After Eight Years, I Married Another Man

Arthur seemed to think that, having promised me a next time, the whole episode was behind us.

He reached up, brushing my ear, his fingers lingering with easy affection. "I'm going to take a shower."

The bathroom filled with the sound of running water.

I stood where I was for a moment before walking toward the bedroom.

I opened the closet to put away the clothes he'd hung back up.

My hand stilled. My gaze caught on the wedding gown in the very back corner.

Two years ago, when we'd agreed for the fifth time to get engaged after meeting my parents, I'd dragged Arthur out to try it on.

Back then I'd been swept up by all the talk online about how every girl should have her own wedding dress, dead set on buying it.

Childishly, I'd imagined that after the wedding I'd have it framed behind glass and set it somewhere everyone could see.

Now the soft light of the room fell over it, and it was still radiant, still lovely.

And still like a silent mockery.

The bathroom door opened. I pulled my eyes away from the gown without turning around.

Footsteps came up behind me, and a pair of damp hands wrapped me into his chest, the clean scent of body wash clinging in the air.

I turned and gently pushed him away.

Arthur's hands froze midair for a few seconds, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

"Evie?"

Our eyes met, and we slipped into a strange, silent standoff.

"Arthur."

"Hmm?"

The words I'd meant to say were right at my lips when his phone rang.

He glanced at me, then turned to pick it up off the nightstand.

A few clipped replies, and he hung up. "Tessa's parents want to thank us for today. They're hoping we'll have lunch together."

"Okay." My voice was flat, without a ripple.

He didn't go get ready right away.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then said abruptly, "My hair's still dripping."

As if waiting for me to dry it for him the way I always had.

Or for the faint, sulky little grumble, "Why is it always Tessa?"

But I only glanced at the time on the screen and said evenly, "We'll talk when you get back."

The hair dryer hummed.

Then came the soft click of the door at the entryway.

I dropped onto the bed and buried my face hard in the covers.

It was a long time before I sat up and put the clothes back into my suitcase.

When I'd finished packing, I picked up my phone just as a message from Arthur popped up. "What do you want to eat? I'll bring some back for you."

I looked at it for two seconds, backed out, and tapped into another chat.

I sent over the screenshot of the newly booked flight, with one note: don't be late.

In the dead-quiet room, I lay there staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed softly.

The screen lit up. It was my sister calling.

"Sis, I feel sick to my stomach about all this."

"All these years, every time you bring up meeting the parents, bringing up marriage, it's the same thing with him. And now he still has zero boundaries with that woman. What does he even mean by it?"

What did he mean.

Nothing.

In this world, not every feeling gets to bloom and bear fruit.

He probably just hadn't decided yet who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

When I stayed quiet, her voice sank a little lower.

"So are you two even coming home? I didn't tell Mom and Dad. They're still in the kitchen working on dinner, and Uncle and his family came over too."

"Maybe just say something came up at the last minute, that you two might not be able to make it back for a while—"

I spoke softly, cutting off her unfinished sentence.

"No need. I promised them I wouldn't break my word this time."

"Tonight, I'll be bringing my boyfriend home."

From outside the door came the faint chime of the elevator arriving.

I hung up and didn't turn around. I just waited.

The sound of the lock turning over, footsteps deliberately kept light.

A few seconds passed, and the bedroom door was pushed gently open.