Chapter 2

I said nothing, just looked at him for a long time.

Three years of scalding love, doused ice-cold by a single sentence from him.

I didn't argue anymore. I turned and walked to a seat in the corner and sat down.

Edgar took my silence for surrender, and the crease between his brows eased.

Hand on Florence's waist, the two of them stepped back onto the stage.

The emcee smoothed it over with a smile.

When his voice fell, applause thundered from the floor.

My best friend rushed in with her skirt gathered in one hand, scanning the stage without finding a trace of me.

Then her eyes landed on the corner, and she froze before hurrying over.

"Althea, why are you sitting here? Who's that woman up there?"

I tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"Can't you tell? She's the star of today's wedding. I'm just decoration."

She went off like a firecracker, shoving up her sleeves to storm the stage.

"Has Edgar lost his mind? No wonder he refused to let me be a bridesmaid. I thought he was planning some surprise. Turns out he was just afraid I'd ruin his little scheme!"

"I'm tearing that shameless pair apart today!"

I caught her arm and held her back.

"Don't."

"So you're just going to swallow this?"

I looked at the two of them smiling at each other on stage and gave a faint shake of my head.

"I just suddenly don't see the point. Besides, watching your own fiancé marry someone else, that's a rare thing to live through."

Her eyes reddened. She crouched down and gripped my hand.

"Althea..."

I patted the back of her hand to show her I was fine.

"Let's just watch the show. Might as well, since it's free."

The ceremony ended, and the newlyweds started their toasts.

Edgar walked table to table with Florence.

Florence wasn't used to heels, and every few steps her ankle turned.

Each time, he reached out to steady her, his palm closing over her waist, easy and intimate.

When they reached my table, Florence held out a glass of juice and gave me a grateful smile.

"Miss Swanson, thank you for today. If Elliot's watching from above, I'm sure he'd be so happy."

Every other word out of her mouth was about her dead man. She was flat-out trying to corner me with guilt.

The eyes of everyone at the table settled on me, all of them waiting for a show.

I didn't take the juice she offered. I picked up the water in front of me and took a sip.

"No need to thank me. I never agreed to any of this."

The air froze in an instant.

Edgar's face went cold, and he pulled Florence behind him.

"Althea, don't push your luck. Enough."

With that, he put his arm around Florence and turned straight to the next table.

He didn't spare me another glance.

My best friend couldn't stand it. She snatched up my bag and pulled me toward the door.

"We're not staying. One more second in this dump makes me sick. I'm taking you to get drunk. We're not going home sober tonight!"

The music in the bar was deafening.

She filled a glass of whiskey to the brim and pushed it in front of me.

"Drink! Finish it and forget that piece of trash. A decent man may be one in a million, but ordinary men are a dime a dozen!"

I held the glass, my thoughts drifting little by little.

The truth was, I'd noticed things were off before.

Last year, on my birthday, I booked a restaurant and waited for him until midnight.

All I got in the end was one line:

"Florence has a fever, I'm at the hospital with her. Eat without me."

Last month, I was hospitalized with acute gastroenteritis and called him.

He said Florence was moving and had no one to help, so I should hire an aide myself.

Even on the day we shot our wedding photos, Florence called saying she was in a bad mood.

He left me mid-shoot and drove straight off to the beach with her.

I always told myself his brother was gone, and looking after Florence a little more was only human.

Three years together, after all, so he had to have me in his heart. He just wasn't good at showing it.

Turns out I was only fooling myself.

I tipped my head back and drained the glass.

The liquor burned down my throat, and my eyes stung red.

By the third glass, my best friend suddenly nudged my arm, her eyes darting toward a spot behind us.

I followed her gaze.

Edgar was sitting in the far back, his childhood friends gathered around him.

Two buttons of his shirt were undone, a glass turning in his hand, drunken weariness on his face.

Someone clinked his glass with a laugh.

"Not bad, Edgar. You finally got what you wanted today. Back when your brother was with Florence, I could tell something was off with you."

Another one jumped in.

"Right? Every time Florence went out with your brother, you'd drag us out drinking. A few times you nearly bled out your stomach and landed in the hospital. Back then we were scared to death you'd drink yourself dead and stick us with the bill. After a while, whenever you called us out, we didn't even dare leave the house."

Edgar took a sip, tugged the corner of his mouth, and didn't argue.

Someone asked, "So what about Althea? You really planning to go through life with her?"

Edgar tapped a fingertip against the rim of his glass, his tone offhand.

"Of course. She's my girlfriend, and half a benefactor too. Without her holding the fiancée title, I'd have had no reason to throw this wedding, and no way to get Florence into that gown without anyone questioning it."

"Since I agreed to marry her, I won't go back on my word. Worst case, I travel more after the wedding and we see less of each other. No harm to either of us."