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

I cut my Chicago trip a day short because of a date on a calendar.

Six years. Six years since Grant Calloway had spilled coffee on my portfolio in a hotel lobby and then spent twenty minutes insisting on buying me a new one. Eight months since he'd put a ring on my finger.

I dragged my suitcase down the hallway of our building at nine-forty that night, a bottle of the wine we'd had on our first date tucked under my arm. I'd pictured his face when I walked in. Surprised. Happy. Maybe a little guilty for whatever takeout he was eating alone.

I unlocked the door.

Balloons. Dozens of them, gold and white, crowding the ceiling of our living room. A banner hung across the window where our Christmas tree usually went.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VIVIAN.

The room was full of people I half recognized. Music. Laughter. A three-tier cake on the dining table with sparklers burning down to stubs.

And in the middle of it all, Grant stood behind Vivian Blake, his fingers at the back of her neck, fastening a diamond necklace.

I knew that necklace.

Three months ago, Grant and I had gone to a private preview at Maison Delaure. A saleswoman had clasped that exact piece around my throat, a fine platinum chain with a pear-shaped diamond resting just below my collarbone. Grant had stood behind me in the mirror for a long time without saying anything.

Then he'd said, "It looks like you."

I'd taken it off and handed it back, and I'd spent three months quietly sure I knew what I was getting for our anniversary.

Now it sat on Vivian's skin. Vivian, who'd grown up next door to Grant. Vivian, who he still called "Viv" in the tone people used for siblings. Vivian, whose birthday happened to fall on the same day as ours.

The wine bottle slipped in my grip. I caught it.

Grant looked up. Our eyes met across the room, and the music seemed to go on playing somewhere very far away.

"Audrey?" He let his hands drop from Vivian's neck. "I thought you weren't back until tomorrow."

That was it. That was his first sentence.

Not *happy anniversary*. Not *I can explain*. Just a mild complaint about my schedule, like I'd shown up early to a meeting.

A few guests went quiet. Somebody turned the music down.

Vivian's hand flew to her throat. "Oh my God. Audrey, hi. I didn't—here, let me just—" She fumbled for the clasp.

Grant covered her hand with his. "Don't."

She froze.

"A gift is a gift," he said gently. "It's yours."

I watched his thumb rest on her knuckles for a second longer than it needed to.

Then he finally came toward me, wiping his palms on his slacks, wearing the patient expression he used on difficult clients. "Okay. I know how this looks."

"Do you?"

"Viv's had a terrible year. You know the engagement fell apart. Her parents are in Arizona, she doesn't have anyone in the city." He lowered his voice. "I just didn't want her spending her birthday alone. That's all this is."

"In our apartment."

"Her place is tiny. Ours made sense."

"On our anniversary."

Something flickered across his face. Not guilt, exactly. More like he was annoyed that I'd brought it up in front of people. "You were supposed to be in Chicago. I was going to take you to dinner Saturday. I already made the reservation."

Behind him, Vivian stood very still beside her cake, her fingers hovering near the diamond. Her eyes were wet. She looked like the injured party.

I set my wine bottle on the entry table. "And the necklace?"

Grant actually laughed. A short, disbelieving sound, like I'd asked him something absurd.

"Audrey. Come on."

"I'm asking."

"You tried it on." He spread his hands. "You never said you wanted it."

The room was silent now.

I looked at him, at the man I'd planned to marry next May, and something inside me simply went quiet. Not broken. Just quiet, like a house after the power goes out.

He was right. I'd never said it. I'd thought I didn't have to.

I'd thought he was looking at me in that mirror.

"Okay," I said.

Grant blinked. "Okay?"

I didn't knock over the cake. I didn't tell his friends to leave. I didn't ask Vivian to take off the necklace, though I could feel half the room waiting for me to.

I picked up the handle of my suitcase, turned around, and walked back out the door.

He didn't follow me. I listened the whole way to the elevator, and he didn't.

In the lobby, I sat down on the edge of a leather bench and pulled up my email. It took me two minutes to find the number for Harbor Glass Pavilion, the waterfront venue we'd booked for May eighteenth after a waitlist that had felt like winning the lottery.

A woman answered on the fourth ring. "Harbor Glass events, this is Dana."

"Hi, Dana. I need to cancel a wedding reservation. West and Calloway, May eighteenth."

A pause. "Ms. West, I should let you know that at this point the deposit is only partially refundable. You'd be forfeiting about forty percent."

"That's fine."

"Are you sure you don't want to discuss it with your—"

"I'm sure."

She was kind enough not to ask anything else. She told me I'd receive a confirmation by email, and I thanked her and hung up.

My phone buzzed again before I'd even set it down.

*Grandpa.*

I almost let it go to voicemail. Richard West was eighty-one and called me every Thursday night to ask whether I was eating, whether Grant was treating me right, and whether I'd reconsidered meeting "that nice young man" he'd been trying to set me up with since before the engagement. I had turned him down three times. The last time, I'd held up my ring on FaceTime.

I answered.

"There's my girl," he said. "You sound tired. Are you still in Chicago?"

"I'm home." I looked at the elevator doors. "Sort of."

"Well, listen, I won't keep you. I had lunch with an old friend today, and his grandson is in town this week, and I know what you're going to say—"

"Tonight," I said.

Silence on the line.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is tonight possible?"

My grandfather had run a shipping company for forty years. He'd survived two recessions and a hostile takeover attempt. He knew exactly when not to ask questions.

"I'll make a call," he said. "Give me ten minutes."

Two hours later, I was sitting in the rooftop restaurant of the Halden Hotel in a black dress I'd pulled from my suitcase and steamed in the bathroom of the room I'd booked downstairs. The city glittered through floor-to-ceiling windows. My ring was in the zippered pocket of my purse.

The man across from me looked up from the wine list.

I knew him before the hostess even finished saying his name.

Sebastian Reed. CEO of Reed Hospitality. Dark hair, sharp jaw, the kind of stillness that made people lean toward him without realizing it. His company had beaten Grant's firm on three major hotel contracts in the last two years. Grant had thrown a glass across his office after the second one.

Sebastian clearly recognized me too. His gaze moved over my face once, then dropped to my left hand resting on the tablecloth. Bare. A faint pale line where the band used to sit.

He didn't comment on it. He didn't ask where Grant was.

He just closed the wine list and said, "Did your grandfather tell you he's calling this a date?"

For the first time all night, I laughed. It surprised me.

"He also didn't tell me it was you."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Then we're even."

My phone lit up on the table between us. A new email.

*Harbor Glass Pavilion: YOUR WEDDING RESERVATION HAS BEEN CANCELED.*

Underneath the subject line, in small gray text: *cc: Grant Calloway.*

A second later, a notification slid down from the top of the screen. Vivian had posted a live story. I shouldn't have tapped it. I did anyway.

Gold balloons. Someone singing off-key. And in the background, Grant, glass in hand, grinning at something off camera, until he glanced down at his phone.

I watched the smile leave his face.

Not slowly. All at once, like someone had flipped a switch.

He'd never once looked like that over me.