Chapter 1

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, my boyfriend's childhood friend called in a panic, saying her blind date was waiting outside the courthouse and refusing to leave.

Without a second thought, Randy Cardenas opened the passenger door for her.

Sylvia Hawkins glanced at the box of wedding favors on the seat and shook her head. "This is your fiancée's seat. I'll sit in the back."

But Randy simply leaned over and buckled her seatbelt. "She won't mind."

Then he looked at me through the open window. "Take a taxi home. We can get married another day."

Standing outside the courthouse, I lowered my gaze and canceled our appointment.

A notification immediately popped up on his phone.

Randy checked the message, his expression darkening. "Are you seriously calling off our wedding over a seat? Isn't that a little dramatic?"

I slipped my ID back into my purse and said, "I'm not being dramatic. I suddenly realize I don't want to marry you anymore."

*****

Sylvia looked frozen with panic. Her fingers fumbled at the seatbelt buckle, tried pressing it twice, but couldn't get it to open.

"Randy, you two should go ahead and get the marriage license. I'll take care of this myself," she said.

Her voice was shaky, but she gave me a quick sidelong look.

"I can't let my own issues mess up your big day," she added.

Randy pressed the central lock button, and the car doors locked with a click.

"Stop pretending you're fine," Randy said, and then turned to me. "Verena, she's been stalked for half a month, and her car window got smashed.

"Are you seriously hung up on a seat right now? Do you really expect me to leave her here?"

I stared at his hand, resting on the window frame.

The wedding ring he was meant to slip on after the ceremony was still tucked in his suit pocket.

This morning, when he tried it on, he'd grinned and asked, "Verena, are you nervous?"

Now, barely an hour later, I became the obstacle in his way as he tried to help her.

"I never asked you to leave her," I said.

"Then who are you putting on this act for?" Randy frowned, his tone turning stern. "You used to be the reasonable one. Why are you suddenly making me choose, right when we're about to get married?"

To him, I was always the one forcing him to make a choice.

He labeled my heartbreak as attention-seeking, then called his favoritism "being stuck with no other choice."

I lowered my gaze to the wedding favors in my arms.

Our names were embossed on the box.

Before we left this morning, I had carefully checked each one to make sure none were crushed.

I opened the back door and handed the whole box of wedding favors to Sylvia.

She caught it on instinct, clutching it close. Against her white dress, the red gift box looked like a fresh bloodstain.

"Since we won't be needing them today, you can have them," I said.

Sylvia flinched as if she'd been burned and hurried to give it back.

But Randy was quicker, blocking her hand before she could.

"That's enough, Verena." He came around from the driver's seat and grabbed my wrist.

His fingertips pressed down on my freshly done manicure, gripping so tightly it felt like he might dig into my flesh.

"I'm giving you a chance to step back. Don't turn it down." Randy said. "Now get in. I'll drop Sylvia off at the police station, then come back and register our marriage."

"Come back?" I let out a bitter laugh, feeling the sting of disappointment. "The registry office is closed for lunch, and the afternoon appointment's already canceled."

"Then reschedule," Randy blurted it out without a second thought.

It was as if getting married was only another meeting he could move around whenever he felt like it.

"Randy." I pried his fingers off mine one by one. "You're not rescheduling. You're making me stop wanting to marry you."

His expression finally turned cold. "Don't regret this."

Sylvia called out to him from inside the car, her voice barely above a whisper. "Randy, that guy messaged me again."

Randy immediately turned around.

I watched his hand freeze in midair. A moment ago, he was holding me, and now it was on her car door.

He didn't come after me.

As the car pulled away, the passenger window rolled down halfway.

Sylvia hugged the box of wedding favors to her chest, her eyes rimmed with tears as she said softly, "Verena, I'm sorry."

I stayed silent.

Her apology was as practiced as his excuses.

When I got back to our wedding apartment, the moving company was already waiting downstairs.

The night before we were supposed to get our marriage license, I was kneeling on the living room floor, carefully putting up wedding decorations.

Randy was lounging on the couch, flipping through some contracts, and casually said, "Looks pretty nice."

That simple compliment kept me smiling for ages.

Now, the wedding decorations were still stuck on the wall, with a row of open cardboard boxes underneath.

The mover asked, "Should we take down the wedding decorations too?"

I glanced at them. "No, leave them. Let the next bride have them."

When I finished speaking, the door lock clicked.

Randy pushed the door open, with Sylvia following right behind him.

She had his suit jacket draped over her shoulders, my spare slippers on her feet, and a small suitcase in hand.

The suitcase wheels rolled over the red mat by the door, making a soft sound.

I couldn't take my eyes off that suitcase.

Randy caught my look and was the first to break the silence. "Her place isn't safe, so I said she could stay here for a few days. The guest room's ready for her."

Sylvia quickly explained, "I'll only stay until I find a new place. Verena, please don't get the wrong idea. I really don't mean anything by it."

I walked over to the guest room door.

The bed was covered with the bedding set my mother had picked out.

The cushion my father used when his back hurt had been moved from the bedside table onto the floor.

Sylvia's makeup bag was spread out on the table, the cap on her lipstick wasn't screwed on tight, smearing a streak of red across the white tablecloth I'd set out for my parents.

Randy came over, noticed the lipstick stain, and his brow furrowed, but it was obvious his concern wasn't for me or my things.