My fiancé, Skeet Fadley, stood with me at my dress fitting when his phone rang.

"Skeet..."

Her voice came through on speaker. That was all it took—I knew today's bridal photos weren't happening again.

Skeet glanced at me, guilty. "Babe, something came up with Norah. I gotta go."

Not a question.

A notice.

I stared at myself in the mirror, already in the gown, and gave a small nod.

"Go."

It's fine.

My groom's about to change anyway.

I watched Skeet rush out. The bridal boutique assistant holding my gown frowned.

"What's more important than the bride trying on her dress?"

I gave a dry smile.

That wasn't the problem.

It was the person calling.

Norah Cheney.

Skeet's so-called mentee, who'd been there three months.

Back then, he'd complained—

"The new interns suck. Especially Norah. She can't do anything. I have to explain everything three or four times. She's exhausting."

I'd spent forever calming him down.

I never thought this girl would keep showing up in our lives.

Or that something between them would shift.

I shut my eyes. "I'll take this one. No need to try others."

I pulled out my phone and paid.

They packed it up fast.

I glanced at the couples in the store. My chest tightened.

My phone rang.

Mom.

I told her what happened.

"Then replace him."

Her voice stayed calm, but it steadied me.

"This is your wedding. Skeet acts like none of it's on him. He doesn't take you seriously. Marry him, and you'll be miserable. Oh—and Andrew. Remember him? Our families brought it up when you were kids. You brushed it off. He didn't. Make time to see him."

I looked at myself in the mirror, standing there alone.

"Okay."

I hung up.

Soon, a friend request popped up.

I stared at it for a long time—then locked my phone.

I wandered around for a while before heading home.

Skeet was already back.

He sat on the couch, thumbs flying over his screen.

He heard me, glanced up. "Took you long enough. You pick one?"

He didn't see anything wrong with leaving me alone at the boutique.

I closed my eyes. Said nothing.

I turned and walked to the bedroom.

He hesitated, then finally set his phone down and followed.

His arms slid around me from behind.

"Are you mad? Just because I didn't stay?"

His chin rested on my shoulder. "You know Norah was freaking out. Her proposal's due tomorrow. She just graduated—I'm her mentor. I can't ignore her, right?"

"Mm."

I nodded.

He'd said it a hundred times.

The first time was when we picked out the ring.

The second was at the wedding planner's office.

The third, when our families met.

...

Now, my dress fitting.

Same excuse every time.

Every time, Skeet left me—his fiancée—to go help her. No exceptions.

Skeet suddenly spoke.

"How about this... we postpone the wedding."

I froze.

He almost looked relieved, like a weight had just slipped off his shoulders.

"Norah's at a critical point for her promotion. I don't have the energy for wedding stuff right now."

So Norah's promotion mattered more.

Even the wedding we'd spent six months planning got pushed aside for her.

A bitter ache spread through my chest.

He reached over, brushing my hair like he could calm me down. "Postponing isn't bad. We'll have more time. And you won't get upset every day because I'm too busy. Once I get through this, I promise I'll—"

"Skeet." I cut him off. "Let's break up."

His hand froze in my hair. Disbelief crossed his face.

He rubbed his temples. "Quit playing. We're not kids throwing around breakups. I said postpone for you. I want to give you the perfect wedding. Why are you—"

His phone rang.

Norah.

He declined it.

It rang again.

He glanced at me.

"Go ahead. What if it's important?"

He exhaled and stepped onto the balcony to answer.

I watched his back. Under the dim yellow light, his voice softened.

Nothing like the impatience he'd just shown me.

Suddenly, I felt drained.

I turned and went upstairs.

I slowed at the photo wall.

Seven years of us, frozen in frames.

Now they were covered in dust.

I stepped closer. My eyes landed on the one in the center.

From when we first moved in.

Skeet was putting together the wardrobe, sweat running down his face.

He heard the camera, turned, and grinned at me.

Sunlight poured through the window, cutting across his profile and the brand-new floor.

On the back, he'd written: [Our first place together.]

The faint living room light fell over the words.

Cold.

Like a quiet joke.

Footsteps came from downstairs.

I heard them. Didn't move.

A few seconds later, Skeet stopped beside me.

"Why are you standing here?"

I didn't answer.

"I'm getting married next week."

Skeet froze.

A few seconds later, he turned to me, loosening his tie, irritation creeping in.

"Bella, didn't I say we're postponing? Were you even listening? Getting married next week—you make it sound easy. Do you know how complicated a wedding is? How much I have to handle? Did you think about my time, my work, my feelings?"

"Next Saturday," I said. "The hotel, the dress, the ring—they're all set."

He rubbed his temples again, then let out a cold laugh. "Your mom pushing you again? Wake up. You can't listen to her about everything."

"Their generation's outdated. You know how much pressure there is now to marry and have kids. Rushing it just tanks our quality of life—"

"Skeet." I cut in. "I'm getting married next Saturday."

His face twitched.

"Bella Blanchett, you think this'll make me give in? It just annoys me. You look childish. Unreasonable. You haven't thought about the pressure, the responsibility. Or how marriage hits our work, our lives. Are you really that desperate to sell yourself off?"

The words kept coming.

Before, I would've explained. Compromised.

Now, I just felt calm.

Marrying me would mess with his work and life.

But every time Norah called, didn't he drop everything?

Didn't that mess with his work and life too?

Guess it just depended on who was calling.

I looked at him. "Yeah. I am."

Then I turned, walked into the guest room, and locked the door.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed.

Mom.

"How'd it go? Did you talk to Andrew?"

I thought about that friend request I left hanging. "Not yet."

"Then at least talk to him. Skeet's wrapped up with that so-called mentee, and you're still wasting your life on him?"

I stayed quiet.

Mom sighed. "I'm not pushing you to marry just to marry. I just don't want Skeet dragging you like this. Think about it—you've been together seven years. You'll be thirty next year. If a man had any sense of responsibility, would he keep stalling like this? No answer, nothing?"

She paused, then softened. "Forget it. If you really can't let him go—"

"Mom," I cut in, "Skeet and I broke up. I'll listen to you. I'm getting married next week."

***

Skeet moved into a staff apartment.

Probably to avoid me—and what he thought was me pushing for a wedding date.

Fine. We both needed space.

I started cutting him out. Piece by piece.

First, I listed our house with an agent.

Once it sold, I called him.

No answer.

Guess he thought I was pushing the wedding again.

I hesitated, then decided to give him the money in person.

His door was cracked open.

Laughter drifted out.

I raised my hand to knock.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

"Skeet, it's my fault. If I wasn't so dumb, I wouldn't keep bothering you. I wouldn't have made you and Bella fight. It's all on me..."

Norah.

My hand froze midair.

"It's not about you. Don't overthink it."

Skeet's voice stayed flat.

Then someone else chimed in—

"Skeet, that's not what she wants to hear. You've been up late teaching her every night. That's how you talk to her?"