Part 2

When I complained that she had started making decisions about our wedding, he accused me of trying to separate him from someone who had been part of his life long before I arrived.

Eventually, I stopped arguing.

I changed the flowers because Vanessa preferred white roses.

I changed the ceremony time because she thought evening photographs looked more romantic.

I replaced the piano music with a string quartet because she disliked traditional wedding songs.

I even agreed to a different cake design after she described my original choice as old-fashioned.

Every time I surrendered something, Ethan thanked me for being understanding.

I had mistaken my willingness to compromise for evidence that our relationship was healthy.

Now I was standing in front of a limousine decorated for my wedding while another woman wore the dress I had chosen for my first dance.

“Vanessa,” I said quietly.

She finally looked up.

“Oh, Clare.”

Her smile was bright and effortless.

“Don’t look so upset.”

I stared at her.

“Why are you wearing my dress?”

She glanced down at herself.

“This?”

She laughed.

“Ethan said it was fine.”

“I said no when you asked to try it on.”

“Oh, come on.”

She waved a hand.

“I only wanted to know what it feels like to arrive in a bridal car once.”

“You could have asked before putting on my clothes.”

Her smile faltered for half a second.

Then she leaned toward Ethan.

“See?

This is why I told you she might misunderstand.”

Ethan rubbed his forehead.

“Clare, please.”

I looked at him.

“Please what?”

“Don’t make this difficult.”

Something tightened inside my chest.

“You’re giving away my car on my wedding morning, and I’m making things difficult?”

He lowered his voice.

“It’s one car.”

“It’s the bridal car.”

“So?”

He glanced toward the apartment entrance.

The doorman was suddenly very interested in adjusting the brass sign beside the door.

A woman walking a small terrier had slowed down.

Ethan noticed them too.

His expression changed.

“Don’t make a scene.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

There it was again.

The familiar instruction.

Don’t make a scene.

Don’t overthink.

Don’t be insecure.

Don’t compete with Vanessa.

Don’t ruin a perfectly good day.

I wondered whether he had ever considered how much effort it took to remain silent when someone repeatedly made you feel insignificant.

Vanessa lifted her phone again.

“Okay, this is actually insane,” she announced to her camera.

She turned slightly to capture the white roses.

“I literally said I would never get married, and now look at me.”

She laughed.

Ethan crouched beside the open limousine door.

The hem of her dress had folded beneath one heel.

He carefully lifted the fabric, shook it loose, and arranged it across the seat.

I watched his hands.

Those same hands had buttoned the back of my wedding gown less than twenty minutes earlier.

He had kissed my shoulder and whispered that I looked beautiful.

Now he was handling Vanessa’s dress with a tenderness that seemed almost deliberate.

Vanessa reached toward him.

“Get in.”

Ethan glanced at me.

For one brief moment, I thought he might finally recognize how humiliating this was.

I thought he might stand up, close the limousine door, and tell Vanessa to take the black sedan.

Instead, he climbed inside.

“I’ll ride over with her and make sure she doesn’t turn this into a whole production.”

Vanessa laughed.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Ethan.”

He looked back through the open door.

“What?”

“Are you seriously leaving me here?”

“You have the other car.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

He exhaled impatiently.

“Clare, we’re getting married tonight.

Can you please not turn every small thing into evidence that I don’t care about you?”