Thinking about the visual aspect of the wedding keeps her up at night. Not for the first time that week, she looks over at his sleeping form and gets the urge to wake him so he can suffer as she is. For the third time this week, she's staring at him in complete and utter jealousy while he doesn't seem to have a care in the world. She could always put her cold feet on him.

Instead, she releases a quiet sigh and slips out from beneath the blankets. She shivers in the cold air. Her feet hit the carpet and she pads out of the bedroom. She heads directly for the kitchen for solace. Flicking on the kitchen light, she advances to the stove and turns one of the hot plates on. She fills the kettle with water from the sink and places it on the stovetop.

With a hot cup of tea in hand, she makes her way into the living room and takes a seat on the couch. She flicks on the television and flips through the channels until she settles on Bridezilla. There's screeching coming from the flat screen so loudly that she quickly turns it down. But she doesn't get to it quickly enough. It's just a few seconds before she hears his heavy footsteps on the floor as he moves down the hallway.

"Donna?" He grumbles. He comes out of the shadows of the hallway and immediately squints at the light from the television. She watches him lean against the wall and run a hand through his hair. He says, "What are you doing up? Are you okay?"

She sighs loudly. This immediately prompts his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. She shrugs there, leaning forward to set her mug on the table. It lands on a stack of bridal magazines that haven't moved from the table since they arrived, save for one or two.

"Just couldn't sleep," she says. She leans back and tucks her hair behind her ear. She watches him as he pushes off of the wall. He hugs himself and advances further into the room. She tilts her head slightly and adds, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Something is bothering you," he observes. He leans down onto the couch with one hand and slides his palm across her thigh with the other. He glances at the television but his gaze quickly returns to her. "Is this about the wedding?"

"It's not not about the wedding," she admits.

"Will this crap make you feel better?" He asks, gesturing to the television.

"It might," she replies. He nods slowly. He turns on the couch to face the television. She feels his shoulder against hers and he slides down further, propping his feet up on the coffee table. She says, "You have a big day tomorrow. Go back to bed."

"Look, I'm going to be your husband and, whatever you're going through, I'm going to be here for you," he replies.

"That doesn't mean you have to be tired tomorrow," she argues.

"I'm the boss, honey," he says flippantly, "I can go in whenever I want."

She shakes her head and watches as he hugs his gray Henley shirt to his chest. From the few times they stayed at his condo she remembers him trying to sleep in sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. He sleeps in a lot less clothing these days and she can't figure out if it's because he shares a bed with someone else producing body heat or if it's because her apartment is just warmer. She smiles at him, turning to face him and resting her hand on his stomach.

"I don't think you can use your wife as an excuse to be late to work," she replies.

"First of all, I don't have to explain to anyone why I'm late to work," he says, looking at her, "And second, I like the sound of that. Wife."

Her mouth twists into a smirk. He unfolds his arms and she feels his fingers find hers. She says, "You have four months to get used to it."

"I'm already used to it," he insists, "I just want it to be true."

"We've spent more time engaged than we did dating," she muses.

"I just don't want to waste anymore time," he says with a shrug.

Her eyes trail over his adorably messed up hair. She feels him snuggle up to her, his head resting on her shoulder. His grasp on her hand loosens. She hears his breathing slow and watches his chest rise and fall more evenly. She's honestly impressed at how easily he fell back to sleep in such an uncomfortable position.

She's stirred awake by something, she can't yet comprehend what. She peels her eyes open at the room is dark. She blinks a few times before her brain pieces together where she is. She shivers, realizing how cold the room is. She makes out his shape in front of her.

Her eyes trace his smile. She remembers that she gets to wake up to that face every day for the rest of her life. She sits up, leaning against the arm of the leather couch. She feels his fingers slip below her calves. He lifts her legs off of the couch and slides in beneath her legs. He sets them back down on his lap, his fingers immediately going to the hem of her dress and tugging the material closer to her knees.

"How long have you been here?" He asks.

She glances at the window over her shoulder. She turns back to him and stifles a yawn. She says, "Before the sun went down. Where've you been?"

"Jessica's office," he replies, "She's coming back on Monday. She wanted an overview since she left which turned into the last two hours."

"You told her I'm going to be working less for the next couple of months, I take it," she replies.

"About that," he starts. A sigh tumbles out of his mouth and she knows that he isn't necessarily happy about whatever he's going to say next. Her face automatically contorts sympathetically. He says, "She isn't against it, but she does think it would be best to make Juliet full time instead of just part time."

"Did she tell you to fire me? Did you tell her you can't do that?"

"Nothing like that," he replies. He chuckles softly in his throat and shakes his head. She feels his thumb sweep over her skin just above her knee. He says, "She won't have a secretary so she kind of wants us to share Juliet in the interim."

"Ooooh," she hums, "I know how you feel about sharing."

"You," he says, "I don't like sharing you. Anyway, I explained to her that you won't even be here most of next week because you have to find a wedding planner."

"Well," she says. She tucks her hair behind her ear. They didn't come in until 10 and she had to go across town to look at a venue around 4. She didn't particularly like the place. It didn't seem big enough. "It's crunch time. We have to get as much booked as possible before the holidays."

"You need to get some sleep," he replies, "We can't have anymore nights like last night."

"I don't like it any more than you," she says.

"You were sleeping on my couch," he says, voice flat, "And we have dinner reservations with Mike and Rachel tonight. We haven't even seen them outside of this office since they got back."

"I will make it through dinner just fine," she reassures.

"And then Rachel pushes me out into the middle of the dance circle and I just stand there," Mike says.

"I panicked," Rachel admits, "I didn't know what to do."

"Not that," Mike replies.

They laugh in unison then. She watches their giggles linger, relishing in the way their happiness just radiates off of them. When they got engaged, it was bad timing for her. She really had given up hope that she could ever be as happy as them. Just then, she feels Harvey's hand on her thigh, fingers tucking between her two legs. She squeezes her thighs together like a warning as she realizes she was wrong to think she would never be as happy as them.

She looks to her left at her fiancé, a smile sliding across her mouth. He shifts his gaze to her then like he feels her eyes on him. His tie is loosened, but not enough for the normal human gaze to notice. It's loosened just enough that he looks boyish to her. She feels his thumb sweep over her thigh just below the hem of her dress.

She sees the waitress making her way to the table with the bottle of wine and four glasses. She perks up a bit, leaning back in her chair and lifting her leg to cross one over the other. She pinches his hand between her thighs. He quirks an eyebrow at her, lips pursing and eyebrows furrowing.

"So, Donna," Rachel says, not noticing the waitress with the wine coming up behind her. Donna watches her friend become taken by surprise as an empty wine glass is set down in front of her. Rachel leans back in her seat as they are all poured wine and it's left on the table. Once the waitress clears, Rachel smiles and continues. She says, "Have you had any luck with the wedding planning?"

Donna can see Harvey immediately cringe out of the corner of her eye. She covers his wrist with her hand and presses the pads of her fingers against his pulse. His heart beats beneath her fingertips and she pushes her hand further up his arm.

"Actually," Harvey says before she can respond, "We've been having a hell of a time with that. We fell asleep on the couch watching that Bridezilla show last night hoping to get some insight about weddings."

She practically burns a hole into his skull for throwing her under the bus like that. She does appreciate the way he takes the fall a little bit too, but both Mike and Rachel are privy to the fact that she's working less to plan the wedding. And, honestly, only she truly knows that this wedding is a big deal on many different levels. It has to be the event of the season.

"You planned our wedding," Rachel reminds her.

"Organized," she corrects, "I didn't have to make any decisions for your wedding. Besides, no offense to Mike, but he was never named New York's most eligible bachelor."

"Isn't that just the male version of a slut?" Rachel muses.

"Yeah, but when men do it they get glorified," Rachel replies.

"True," she absently agrees.

"Hey," Harvey whines, "You're no saint."

"This isn't about me, honey," she replies; she turns her attention back to Rachel, "I had to do something to make him jealous."

Rachel smirks as she reaches for her glass of wine. She nods in agreement right before taking a drink. Donna laughs. She really has missed her time with Rachel, the way they encourage one another to be strong and sassy. She sucks in a deep breath and makes an executive decision on the spot.

"Rachel," she hums, "Do you want to be my maid of honor?"

"I thought you would never ask," Rachel says, swallowing her drink. A bit of wine dribbles onto her chin and, embarrassed, she lifts her napkin to wipe it away. That's one weight lifted off of Donna's shoulders.

Harvey retracts his hand from her thigh and she misses his touch. It's then that she realizes the week has been incredibly emotionally demanding. They haven't even talked about anything other than the wedding. They talk about everything. A sadness takes over her. Harvey seems to notice because he reaches over and lightly touches her shoulder.

"But," Donna starts, "I don't want to talk about the wedding anymore."

She nearly drinks her entire glass of wine in one go.

She's tired and a little tipsy when they exit the taxi. She holds tightly onto his hand like she needs him to stand upright, but she really isn't having any trouble with her balance. She wants to be close to him. She realized over the course of dinner that they haven't even had sex since Saturday. Which isn't long, but it's the longest they've gone without sex since they declared their love for one another.

He leads her to their apartment building, the one she's lived in and loved for over a decade. Looking at the building, she knows she'll have to leave it soon. She will have to say goodbye to this small, one bedroom apartment that she's called home. The apartment she has brought back a number of men she doesn't care to tell her future husband. The apartment that they've stayed up countless nights laughing together and falling in love all over again.

He encourages her to pass him so she can enter the building first. She feels his hand on her back, moving with her every step that she takes. As she approaches the first step to the stairs, she feels his fingertips slide down her backside. She stops halfway up the staircase. He comes to a stop right behind her, hand still cupping her ass, and he turns his head to look at her.

She closes the space between them and kisses him softly. He pushes his hand around her waist and holds her to him. She lifts her right hand to his jaw and lets her touch linger there for a few moments. He pulls back and offers her a smirk. Her fingers drop from his face and she tugs at the lapel of his jacket. She continues up the stairs, stepping out of his embrace, and only feels his hand on her back again when they reach the door.

He unlocks the front door and guides her in, shutting and locking the door behind them. She leaves her purse on a chair in the living room on her way to the bedroom. She can hear him a few steps behind her. She lifts her hair, the pads of his fingers pressing against the base of her neck. He unzips her dress to the middle of her back. He draws his finger back up her spine, slowly pushing both hands beneath the material of the dress.

She shivers as her dress falls to the floor and pools at her feet. She feels his warm lips press against her back, his hands hooking around her hips. He takes a step forward and she feels his chest press against her back. She feels his hands move to her stomach, fingers spreading across her skin. She leans back against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Let's get some sleep tonight," he mutters.

She nods slowly, already falling asleep in his arms. She turns then, pressing her hands against his chest to lean in to kiss his cheek. She kicks off her heels and becomes significantly shorter. She steps around him and changes for bed. By the time she finally crawls in, he's already laying there. She slides up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist.