Chapter 1

The room was so quiet that the only sound was ice clinking against glass.

Ethan was the first to look away. Claire leaned back in her chair and took a sip as if nothing had happened. "Irene, we've all had a few drinks. We're just talking. Don't make this ugly."

I stared at her. "What do you mean, your seventh wedding anniversary?"

Before she could answer, Noah slammed his phone facedown on the table.

"Enough. Everyone's been drinking. Do you really have to question every word tonight like this is a trial?"

I glanced down at the engagement ring on my finger.

I'd worn it for two years.

With the wedding nine days away, I'd already been to four dress fittings and redone the seating chart three times. I'd made dozens of calls just to arrange hotels and rides for our out-of-state guests. At that moment, my wedding dress was hanging in our guest room, and the designer and I had selected every pearl on the skirt all over again, one by one.

But the man standing in front of me thought I was killing the mood just by asking about a pair of underwear and a "wedding anniversary."

I ignored his irritation and asked, "Why did Leah say your underwear is at her place?"

Noah's face darkened. "A few of us were drinking at her apartment yesterday, and somebody spilled red wine on my pants. I used her shower. That's all."

"She doesn't have a dryer?"

"Irene." There was a warning in his voice now.

"So did you leave in wet pants, or did you come home with nothing on from the waist down?"

Ethan coughed hard, and someone beside him lowered their head to hide a laugh.

Noah's embarrassment finally turned into anger. "What is your problem?"

The whole thing suddenly felt absurd. He was the one leaving behind all these suggestive clues, yet I was the one being scolded in public for being "immature."

"What about Claire?" I continued.

Claire gave a little laugh. "That was years ago. The year we all started working, a bunch of us went to Las Vegas. We got drunk and posed for mock-wedding photos at one of those little chapels. The ceremony wasn't even legal. Everyone still jokes about it every year, and Noah takes me out to dinner. That's all it is."

She said it as if it meant nothing and even smiled. "Hard to believe it's already been seven years."

Seven years.

I'd spent five anniversaries with Noah.

And in all five years we'd been together, he'd never once missed another woman's "wedding anniversary."

I grabbed my bag and walked out.

Noah caught up with me at the door and grabbed my wrist. "If you walk out like this tonight, how are we all supposed to look each other in the eye tomorrow? We're about to get married. Can you act like an adult? I've known Claire for over ten years. She just doesn't think before she talks. Leah just got dumped, and she's all over the place. Do you have to assume the worst about everyone?"

I pried his fingers off me, one by one.

Behind me, Claire called out, "Irene."

I turned around.

She was smiling, her glass raised. "Noah really does love you, you know. After all these years, you're the one he chose to marry."

No one at the table seemed to hear anything wrong with that.

Someone even jumped in to smooth things over. "Yeah, Irene. Who didn't have a few messy relationships when they were young? If he's ready to get married, that means you're the one he really wants to settle down with."

And suddenly, I got it.

In their world, Noah could cross every boundary in his relationships, past and present, and it still didn't count as cheating. As long as I was the one standing beside him at the wedding, I was supposed to be grateful that I'd "won in the end."

Noah followed me to the elevators. "I'll take you home."

"Don't bother."

"Irene, that's enough."

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped in. He followed me inside, his expression grim. "Your parents are coming down from Maine tomorrow. I don't want them to arrive in Boston and walk straight into a fight between us."

I watched the floor numbers count down, my temples throbbing.

"Noah, have you slept with Leah?"

He was quiet for a full three seconds. "No."

"What about Claire?"

"Are you ever going to drop this?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when his phone rang.

Claire's name was on the screen.

He answered. I don't know what she said, but his tone changed almost instantly. "Where's your stomach medicine? Sit down and stay put. I'm coming over now."

He hung up and wouldn't meet my eyes. "Her stomach's acting up."

"So?"

"Get yourself an Uber home. I'm just going to check on her. I'll be back in half an hour."

At 1:17 a.m., back at our apartment, I was scrolling on my phone when I saw a post Claire had just shared on Instagram.

The photo showed a bowl of hot soup. Part of a man's hand was visible in the frame beside it.

The watch on that wrist was the anniversary gift I'd given Noah last year.

I set my phone facedown on the dining table. For the first time, one thought came to me with perfect clarity: maybe the wedding nine days from now didn't need to happen after all.