Chapter 2

I froze. The emcee froze. A ripple of surprise passed through the room.

Up on the stage, Jasmine's body went rigid. She shook her head at him.

Bruce lowered his eyes, then looked at me, his gaze full of doting warmth.

"Let me say it, please? I'm afraid if you try, you'll end up crying too hard. It'd hurt me to see that."

He didn't wait for me to answer.

He raised the microphone.

His voice carried through the banquet hall, perfectly level, as if he were reading off a company memo.

"Rosie wanted to say that you look beautiful today, and that she hopes you'll be happy forever, and that you'll always stay true to yourself.

"And if you're ever unhappy out there, come home anytime. We'll… we'll always be here."

Jasmine smiled faintly. "I know. I'll make sure of it."

The two of them looked at each other across the room, then quickly looked away from each other. I was the only one who could smell the bitterness between them.

The toast ended. The wedding carried on smoothly.

I turned my head and studied the man beside me, distracted.

"That's not what I was going to say. Didn't you hear me practicing at home? Besides, I could've said it myself."

Bruce only snapped back into focus then, smoothing over the complicated look on his face, then reached out to pinch my cheek. His smile was doting.

"Your eyes were puffy from crying before the ceremony even started. I was worried you'd burst into tears halfway through a sentence."

He seemed to find this funny. His voice went gentle. "You've always been so heartbreaking."

Then he pulled me into his arms and held me tight, no different than he'd ever been.

If I hadn't sensed that the sweetness in his emotions had already faded away, I might have actually believed he loved me.

"Is that so." I tried to smile. "Well, thanks."

He didn't catch the edge in my voice, because Jasmine had arrived, raising her glass for a toast.

"Rosie, you're getting married next week." She touched my hair. "Our Rosie really has grown up."

I lowered my eyes. A dull ache spread through my chest, along with waves of nausea.

She turned to look at Bruce.

"You'd better treat my sister well. I hope you remember what you said."

Bruce, who never drank, downed his glass in one go.

"I will."

The two of them looked away from each other almost too fast. Jasmine moved on to the next table, and laughter spread through the hall.

Bruce kept pouring himself drink after drink.

I watched, and I said nothing to stop him. There wasn't any point.

That night, Bruce got completely drunk and collapsed onto the couch the moment we got home.

"Jasmine... Why did we never get our chance? Tell me..."

I sat beside him, listening quietly to my fiancé call out my sister's name in a drunken dream.

That was when the hotel called about the wedding I'd already canceled.

"Miss Ford, we noticed you canceled your reception. Has something come up? Just so you know, the deposit isn't refundable."

I gave a soft hum. "It's canceled. That's all. You can keep the deposit."

After I hung up, Bruce mumbled, "Rosie, my throat hurts. Get me some honey water."

I ignored him.

I went straight to the bedroom and shut the door.

I returned every last bit of the wedding favors, the cigars, the wine, the jewelry, then bought myself a plane ticket to Iceland. I'd always wanted to go. Bruce had always said he was too busy.

Now was as good a time as any.

I lay in bed, unable to sleep, going back over everything, year by year.

The more I looked, the more I found clues I'd never noticed before.

Like the way he'd gone strangely quiet the day my sister left the country.

Like how, the year she graduated, he'd insisted on tagging along with me to congratulate her.

Or how, in every photo the three of us ever took together, his head was always tilted toward her.

I didn't know when it had started. But I knew this was the moment it needed to end.

The next morning, Bruce was already up and making breakfast by the time I got out of bed. He'd always been the one to cook, all these years. He'd never once let me touch a pan.

"Morning." He set everything out on the table, then asked, almost offhandedly, "I had too much to drink last night. I didn't say anything weird, did I?"

I looked at the strawberry jam on the table, the kind I didn't even like, the kind my sister loved, and lost myself for a second.

"No."

He let out a quiet breath of relief, then frowned. "You didn't even leave me a blanket, no honey water either. I woke up freezing, and now my head's pounding."

I didn't pick up the food.

"I'm not obligated to take care of you."

I looked up and met his eyes straight on, my expression flat. The indifference in it seemed to catch him off guard.

Bruce pressed his lips together, forcing down some vague irritation, his eyes complicated.

"What's wrong? Did someone upset you? Or is something bothering you about next week's wedding?"

I didn't answer. I just dropped the bread with the strawberry jam on it into the trash.

"I've always hated strawberries."

I laughed under his stunned stare, but the smile never reached my eyes.

"The one who loves strawberries is Jasmine."