The Distance

The next few days blurred together.

I woke up each morning next to a man who felt like a stranger. I planned a wedding that felt like a funeral. I smiled at people who didn't know I was drowning.

And Mia…

Mia was everywhere and nowhere at once.

She helped me with the seating arrangements. She accompanied me to my dress fitting. She sent me texts full of exclamation points and heart emojis. But she was never fully present. She was always on her phone, always distracted, always halfway out the door.

I told myself I was imagining it.

I told myself I was just stressed.

I told myself it was normal for people to pull away when a wedding was approaching,maybe she was planning a surprise.

But I didn't believe it.

It was three days before the wedding when I finally confronted Damon.

I'd made dinner steak, roasted vegetables, his favorite wine. I'd put on the red dress he'd bought me for our first anniversary. I'd lit candles and set the table with the good china.

He'd come home at 10 PM.

His tie was loose. His shirt was wrinkled. He smelled like perfume.

"What's this?" he asked, staring at the table.

"Dinner. I wanted to—"

"Clara, I ate already."

"You didn't tell me."

He shrugged. "I had a late meeting. We ordered in."

I stood there in the red dress, surrounded by candles and silence. I felt like an actress in a play that no one was watching.

"Lately, you don't tell me anything," I said quietly.

He looked up. His eyes were cold. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're never here. When you are, you're on your phone. You barely look at me. You barely touch me."

"I'm tired, Clara. I'm stressed. The wedding—"

"Don't blame the wedding. This started long before the wedding."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he walked past me toward the bedroom.

"I don't have the energy for this," he said.

"Energy?" I followed him. "Damon, I'm about to marry you, and you can't even look at me."

He stopped. He turned. His eyes met mine.

"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry."

He didn't sound sorry.

"Can we just—" He rubbed his face. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Just give me a few days. After the wedding, things will be different."

He walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

I stood in the hallway, alone, in the red dress he hadn't even looked at.

Mia called the next day.

"How are you doing?"

I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to say I'm falling apart and no one sees me and I don't know how to fix this.

Instead, I said, "I'm fine."

"Good. Because I need you tonight."

I blinked. "What?"

"I'm taking you out. The dress fitting is done. The seating chart is done. You need to relax."

"Mia, I can't. I have to—"

"Clara." Her voice was firm. "You're getting married in three days. You've been stressed for months. If you don't let go now, you're going to lose your mind. Trust me. One night. You and me. Like old times."

I thought of Fitzgerald's. The dark booth. The red wine. The feeling of being alive.

"Okay," I said. "One night."

She squealed. "Pick you up at 9."

The club was nothing like Fitzgerald's.

Fitzgerald's was warm amber and soft jazz. This place was neon and bass and bodies pressed together like they were trying to disappear into each other. The music was loud enough to shake the floor. The air was thick with perfume and sweat and something electric.

Mia grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.

"Tonight, you're not a bride," she shouted over the music. "You're just Clara. Remember her?"

I didn't remember her.

But I wanted to.

I closed my eyes and let the music take over. I moved my body like I hadn't moved in years. I let the bass pound through my chest, drowning out the voice in my head that said something is wrong.

Mia was beside me, laughing, dancing, alive. She was beautiful and bright and she was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

I drank.

I danced.

I forgot.

But I couldn't stay in the moment forever.

My mind kept drifting back to Damon. The way he'd walked past me. The way he'd closed the bedroom door. The way he'd said "I'm sorry" like he was apologizing for a late delivery.

I needed air.

I excused myself and made my way through the crowd toward the terrace. I needed silence. I needed to breathe.

I stepped outside.

The cold air hit my skin like a slap. I leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights.

"You look like you're about to jump."

I spun around.

He was standing in the doorway, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The light from inside caught his features, illuminating silver hair and sharp cheekbones. He was older. Distinguished. Dangerous.

"I wasn't going to jump," I said.

"Are you sure? Because you looked like you were saying goodbye to something."

I laughed a hollow, broken sound.

"Maybe I was."

He stepped closer. He didn't invade my space. He just stood beside me, looking out at the same lights.

"Rough night?" he asked.

"Rough year."

"Then you need a drink." He handed me his glass. "I haven't touched it."

I should have said no. I should have walked back inside and found Mia.

Instead, I took the glass.

I drank.

The whiskey burned my throat, settling warm in my chest.

"I'm Clara," I said.

He smiled. "Elias."

I studied his face. There was something familiar about him something I couldn't place.

"Have we met before?" I asked.

"I don't think so." His smile widened. "I would have remembered."

I laughed. It felt easy, natural nothing like the hollow sound I'd been making for months.

"You're not afraid of talking to strangers," I observed.

"I prefer strangers," he said. "They don't ask questions. They don't expect anything."

"You just said I look like I'm about to jump."

"Yes." His eyes met mine. "But I didn't ask why."

I looked away. I stared at the city lights.

"Maybe you should ask," I said softly.

I don't know why I said it. I don't know why I wanted to tell him everything about Damon, about the wedding, about the hollowness that had taken over my life.

Elias didn't say anything. He just waited.

"I'm getting married in three days," I said.

"Congratulations."

I laughed again bitter and sharp. "Thank you. I'm not sure I want to."

He didn't look surprised. He didn't look judgmental.

"Then why are you?"

I opened my mouth to answer. Nothing came out.

Why was I marrying Damon?

I'd been asking myself that question for months. I'd never had the answer.

"I don't know," I whispered. "I'm too scared to leave. And too miserable to stay."

Elias looked at me for a long moment.

Then he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers grazed my cheek, barely there.

"You deserve better," he said.

I looked up at him. His grey eyes were locked on mine.

"I know," I whispered.

And then I kissed him.

I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

He froze for half a second surprise, maybe. Then his hands found my waist. He pulled me against him, kissing me back, deep and hungry.

When I pulled away, I was breathless.

"I've never done that before," I said.

"What? Kiss a stranger?"

"Cheat on my fiancé."

He smiled. It was slow and dangerous.

"Then let me take you somewhere," he said. "Somewhere quieter."

I thought of Damon. Of Mia. Of the wedding in three days. Of all the reasons I should say no.

But when I looked up at Elias, I couldn't remember a single one.

"Yes," I said.