Chapter 1

At the wedding, Alex Carter snatched the bouquet from my hands right in front of everyone, then turned and handed it to that "just a coworker" with all the tenderness he'd use on a lover.

"Be good. Wait for next time." he said softly.

But he didn't know my wedding was next week, and the groom wasn't him.

For eight years, I was always dead last on his list. Work, pride, his buddies, even that woman's lipstick stain all mattered more than me. Every time, it was "next time," "don't make a fuss," and "just wait a little longer."

It went on until he used our future home as leverage in a standoff, moved out, and waited for me to apologize first.

He didn't know I'd sold the apartment in three days. He didn't know I'd switched grooms in a week.

And he definitely didn't know that by the time he rushed into my wedding in a suit, the emcee would be reading out another man's name.

His eyes red, and he asked me why.

I smiled and touched my belly. The baby I'm carrying is a Goodwin.

When Sophie Monroe tossed the bouquet into the air, I instinctively stepped back.

It wasn't that I didn't want to catch it. I didn't dare.

All the single girls had crowded the front, squealing and reaching up, while I stood alone at the edge of the crowd with half a glass of champagne still in my hand.

Even so, the white roses traced a neat arc and landed squarely in my arms.

I froze.

Then the room erupted in shrieks as everyone turned to look at me and the spotlight followed. Onstage, Sophie clapped and laughed. "Emma Nolan! Emma Nolan! You're next."

Before I could even process it, the crowd had already parted and started egging him on. "Where's Alex? Alex, hurry up and propose."

I instinctively looked for him in the crowd.

Alex stood there, still clutching his phone, his brows slightly furrowed. I knew that expression all too well. It was the look he always wore when he felt awkward in public.

Someone gave him a shove from behind.

He walked over, glanced down at the bouquet in my arms, then at the sea of phones pointed at us, a strained smile tugging at his mouth.

Then he reached out and lifted the bouquet out of my arms, leaving my hands empty.

He turned and handed it to Julia West, who was standing at the edge of the crowd, and said in that easy, gentle tone of his, "Back to its rightful owner. Guess you didn't get a good hold on it just now, huh?"

Julia took it with a flushed face as a wave of good-natured laughter rose around us.

Then Alex turned back to me, slipped an arm around my shoulders, and murmured in my ear, "Don't overthink it. I'll buy you one later."

I said nothing.

Around me, people laughed and shouted for them to kiss. Julia stood under the lights clutching the bouquet and shyly tried to hide behind the crowd.

I stayed where I was, watching it all like it had nothing to do with me, until Sophie squeezed to my side, her face already darkening.

She opened her mouth to say something, but I gently caught her wrist.

"I'm fine," I said.

Alex was already back talking with his coworkers, glancing at me now and then with that soothing look he'd use on a fussy child.

Watching him, I almost laughed.

He probably thought I was just in a mood, that once we got home he could smooth it over like always: with a coffee, a few nice words, and the whole thing would blow over.

He had no idea my wedding was next Saturday.

I slipped through the crowd to the restroom, stood in the hallway for a moment, and pulled out my phone.

Pinned at the top of my WhatsApp chats was my conversation with Ryan Goodwin.

His last message that morning read: [The wedding photos are done. I emailed them to you. Free tomorrow for the menu tasting?]

I replied: [I'm free.]

Then I opened my mom Grace Lane's chat. [Em, the Goodwin family wants to know whether we should use their liquor or ours for the reception.]

I texted back: [Use theirs. They said that brand is better.]

She replied: [Okay, your call.]

Staring at the screen, I felt dazed suddenly.

Ten minutes earlier, I had stood under the wedding lights, urged on by the whole crowd, waiting for the man I'd loved for eight years to give me a promise in front of everyone.

And what did he give me instead?

He took the bouquet from my hands.

I put my phone away and touched up my lipstick.

The woman in the mirror looked so calm she was almost smiling.

After a moment, I found myself thinking back eight years, to my freshman year in college, when I was saving a seat in the library and some flustered boy spilled coffee all over a textbook I'd borrowed.

I looked up and saw a young man standing there at a loss, his ears burning bright red. “I'm so sorry, I’m so sorry. I...I’ll pay you back.”

That was Alex.

We were together for eight years.

In that time, he graduated, found work, and rose to department manager, while I went from college to graduate school and eventually became a project manager.

Eight years.

We originally planned to tie the knot when his career settled down. First he put it off for a promotion, then for buying a home, and later for finishing the house renovations.

By this year, I was done waiting.

Last month, I asked him out to dinner and said I wanted to talk about us.

He kept his head down over his phone and said, "I've been swamped lately. Let's talk after things calm down."

I said, "I've been waiting eight years."

Only then did he finally look up, impatience in his eyes. "Emma, not this again. Aren't we fine the way we are? Why do we need a piece of paper to prove anything?"

I kept silent.