Semua Bab Third Wedding, Right Groom : Bab 11 - Bab 20

The room seemed to tilt. I watched, frozen, as Miles put his arm around Valeria's shoulders. She was standing beside him at the front, wearing a cream-colored dress that made her look angelic and professional at the same time. She smiled modestly, ducking her head in that way she had that made people think she was humble and sweet."Valeria's insights and connections made this deal possible," Miles announced to the entire office, his voice warm with pride. "Her strategic vision, her understanding of what the Hartwell Group was looking for—it's thanks to her that we're celebrating today. Everyone, let's give her the recognition she deserves."The applause was thunderous. People were standing, congratulating Valeria, who was accepting the praise with perfect modesty. "Oh, it was a team effort," I heard her say. "I couldn't have done it without everyone's support."I stood there at the back of the room, completely frozen. My hands were shaking. My face felt hot. I couldn't process what w

Planning the wedding should have been exciting—and it was, at first. I threw myself into it with the same intensity I brought to everything. I created Pinterest boards and spreadsheets. I toured venues and interviewed photographers. I tasted cakes and sampled floral arrangements. I was determined to create the perfect day, the kind of wedding people would remember and talk about for years.But Valeria had opinions. About everything.We were choosing bridesmaid dresses when she first inserted herself into the planning. My bridesmaids and I were at a boutique, trying on different styles in the deep sapphire blue I'd chosen, when Valeria showed up. Miles had apparently invited her, though he'd forgotten to mention it to me."Oh," she said, wrinkling her perfect nose at the dresses we'd selected. "That shade of blue... I don't think it works well with my complexion. It washes me out, you know? Makes me look sickly."I'd stared at her, not quite believing what I was hearing. "You're not a

The day of our first wedding arrived with perfect weather—sunny and seventy-five degrees, not a cloud in the sky, with a light breeze that made the garden venue look like something out of a fairy tale. It was the kind of day you dream about when you imagine your wedding, the kind of day that makes you believe in happy endings.I'd woken up at dawn in my parents' house, too excited to sleep. This was it. My wedding day. The day I'd been planning for months, the day that would change my life forever. By evening, I'd be Mrs. Miles Morretti. We'd be husband and wife, partners for life, building our future together.My bridesmaids had arrived by 8 AM—Jessica, my college roommate Sarah, my cousin Emma, and two friends from work. They'd brought champagne and pastries, filled my parents' house with laughter and excitement. We'd toasted to love and happiness and new beginnings. My mother had cried while helping me into my dress, the beautiful ivory gown with delicate lace sleeves that had take

Three months after the first canceled wedding, I was having coffee with Alexander at our favorite café. It had become a weekly ritual—every Thursday morning before work, we’d meet at the small French café on the corner of Fifth and Main for an hour to catch up. The place had become our sanctuary, with its exposed brick walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and the perpetual smell of fresh-ground coffee beans and butter croissants. I’d started looking forward to these mornings more than I wanted to admit. They were the one constant in my life that didn’t involve drama or disappointment or having to walk on eggshells around someone’s feelings. Alexander was already there when I arrived, sitting at our usual table by the window. He’d ordered for both of us—he always did, and he always got it right. My latte with two sugars and oat milk, his black coffee, and two almond croissants that were still warm from the oven. “You look tired,” he said as I slid into the chair across from him. Not

My father requested to meet me for lunch the day after I took Miles back. We went to Giovanni's, a quiet Italian restaurant downtown where my parents had taken me for every major life event—graduation dinners, birthday celebrations, the lunch after I got my first real job. The kind of place where the tables were far enough apart that you could have serious conversations without being overheard.It was raining outside, a steady autumn drizzle that made the city look gray and melancholy. Inside, the restaurant was warm and smelled of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh bread. The walls were covered in family photos—three generations of the Giovanni family, smiling faces documenting decades of life and love.My father ordered wine. That should have been my first clue that this wasn't going to be a casual lunch. My father rarely drank during business hours, and we both knew this was essentially a business meeting, even though it was about my personal life."So you've decided to give him another c