Chapter 1

After the engagement, my best friend, who had always leaned on me, reached a peak of loathing for my fiancé.

Clyde Henson had started quitting cigarettes for the sake of our plan to have a baby.

But Summer Cox looked at the little tin of mints in his pocket and spoke with that snide edge in her voice.

"When a man suddenly changes his habits, it's usually to please some other woman. You don't have someone on the side, do you?"

Clyde gave a cold snort and moved to show her out. I hurried over to stop him.

Summer rolled her eyes, all willful, spoiled temper.

"Clyde, did I hit a nerve? Now you're just embarrassed and lashing out?"

I didn't take it to heart.

This friend of mine had been doted on since childhood and never watched her mouth.

But Clyde couldn't stand a rich girl's tantrums, so the two of them bickered the moment they saw each other.

Then came the day of the wedding dress fitting, when I went back for the phone I'd left behind.

I had just picked it up when I heard Clyde's low, intimate voice come from the fitting room.

"You can't stand the smell of smoke but you'll still let me kiss you? Hide from me again and I'll keep you in bed all day."

Summer shot back, playful and sulky.

"Clyde, you should save some of your energy for going home and trying for a baby with Fern Summers."

"As if she deserves it. I only ever quit smoking for you."

I froze where I stood, my heart in shreds.

The man who had sworn he'd love only me for the rest of his life had finally become everything I hated most.

01

The fitting room went quiet for a moment.

Then Summer spoke again.

"Then why did you still get engaged to her?"

Clyde laughed.

"Fern has a gift for jewelry design. The company needs her right now."

"As for marriage, it doesn't get in the way of who I love."

I gripped my phone, my fingertips gone stiff.

So all the kindness he'd once shown me, all the words of praise, had been nothing but careful calculation for his own gain.

I didn't push the door open.

I only backed away, one step at a time.

My heel bumped a display stand, a small sound.

A shop assistant glanced over. I shook my head, turned, and walked out of the bridal shop.

The noon sun was so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open.

I lowered my head on instinct, and in that instant the tears came, big and heavy, dropping onto my phone screen.

The screen lit up, showing the calendar.

It read: Wedding countdown, twenty-seven days.

Clyde had set that up himself.

I stared at it for two seconds, then hit delete.

As the confirmation popup faded away.

My stomach suddenly heaved.

I grabbed the railing at the edge of the road, bent over, and gagged a few times.

My throat felt raw, but nothing came up.

I wiped my tears dry, and just as I reached the parking lot, Clyde and Summer came out too, one after the other.

"Stay away from me. Just looking at you annoys me."

Summer pulled open the car door, turned to look at me, and her voice switched to something remarkably gentle.

"Fern, breathing in too much gasoline isn't good when you're trying to conceive. You take the back seat."

Then she rolled her eyes at Clyde.

"Clyde, how can you care so little about anything to do with Fern?"

Clyde went along with it and pulled open the passenger door.

"Get in, and cut the chatter."

Summer settled into the seat as if it were only natural.

Seeing that, I said nothing. I opened the back door and got in.

The air conditioning was on, and the cramping in my stomach rose in waves.

I leaned back against the seat, a fine film of cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

In the rearview mirror, I watched their eyes meet in the glass, then slide apart with a kind of secret understanding.

I looked away and turned toward the window.

My pale face was reflected in the glass.

Back home.

Clyde brought me a glass of warm milk.

"Why are you so pale?" His brows drew together, his eyes full of that familiar concern.

Summer issued orders in that snide tone. "Clyde, Fern has a bad stomach. Go make her something easy on it, quickly."

Clyde's face turned cold. "Summer, quit ordering people around here."

The two of them sniped back and forth a few times, as usual. Then Clyde turned and went into the kitchen.

Half an hour later, a rich aroma drifted out of the kitchen.

I walked to the kitchen doorway. Clyde was bent over the pot, stirring, making seafood chowder, Summer's favorite.

My breath caught. I looked at his back and spoke.

"Did you forget I'm allergic to seafood?"

Clyde's hands went rigid.

He turned around, a flicker of panic in his eyes. "Fern, I'm sorry, I... I forgot."

He clutched the ladle, his knuckles a little white, at a loss for what to say.

"It's fine," I said.

Then I turned and walked away.

I didn't go far. I stopped at the bend in the hallway.

At some point Summer had slipped into the kitchen.

The door was half shut, and their lowered voices carried out clearly.

"Honestly, you can't even make a bowl of chowder without upsetting her," Summer said with a soft huff.

Clyde sighed, an irritation he couldn't quite hide in his voice.

"She really is getting more precious by the day. Making a fuss over the smallest thing. Nothing like how sensible you are."

"Then go coax your fiancée."

"All right, stop teasing." Followed by a very soft laugh.

The cramp in my stomach spiked, and my throat clenched along with it.

I turned and walked back to the bedroom.

I went to the desk and opened my laptop.

I opened my inbox and dug out that email I'd left sitting there for so long.

It was a job offer from a top Paris jewelry design house.

The old me had turned down invitations from many firms, all to help Clyde.

But the me now wouldn't do that.

Another sharp cramp tore through my stomach, and cold sweat slid down the side of my forehead.

I typed at the keyboard and wrote out a reply in French.

"Thank you for the recognition. I accept the position."