The Night I Regret, Until I Didn't

Today was wedding attempt number fifty-two with Owen Tadder. No big crowd this time—just our families.

I dragged myself through a fever to check the setup with the wedding director. Owen didn't even look at me.

He was in the groom's room, giving Vanessa Fondler, his intern, a full-on ankle massage. She'd shown up limping like always.

My parents just shook their heads.

"Really? Again? Has he ever cared about you?"

Everyone knew how badly I wanted this to finally happen.

But right before the ceremony, he bailed. Again.

I chased after him, but he blocked me.

"Vanessa's leg's still bad. I gotta take her to the hospital. Let's postpone. Next time, I swear."

Then he turned and helped her into the car.

Five years together. Fifty-two canceled weddings. Always because of her.

I used to scream, demand answers, beg him to stay.

This time, I smiled. "It's fine. Vanessa probably can't wait."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Cool. I'll bring that strawberry cake you love tonight."

I nodded. He shut the window, drove off.

My smile dropped.

I hate strawberries. I hate cake. He knows that.

I told him the first time he brought it—forced down a bite so he wouldn't feel bad, then admitted I couldn't stand it. He even typed it into his notes, promised he'd remember.

One year later—yeah, right.

The sun was brutal, but my heart? Ice.

I laughed once, walked back in, called it off.

Then I ripped up the dress I'd worn fifty-two freaking times.

Time to shred those five years, too.