Chapter 2
Three days later, I stood in the open doorway of my apartment, staring at the stranger holding a bouquet of roses. Or maybe it was just Blake. I hadn’t seen him since the altar. Since he’d chosen Rachel. Again.
“Viv,” he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. He looked haggard, unshaven, his usual polish dulled by sleepless nights and regret. “Can I come in?”
I stepped aside, letting him enter. The roses were red, long-stemmed, and absolutely fucking clich�. He held them out like a shield, a peace offering. “These are for you,” he said, as if I didn’t already know.
“How sweet,” I replied, my tone flat. “You remembered my favorite color.”
His eyes flickered, and for a moment, I saw the old Blake—the one who had charmed me in college with his quick smile and easier charm. Then his face fell, and he became the man who had left me at the altar.
“Viv, I’m so sorry. I never wanted—”
“Save it,” I cut him off, gesturing to the living room. The TV was still on, playing some mindless rom-com on repeat. I hadn’t turned it off in days. “Let’s sit down.”
He followed me, his steps hesitant, as if he feared I’d vanish. We settled on the couch, him with the roses still clutched in his hands, me in the hotel robe I’d been living in since the wedding. My dress—our dress—was still hanging in the bridal suite at the vineyard. I hadn’t gone back for it.
“You look tired,” he said, his eyes tracing the dark circles under my eyes.
“I haven’t slept much,” I admitted, crossing my arms. “Funny how public humiliation does that to a girl.”
He flinched. “Viv—”
“No,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to apologize. Not yet. First, you get to listen.”
I stood, pacing the room as the words spilled out, each one sharper than the last. “Our first anniversary. You cancelled because Rachel had a panic attack. Remember? You said it was an emergency.”
“Viv—”
“Our second anniversary. You promised me a weekend in Carmel. But Rachel needed someone to drive her to her therapy appointment. So I sat alone in this apartment, eating Chinese takeout and watching rom-coms.”
“Vivian, please—”
“The night I landed my promotion. I was going to tell you over dinner. But Rachel called, sobbing about some nightmare, and you left me standing at the restaurant, holding two glasses of champagne.”
“Viv—”
“Our vacation to Bora Bora. Postponed three times because Rachel couldn’t handle the flight. Couldn’t handle the sun. Couldn’t handle the thought of us being happy.”
“Vivian—”
“The engagement party. You disappeared for an hour to take her call. And when you came back, you couldn’t even look me in the eye.”
“Viv—”
“And finally, our wedding day. You left me at the altar because Rachel decided she couldn’t live without you. Well, guess what? I can.”
I stopped pacing, my chest heaving as I met his gaze. He looked stricken, pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“Say it,” I spat. “Say you’re sorry. Say you had to go. Say she needed you. Say all the things you’ve said a thousand times before.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. We both heard it. We both knew who it was.
“Rachel,” I said, nodding toward his pocket. “She’s calling to check in. To make sure you’re still hers.”
“Viv—”
“Answer it,” I said, my voice cold. “Go to her. You always do.”
His finger hovered over the screen, his face torn. For a moment, I thought—hoped—that he might choose differently. That he might see me, finally, as more than just the woman he’d promised to marry.
Then his eyes dropped, and he pressed the button.
“Answer,” he whispered.