Eight Years to Goodbye
At my best friend's wedding, a girl lunged forward and caught the bouquet—only for it to slip from her hands and land squarely in my arms.
My best friend, Lauren Walker, beamed at me. "Madison, looks like you're the next bride."
The guests exchanged knowing glances and turned toward my boyfriend of eight years—Mason Ryder, the CEO of the Ryder Group.
But he calmly plucked the bouquet from my hands and casually passed it to the girl standing beside me—his secretary, Natalie Carter.
"She caught it first." He ruffled my hair, his voice gentle. "Be good. Give it back to Natalie for now. We'll wait for the next time."
The spotlight—and the guests' attention—shifted with the bouquet, settling on Natalie.
I looked at her startled yet shy expression, then rested a hand on my stomach and forced a bitter smile.
Mason didn't know there wouldn't be a next time.
Our eight-year promise had already come to an end, and we still hadn't taken the step into marriage. And I had already promised my parents, who were royalty, that next week, I would leave and return to Montelvia to inherit the family legacy.