After My Fiancé Let His Best Friend Humiliate Me

The ballroom was all gold light and champagne bubbles. I stood near the center of it, wearing a dress I'd picked out three weeks ago with Troy's mother. It was cream silk, elegant, expensive. The engagement ring on my finger caught the light every time I moved my hand. I kept moving my hand.

Troy was across the room talking to his college friends. I watched him laugh at something one of them said. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and smiled. Not the polite smile he'd been wearing all night. A real one.

I walked over and slipped my hand into his. He squeezed it once, then let go.

"Having fun?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. He didn't look at me. His phone buzzed again.

One of his friends, a guy named Derek, raised his glass. "To the lucky man," he said. "Last few weeks of freedom, huh?"

Troy laughed. It sounded easy. "Something like that."

I smiled because everyone was looking at me. My face felt tight.

Troy's mother, Victoria Powell, appeared at my elbow. She wore pearls and a expression that looked like approval from a distance. Up close, it was something else.

"Lara," she said. "You look lovely. That dress was a good choice."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm glad you helped me pick it."

She touched my arm lightly. Her fingers were cool. "Troy seems happy tonight."

I looked at him. He was checking his phone again.

"Yes," I said. "He does."

Victoria's smile didn't move. "Marriage is a big step. Especially for someone like Troy. He's always valued his independence."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I nodded.

She drifted away. I stood there holding my champagne glass. I hadn't taken a sip all night.

Troy came back an hour later. The party was winding down. People were saying their goodbyes, kissing cheeks, promising to call. He took my hand and pulled me toward a corner near the windows. The city lights stretched out behind him.

"Hey," he said. "I need to tell you something."

My stomach dropped. I made myself smile. "Okay."

"I'm flying to Paris tomorrow," he said. "With Melina."

I blinked. "What?"

"Just for a few weeks. She's been planning this trip forever, and I told her I'd go. You know, one last taste of freedom before the wedding."

He said it like it was nothing. Like he was telling me he'd be late for dinner.

"You're going to Paris," I said slowly. "With Melina. Tomorrow."

"Yeah." He squeezed my hand. "Don't make it a thing, Lara. It's just a trip."

"Our wedding is in two months."

"I know." He looked at me like I was being difficult. "That's why I'm going now. Before things get crazy."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. My throat felt tight.

"You're okay with this, right?" he asked. But he was already letting go of my hand. Already stepping back. "I'll text you when I land."

He kissed my forehead. Then he walked away.

I stood by the window and watched the lights blur. I told myself it was fine. He was allowed to take a trip. Melina was his best friend. It didn't mean anything.

But my hands were shaking.

I went home alone that night. Troy said he had to help Melina pack. I let myself into the penthouse and took off my heels. The apartment was silent. I sat on the couch and looked at my phone.

No messages.

I waited three days before I called him. It went to voicemail.

"Hey," I said. "Just checking in. Let me know you got there safe."

He didn't call back.

I texted him a week later. *Miss you. When are you coming home?*

No response.

Two weeks. Then three.

I left another voicemail. My voice sounded small. "Troy, I don't understand what's happening. Can you please just call me? Please?"

Nothing.

I wore the engagement ring every day. I looked at it and told myself he was coming back. That this was just a phase. That everything would go back to normal.

On the twenty-second day, he walked through the door.

I was in the kitchen. I heard his keys in the lock and my heart jumped. I turned around, smiling, ready to forgive everything.

He looked tan. Rested. He dropped his bag by the door and walked past me to the fridge.

"Hey," I said.

He pulled out a bottle of water. "Hey."

That was it. No hug. No explanation. No apology.

I stood there. "Troy, where have you been?"

He sighed. "Paris. I told you."

"For three weeks. You didn't call. You didn't text. I didn't know if something happened to you."

"I needed space," he said. He twisted the cap off the bottle. "You're making this weird."

"Making what weird?"

"This." He gestured vaguely at me. At the room. At everything. "I just got back. Can you not start?"

My chest felt tight. "Start what?"

"This... interrogation. I'm tired, Lara."

He walked past me again. Down the hall. Into the bedroom. The door closed.

I stood in the kitchen. The ring on my finger felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

I told myself it would get better.

I was wrong.