Chapter 1

The hundredth time Ryan’s girl best friend humiliated me, I was standing at the altar in my wedding dress.

Harper walked down my aisle wearing white and announced that she had come to steal my groom.

Her lace dress stopped just short of the floor. It was not technically a wedding gown.

That was probably how she planned to defend it later.

“Wait!” she called, laughing as she took the microphone from an usher. “You can’t get married before I get one last chance.”

Several guests laughed.

I tightened my fingers around my bouquet and looked at Ryan.

He should have told her to sit down.

Instead, he smiled.

“Harper,” he said, like she was a child doing something embarrassing but adorable.

She reached the altar and turned toward the guests.

“Ryan and I made a promise when we were twelve. If neither of us was married by thirty, we’d marry each other.”

More laughter moved through the room.

I stood beneath an arch of white roses I had spent six months choosing, listening to another woman explain why she had a prior claim on my husband.

Harper faced Ryan.

“Last chance. Are you sure you don’t want to marry your best friend?”

I waited for him to say that he was marrying the woman he loved.

Ryan only shook his head and laughed.

“You’re three years early.”

Harper pressed a hand to her chest.

“So I still have time?”

“Apparently.”

The guests laughed again.

I did not.

Harper looked at me as though she had only just remembered I was there.

“Relax, Emma. I’m not actually stealing him.”

Then she threw both arms around Ryan’s neck and kissed him.

Not his cheek.

His mouth.

Ryan froze.

But he did not push her away.

One second passed.

Then another.

His hand closed around her waist, steadying her as several guests clapped.

The sound struck harder than the kiss.

I was the bride, yet somehow I was the only person in the room who had not been told this was supposed to be funny.

Ryan finally pulled back.

Harper’s lipstick was smeared across his mouth.

He looked at me and saw my face.

Still, his first words were not an apology.

“Come on, Emma. She’s joking.”

Harper grinned.

“You know I’m basically one of the guys.”

“One of the guys doesn’t kiss you at our wedding.”

Her smile weakened, but Ryan’s expression hardened.

“Don’t do this here.”

“Do what?”

“Turn one stupid joke into a scene.”

One stupid joke.

I remembered Harper sitting on Ryan’s lap at my birthday because there were no empty chairs.

Harper wearing his shirt after sleeping at our house.

Harper joining our anniversary trip after Ryan promised she would only stay one night.

Every time I objected, Ryan gave me the same answer.

Don’t make it a thing.

Two years ago, I had started recording each incident in a private note on my phone because Ryan kept insisting I exaggerated.

There had been ninety-nine entries that morning.

Now there were one hundred.

Something inside me became quiet.

I placed my bouquet on the altar.

“Emma?” Ryan said.

I stepped down from the platform.

The room fell silent as I walked past my mother, past Ryan’s family and toward the third row.

Adrian sat at the end.

Ryan’s uncle was only six years older than him, but no one in the family treated them like equals. Adrian never needed to raise his voice to be taken seriously.

More importantly, he had never once told me to laugh when Harper hurt me.

He stood as I stopped in front of him.

I held out my hand.

“Adrian, will you marry me instead?”

Someone gasped.

A nervous laugh came from the back of the room.

Adrian did not laugh.

His eyes searched my face.

“Are you asking me,” he said quietly, “or are you trying to punish him?”

“Both.”

It was the most honest answer I had.

Adrian took my hand.

Then his arm settled firmly around my waist.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

Behind us, Ryan laughed once, but the sound came out wrong.

“Very funny. Now let go of my uncle and come finish our wedding.”

Adrian’s arm tightened.

“She wasn’t joking.”

I looked at the man I had forgiven ninety-nine times.

“Neither was I.”