Chapter 5

Ten the next morning, at a café beside the Boston Public Garden.

Vivian arrived ten minutes after we did.

Wrapped in a cream cashmere cardigan, she breezily pulled out a chair and sat down, setting her expensive leather bag on the table.

"Sorry, traffic was a little backed up. Ethan, you sounded so urgent on the phone. What's the emergency?"

She didn't even glance at me first. She was so comfortably familiar with him, as if the awkwardness of the past two days had never happened.

Ethan sat beside me, his expression serious.

He didn't smile and hand her a menu the way he usually did.

"Vivian, I asked you here because we need to have a proper conversation about what happened at the bridal boutique and in the group chat."

Vivian's fingers paused as she lifted her coffee, and her smile slowly faded.

"Two days ago, you tried on the wedding dress Claire had set aside without asking her. Then you posted pictures of us in the wedding chat that could easily give people the wrong idea. Neither of those things was okay."

Ethan tightened his grip on his water glass, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"We were there for Claire's wedding preparations, not a college reunion. I want you to apologize to her properly, here and now, for crossing those boundaries."

The atmosphere in our corner of the private room froze.

Vivian stared at Ethan for several seconds, as if trying to work out whether he was joking.

When she realized he wasn't going to back down or defend her, her wounded expression vanished.

In its place came stunned disbelief, as though he'd betrayed her and the whole thing was absurd.

"Apologize to her?" Vivian scoffed, leaning back in her chair and fixing Ethan with a piercing look.

"Ethan, why are you playing the devoted fiancé? What ultimatum did she give you last night to make you come here and put on this little show?"

Ethan's brow tightened. "Vivian, I'm serious."

"Serious? Now you want to get serious with me?"

Vivian raised her voice, her eyes full of mockery.

"Who was complaining to me at the bar last week that Claire's need to control every part of the wedding was suffocating him? Who said she was obsessing over venues and satin every single day, that all she cared about was having a pretty wedding to feed her vanity, and that she didn't even care who the groom standing beside her was?"

Her words landed like a sledgehammer.

I whipped my head toward Ethan.

His face went white as paper. His lips trembled, and he tried to speak, but no sound came out.

My heart plummeted, leaving a bone-deep chill in my chest.

"What else did he tell you?" My eyes stayed on Vivian. My voice was frighteningly calm, but the hand hidden in my trench coat pocket was shaking violently.

Vivian gave a cold laugh and decided to lay it all out.

"Claire, do you really think Ethan finds all those little insecurities of yours endearing? You cried to him in private about how you didn't have the right figure, how you wouldn't have any curves in a wedding dress, and how much you wanted him to give you a real compliment at the fitting. He repeated the whole thing to me that very night as a joke!"

Each word from Vivian was a poisoned barb. "He said you were being so dramatic, trying to force him to say all that cheesy stuff. He even begged me to come along that day, because if other people were there joking around, you wouldn't keep picking him apart!"

That conversation had belonged to Ethan and me alone, behind our closed bedroom door late at night.

Years of hunching over drawings had altered the curve of my neck. I'd cried in his arms, ashamed of how I looked, and quietly asked what would happen if I didn't look stunning in my wedding dress.

He'd kissed my forehead and promised that on the day I walked toward him, I would be the only person anyone could look at.

The insecurities I'd trusted him with, every defense stripped away, had become something for him and another woman to laugh about over drinks the moment he walked out that door.

The entire café fell deathly silent.

I stared at Ethan without moving, my nails digging into my palms, waiting for him to slam his hand on the table and deny it, waiting for him to accuse Vivian of lying to drive us apart.

All he had to say was, "I never said that."

But faced with my empty stare, Ethan couldn't meet my eyes. He swallowed twice, then offered a feeble explanation:

"Claire… I was drunk. I didn't mean it that way."