Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“I’m glad you were there for him tonight, Emily,” he says. “Shows you care for him a lot.”
If only you knew…
22
EMILY
Istare at Cole as he lies in the hospital bed for another night.
I have a feeling this was more than just a seizure, but the nurses never leave his charts in the room.
Swallowing, I move closer and slide my hand into his.
“I wish I’d gotten to you sooner,” I whisper. “I think their wedding is my fault…”
He remains still, only breathing.
“I feel like we were just starting to—”
Tears prick at my eyes, and I can’t even finish the sentence.
I kiss his lips and leave before Matt or his father returns.
22A
COLE
Not really sure how much time has passed…
The oxygen tube feels like a leash, pinning me here beneath the weight of scratchy sheets and the stale tang of disinfectant. That smell hits first—bleach, latex, something sour beneath it all. Hospitals always smell like they’re trying too hard to scrub away the truth.
My eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. Pale gray. Cracked near the vent. The kind of detail I never used to notice until the last time I woke up in a place like this—slumped in a hospital bed after the DUI, my jaw bruised and hands trembling from what I hadn’t yet admitted.
He was there that night too. Same overpriced cologne, same tight-lipped expression that made him look like a disappointed father instead of one who was proud of him. He sat beside me with this calm, quiet grief, the kind that only appears when there’s an audience.
Now there’s no audience. Just him and me, and the hum of machines that won't stop.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees like we’re about to have a heart-to-heart.
“You gave us a scare, son,” he says, and the word son makes something in me twist.
“You’re probably the last to know, but—” he says. “Heather and I are pushing up the wedding.”
My jaw tightens, useless against the tape and tubing.
“It’s going to be this summer at the estate, because life’s too short to wait.”
He says it like it’s noble. Like he’s just been through something tragic and come out enlightened. Like my seizure was his seizure.
I turn my head—slow, deliberate—until I’m staring directly at him.
His eyes light up like he thinks it’s affection.
“I knew you’d understand.”
Understand? I try to glare at him, but it hurts too much.
I want to tear the IV out of my arm and rip the mask off just to tell him how wrong he is. To tell him to get the hell out and send in Emily.
I want to feel her hand in mine. I want to hear her voice, the one that doesn’t change for a microphone.
But he keeps talking.
Some joke about cake or centerpieces or how it’s the “right thing at the right time.” He stands and squeezes my shoulder like we’ve sealed some pact.
Then he leaves.
The room feels colder the second the door clicks shut.
And for reasons I can’t explain, the wedding announcement hurts more than any other promise he’s broken with me before. Maybe because this time, he didn’t even try to hide the choice he made.
He chose himself.
He always does.
23
You are cordially invited to the wedding of
Heather O’Hara
&
Aidan Dawson
at two thirty in the afternoon
on the private date enclosed
The Dawson Residence & Estate
1432 Blue Inlet Drive
Southampton, New York
A four-day itinerary is enclosed & our lovingly blended family looks forward to seeing you
23A
EMILY
The doors of the White Magnolia Bridal Shop are pink with frosted glass. Their company slogan, “First Comes Love, Then Comes Your Dress,” is etched in tiny cursive that makes the word “dress” look like “mess.”
Any other time, I’d laugh about that, but I haven’t eaten in four days, and I haven’t been able to sleep.
All week, silk-wrapped boxes and designer wardrobes have arrived at the estate for my mother, all bearing well wishes for the marriage. I’ve tried to tune out as much of the planning as possible, but remnants of the inevitable find me.
I’d even feigned a headache for today’s dress appointment, but Mr. Dawson’s butler put together a box of frozen juices and medicine. So here I am—trapped in pink walls and perfume, flinching at the faint sound of champagne flutes clinking behind closed doors.
Everything here smells like roses and dreams. None of it smells like reality.
“Why are you being so quiet out there, Emily?” my mom calls from the other side of the door. “Talk to me while I’m finagling this lace!”
I swallow.
I honestly have nothing to say.
“She shared her vows when you arrived,” one attendant whispers and points to the envelope in my lap. “She probably wants to know what you think.”
“Good idea.” I tear the flap and pull out the handwritten sheet.
My Dear Sweet Aidan,
I knew you were the one when we stayed up ‘til sunrise for our first phone call. Every day has been a dream, and I’ve never felt this happy. I wish I’d met you sooner, and I promise never to let you go.