First off, I know I'm blogging about a romance novel (which I try not to do, because I often don't have all the much to be said about them that isn't said ten times better at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books.) Therefore, let those who have not sinned throw the first stone, yada yada yada.
Now that that's out of the way, I only have one thing to say about On the Way to the Wedding: while I generally enjoy Julia Quinn's books, I hope never again to read a book in which the heroine pops out nine freaking babies in the epilogue. I don't know why, but for some reason the thought of pushing nine watermelons out of a six-centimeter-hole (that is full dilation, right, because hell if I know) is frankly less than romantic and does a thorough job killing the reading-romance-novels-while-it's-snowing-outside buzz. I'm weird like that.