Out the corner of my eye, I spotted the shop’s attendants whispering and nodding their heads in approval.

I couldn’t take the anticipation anymore. “Can I turn around and look in the mirror now?”

“Yes.” They said in unison.

I slowly spun around and sucked in a breath once I saw my reflection.

Oh my god...

The dress was flawless. Utter perfection.

It was a strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline, a neckline that was embellished with a thin line of sparkling white and silver crystals. The top of the dress fit like a vintage corset and gave way to a long skirt of beautiful organza waves that flowed from my hips to my toes—into a long train that draped off the platform.

The veil was simple, but stunning. It had light, lace accents around its edges and its’ ends grazed my lower back.

I twirled around and looked over my shoulder, noticing that the jewelry I was wearing perfectly complemented the shimmering beads in the veil’s comb.

I didn’t want to cry, but the tears had already begun to fall down my face. Everything suddenly felt more real now; I was actually getting married.

“This is it.” There was a lump in my throat. “This is the dress I want.”

All of the attendants clapped, and the manager walked over and handed each of us a glass of chilled champagne.

“Congratulations, Miss Gracen,” she said. “I’ll bring out our seamstress to check for any necessary alterations.”

“Just to be clear, these aren’t really tears in my eyes.” Helen stepped onto the platform and hugged me. “This moment never happened.”

I held back a laugh and nodded.

“I can’t get over how beautiful you look, Claire. You’re gorgeous...” My mother dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “He’s not going to be able to look away from you once you walk down that aisle.” She put her hand over her chest and cried. “Please don’t fuck this up!”

I smiled as Jonathan’s newest set of flowers were rolled into my office the next day. They were a collection of white, pink, and yellow tulips, with wild orchids evenly placed in between them.

I took the envelope that was on top and sliced it open:

Five Places Where I’d Love to Fuck You

5. At a crowded concert

4. In a packed movie theater

3. In our bathroom’s sauna

2. On the hood of my Bugatti

1. On my boardroom table...

Call me as soon as your last meeting is over.

Love,

Your Future Husband

I laughed and slipped the note into my pocket. “You can send my ten o’ clock back now, Rita.” I buzzed the intercom.

I walked over to my door and opened it, expecting to see an elderly man and his wife but instead—Ryan?!

“You never struck me as the domestic type, Claire.” He took off his hat and walked right past me. “But I guess when you’re engaged to a billionaire your priorities change. Interior design? Really?” He scoffed. “I bet I can guess what the other “C” in C & C’s Charming Designs means.”

“Do you not understand ‘get the fuck out’ and ‘I don’t want you here’? Or did putting your dick in Amanda over the years cause you to lose some of your hearing?”

“You always were a smartass. I loved that about you.”

“Clearly not enough. Get the fuck out.”

He sighed. “Do you know how hard it is to adjust to a new city? How much harder it is when you’re being watched and followed by security guards everywhere you go?” He shook his head. “Are you that threatened by me?”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“I’ll leave.” He walked towards me. “But we need to talk first. Sit down.”

“I’ll sit down after you leave.”

“You can’t give me five seconds?”

“I’ve given you more than that already.” I walked over to my door and opened it. “Besides, I don’t speak asshole. I never could master that language.”

“You owe me this, Claire. Just please, listen. Out of respect for how you used to feel about me...Out respect for one of our old promises: You never forget your first.”

“Unless he knocks up your best friend. People never read the fine print on that one.”

“Claire...”

“Mr. Hayes.” Greg was suddenly standing next to me. “It would be best if you didn’t utter another word to Miss Gracen. You are not welcome on this property.”

Ryan’s eyes dimmed and he shook his head, looking at me as if he was hurt.

What the hell is wrong with him?!

“You have five seconds to walk out of this door, Mr. Hayes.” Greg narrowed his eyes and Ryan walked out of the office, looking back at me as two other security guards escorted him out.

“I’ve notified Mr. Statham about the intrusion.” He sounded disappointed. “Mr. Hayes slipped by our watch today and managed to take a cab here. My sincerest apologies, Miss Gracen. It won’t happen again. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” I lied.

I hated Ryan with every ounce of my being, but I’d seen that pained look from him twice before, back when we were married: Once, when we were being evicted out of our first apartment because we hadn’t paid the rent in three months. And again when I went into labor with Ashley and Caroline four weeks early.

It’s definitely something serious...

“Miss Gracen?” Greg snapped me out of my trance.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Statham asked if he needs to come by now.” He was holding his phone up to his ear. “He wants to know if you want to be taken home early because of this.”

I shook my head. “No, tell him I’m okay. I’ll go to his office after my three o’ clock.”

He nodded and repeated my message to Jonathan before leaving me alone.

Sighing, I walked over to my desk and sank into the chair. I shook my head, hoping that would remove any thoughts of Ryan from my head, but then I spotted a white envelope on my desk. Something that wasn’t there before.

I grabbed it and realized that Ryan had probably placed it there before he was escorted out. I knew that I shouldn’t open it, that I should simply shred it and go about my day, but I was curious:

Claire,

I’ve been sending you photos and letters every day, but last night I realized that you probably haven’t received any of them. So, I thought I would personally drop this one off.

I’m not here to cause any trouble in your new life—which seems to be quite wonderful by the way...

I moved here six months ago with Amanda and I decided not to tell the girls so I could have the opportunity to talk to you without you shutting down but...It seems as if you’ve already done that.

I would like to speak with you over coffee. You can tell me which shop, and I swear I’ll only use a few minutes of your time. (Do you honestly think I would be going through all this trouble if what I had to say wasn’t important? IT IS.)

Please call me so we can meet up with each-other.

Your first,

Ryan

PS—You always were beautiful, but you look fucking amazing now :-)

PSS—I know a part of you still loves me...

Monday September 1, 2014

Jonathan

You can’t help who you fall for...

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I sit down at the end of the boardroom table and try to look like I want to be here. I just got back from having angry sex with Claire and I’m starting to wish I’d stayed with her for the rest of the day—to make sure she sends off those damn invitations.

Does it really matter if they’re ivory or white? If they have lace accents or pearl ones? If they have four or five different parts on the inside?

I’m beyond restless because she made me stay up all night so I could help her choose between hundreds of envelope styles: “White cream with no border? White cream with a white border? Or ivory and white cream with a slightly shadowed border?”