You Gave Her My Anniversary Necklace, So I Chose Your Rival

On the third day after I canceled my wedding, Harbor Glass called me back.

I was standing in my hotel room in a towel, hair still dripping, when Dana's name lit up my screen. I assumed it was about the refund paperwork.

"Ms. West, good morning. I'm so sorry to bother you." She sounded careful, like someone holding a full cup of coffee. "I just need to confirm something before we finalize. Are you comfortable converting your May eighteenth weekend into the spring gala for the Blake Foundation?"

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"The what?"

"The Blake Children's Arts Foundation. Ms. Blake's charity." A pause. "Mr. Calloway said you'd discussed it. Since the deposit is already on file, we'd simply transfer it to the new event. We just need your signature, since you're the primary on the contract."

I'd heard Vivian mention that foundation exactly once, at a dinner party in September. It hadn't existed yet. She'd called it "a little dream project."

"Dana," I said, "is Mr. Calloway there right now?"

Another pause, longer this time.

"He and Ms. Blake are on the terrace with their planner."

"Don't let anyone sign anything," I said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

---

Harbor Glass Pavilion sat on the top floor of the Marlowe Harbor Hotel, a long glass room that opened onto a terrace hanging over the water. The first time I'd seen it, the lake had been so bright it hurt to look at. I'd stood at the railing and pictured the chairs, the aisle, the arch of white garden roses, and I'd started crying before the coordinator finished her tour.

Grant had laughed and put his arm around me. He'd said, "Okay, I guess we're booking it."

Now Vivian stood at that same railing in a camel coat, holding a tablet, while a woman with a clipboard pointed at the spot where my arch was supposed to go.

"We'd keep the garden roses," the planner was saying. "Maybe add some eucalyptus, loosen it up so it reads less bridal."

"I love that," Vivian said.

Grant was leaning against a high-top table behind them, scrolling on his phone. He looked up when the terrace door swung shut behind me, and for a second, he didn't even seem surprised. Just tired, like I'd arrived late to something he'd already handled.

"Audrey." He straightened. "Dana called you."

"She did."

Vivian turned. Her face crumpled into that soft, stricken look I was beginning to recognize as her default setting. "Oh no. Audrey, I didn't know they'd—"

"Viv, it's fine." Grant came toward me, hands loose at his sides. "Look, before you get upset, just hear me out. This is damage control. You canceled with no notice, and we're eating eighteen thousand dollars. Viv's foundation needs a spring venue, and every decent waterfront space in the city is booked through next summer. The deposit's already sitting here."

"So you thought you'd move it."

"I thought we'd stop throwing money in the lake." He gestured at the terrace, the water, the empty space where the chairs would have been. "You've already decided you don't want to get married here. Why waste it?"

I looked past him at the planner's clipboard, then at Vivian's tablet.

"So the wedding I canceled," I said, "you're giving to her for a party."

Grant's brow creased. "Don't make it sound ugly on purpose."

"I'm describing it."

"It's a *charity gala*. For kids." He said it slowly, as if I might not understand English. "It's not about you."

Vivian stepped forward, clutching the tablet to her chest. "Audrey, I swear, I didn't know this place meant anything to you. Grant just said there was an open date. If I'd known you picked it yourself, I never would have—"

"Can I see that?"

She hesitated. Then she handed it over.

It was a layout mockup. Round tables, a dance floor near the glass, a lounge by the north windows. And along the terrace edge, sketched in pale green, was a long table runner of garden roses and trailing jasmine, the exact arrangement I'd spent two Saturdays building with the florist. Even the candle holders matched, the hammered brass ones I'd found in a shop in Milwaukee.

At the top of the page, someone had typed a note: *Per previous client, keep jasmine. Florist already sourced.*

I handed the tablet back to her.

Vivian's cheeks went pink. She didn't say anything else.

Grant cleared his throat. "Okay, so they reused some ideas. They're good ideas. That should make you happy."

I didn't answer him. I walked back inside to where Dana was hovering by the bar, a slim folder in her hands.

"I'm so sorry," she said under her breath. "I didn't realize there was any disagreement."

"It's not your fault. What do you need from me?"

She opened the folder. "If you sign the transfer authorization, the existing deposit carries over to the foundation's event and nothing is forfeited. Or—" She glanced past me, toward the terrace. "Or you can sign the final cancellation, and the weekend gets fully released. The forty percent loss stands."

Grant had followed me in. Vivian lingered in the doorway behind him.

He didn't come any closer. He didn't need to. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders already dropping, the way they did at the end of every argument we'd ever had. He knew this part. He'd watched me do it for six years.

Don't waste it. Don't make a scene. Fine, it's fine.

Dana set a pen on top of the folder.

I picked it up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant let out a breath. His face softened. He even started to smile, small and private, like a man watching a stock climb back to where he'd always known it would be.

I flipped past the first page, found the second form, and wrote across the signature line in block capitals.

FINAL CANCELLATION.

Then I signed my name underneath it and dated it.

Dana looked down at the page. She looked up at me. Then, very quietly, she slid it into the folder and closed it.

"I'll process it this afternoon," she said. "The weekend will be released by end of day."

"Thank you."

"If the foundation wants to book a new date," she added, a little louder, "they're welcome to contact our office directly."

Behind me, Vivian made a small sound.

Grant crossed the room in four strides. "What the hell was that?"

"You heard her."

"You just threw away eighteen thousand dollars." His voice was rising now, and he didn't seem to care that Dana was standing right there. "On purpose. You'd rather lose money than help her? Seriously?"

I set the pen down on the bar.

"Yes," I said. "I'd rather lose money than keep paying for your choices."

He stared at me. In six years, I had never seen that particular expression on his face. It took me a moment to place it. He looked like someone who'd reached for a railing in the dark and found nothing there.

Vivian touched his sleeve. "Grant, let's just go. It's okay. I'll find somewhere else."

He shook her off without looking at her.

I picked up my bag and walked toward the elevators.

"Audrey." His voice followed me across the room, hard and flat. "If you walk out now, don't expect me to come after you."

I pressed the call button. The doors opened right away, like they'd been waiting.

"Good," I said, and stepped inside.

---

The wind off the lake hit me the second I pushed through the hotel's revolving doors. I stood on the sidewalk for a minute, letting it sting my face, waiting to feel something collapse.

It didn't. My hands were steady. I was hungry, actually.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

*Sebastian Reed.*

I expected something about Friday. A restaurant name, a time.

Instead, there was a PDF attached, and a short message above it.

*I wasn't going to send this until after dinner. But I'd rather you hear it from me than from someone else. Reed Hospitality is opening a waterfront hotel this spring, two blocks north of the Calloway Group's new property. Same market. Same opening season. I need someone to run the launch strategy, and I think it should be you. No pressure. Read it when you're ready.*

I opened the attachment.

Formal letterhead. A title, a salary, and a start date.

Across the top, in bold: *Director of Opening Strategy, Reed Harborfront.*

I looked up. Two blocks north, past a row of cranes, I could see the half-finished glass tower with Grant's company name already wrapped around the scaffolding.