved time off.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI think this through. “So I don’t have to postpone the wedding.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Correct.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Then why did you say--”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Because I love how outrage focuses your attention.” He smiles again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI close my eyes. “Send someone else,” I say faintly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Very well, I will,” Philip says. “On one condition.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI open my eyes. We gaze at each other in silence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stand up and shut the door. “Dress on or off?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe comes around from behind his desk. “What a question.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI reach back for the zipper. “I want you to spank me again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You enjoyed that?” He stretches out on the long leather sofa. I climb on top of him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No,” I say, my mouth close to his ear. “I hated it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfterward, I lie beside him and rest my head on his chest. That was exactly what I needed. And exactly why I left my party. Maybe that was obvious. It wasn’t obvious to me. Not right away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI feel his hand on my head, his fingers combing through my tangled hair. Philip has a lot of stamina for an old guy. I think about old guys. They’re all right. They’re all so very, very--\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wilder?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes, sir?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI love calling him “sir.” It’s making me excited all over again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSubservience!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip sighs. “Something is troubling me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI feel him separate one curl from the rest, twirling it around his finger, tugging it gently. “The fact is, I may have misled you just now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In what way?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You still have to prep Hoffman.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sigh contentedly and pat his chest. “I know.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhilip raises his head to peer at me. “You do?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sit up and stretch. I start gathering my clothes. “Of course. And I don’t mind.” I look down at him. “Although it was wrong of you to try to coerce me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I know.” He smiles. “Wasn’t it wonderful?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt really was. So I let him coerce me again. Then I coerce him for a while. Then I get dressed and get a cab and go home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill and I live in a loft on North Moore Street. Before he moved in five months ago, the place was spare and chilly and barren--much like my soul, as Freddy likes to say. Now it’s cozy and inviting, full of Will’s old furniture and art and the beautiful things he picks up on his travels.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe must have heard me stumble out of the elevator, because he’s waiting at the door. In a t‑shirt and pajama pants, his hair all tousled from the shower. Freddy’s right--he’s so cute.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe yawns and smiles at me. “Hi, Lily.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Baby! You waited up.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLogs are crackling in the fireplace. Soft music is playing. I collapse in his arms. He searches my face with loving eyes. “Do you need the bucket?” he asks tenderly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Not yet,” I whisper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe helps me to the sofa and hands me a glass of fizzy water. Aspirin. A mug of tea. He had it all waiting for me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stretch out and rest my head in his lap. He covers me with a blanket. “Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don’t deserve him. I know this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It was okay.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe brushes a few strands of hair from my forehead. “You look beautiful.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe fact that I acknowledge that I’m a terrible person doesn’t make me any less terrible. I know this, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI gaze up at him hopelessly. “I’m a pig in a poke, Will!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I love you just the way you are,” he says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, ha,” I say weakly. “Ha ha.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ll be better. I will!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ll find a way to be worthy of him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We have an early flight,” he says. “Let’s get you to bed.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I love you, Will!” I cry. “I love you so, so much.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd at this moment, I do. I really do!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe grins at me. “Then I have a great idea.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What’s that?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Let’s get married!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh, Jesus.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI close my eyes. “Okay!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat am I doing? What have I done?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStop. Just . . . calm down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s going to be fine. Totally fine!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow? Not sure. Really not sure about that. But it is. I know it is.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEverything’s going to be fine.","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304732119269,"sku":"NP9780553417845","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553417845.jpg?v=1767729709","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/i-take-you-isbn-9780553417845","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}