Chapter 4 - Before the Wedding
Ethan arrived at Rachel’s building at 6:12 that evening.
I knew because the doorman called upstairs.
“Mr. Bennett says he needs five minutes.”
“No.”
Rachel watched me.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The intercom rang again.
“He says it concerns something that happened before your wedding.”
My stomach tightened.
“Send him up.”
Ethan looked terrible.
He had not shaved. His eyes were red, his shirt wrinkled.
For seven years I would have moved instinctively toward him.
I didn’t.
Rachel disappeared into the bedroom but deliberately left the door cracked.
Ethan noticed.
“Seriously?”
“She stays.”
“Claire—”
“She stays, or you leave.”
He sat.
I remained standing.
“Who is Lucas Reed?” I asked.
Ethan’s expression told me he knew.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“He called me.”
Ethan swore under his breath.
“What happened before our wedding?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
He stared at the floor.
“Three weeks before we got married, Natalie came to my apartment.”
“Our apartment.”
“You hadn’t moved in yet.”
“Keep going.”
“She was upset.”
“Why?”
“Because I was getting married.”
I almost laughed.
“She told me she loved me.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She kissed me.”
Everything became quiet.
“Did you kiss her back?”
“For a second.”
The sentence felt like ice water.
“How long is a second?”
“Claire.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you stop her?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
He looked away.
My answer.
I sat because suddenly my knees needed help.
“What happened next?”
“I told her I loved you. I told her it couldn’t happen again.”
“And then?”
“She cried. I stayed with her.”
“All night?”
“No. Maybe an hour.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was terrified you’d cancel the wedding.”
That was the first fully honest thing he had said.
I nodded slowly.
“So you took my choice away.”
“I made a mistake.”
“No. You made a decision. Then you spent seven years making sure I never had enough information to judge it.”
His face broke.
“I loved you.”
“You keep saying that like love automatically makes your behavior harmless.”
“I chose you.”
“No, Ethan. You married me. There’s a difference.”
He stood.
“I have never slept with her.”
“Congratulations.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Reduce eighteen years of friendship to something dirty.”
I stared at him.
“You are still defending it.”
He stopped.
Even he heard it this time.
I continued quietly.
“You came here because your wife left. I just discovered your best friend kissed you weeks before our wedding, confessed her love, spent years disrespecting me, traveled secretly with you, and apparently still tells people you married the wrong woman.”
His face changed.
“She said that?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Ethan looked genuinely shocked.
And something inside me became unexpectedly clear.
Natalie had lied to him too.
Perhaps she had convinced him that her feelings disappeared.
Perhaps Ethan had enjoyed believing it.
Either way, I was finished carrying the consequences.
“You need to leave.”
“Claire.”
“Go.”
He hesitated.
Then removed something from his pocket.
My wedding ring.
“I brought this.”
I stared at it.
“Take it with you.”
His fingers closed around it.
For the first time, Ethan looked scared.
Not annoyed.
Not defensive.
Scared.
“What would it take?”
I thought about that.
“Truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“No. You’re answering whatever I discover.”
He flinched.
“There’s a difference.”
Then I opened the door.
Ethan walked toward it.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“I’ll end the friendship.”
Seven years earlier, those words might have saved us.
Now they sounded like another shortcut.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He turned.
“What?”
“I don’t want a husband who chooses me because I forced him to remove another woman.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A husband who understands why there should never have been a competition.”
He left.
Two days later, Natalie came to my office.
Security called upstairs.
“There’s a Natalie Brooks here.”
“Tell her to leave.”
“She says she has something belonging to you.”
Against my judgment, I went downstairs.
Natalie stood in the lobby wearing a camel coat.
Perfect hair.
Perfect makeup.
She held an envelope.
“I thought you should see this.”
“What is it?”
She handed it to me.
Inside was a photograph.
Ethan and Natalie.
College.
Twenty-one years old.
Kissing.
I looked up.
“So?”
“He loved me first.”
There was triumph beneath her sadness.
I finally saw her clearly.
This had never been about Ethan alone.
It was about winning.
“You kept this for eighteen years?”
Her confidence flickered.
I handed it back.
“That’s not romantic, Natalie.”
Her lips tightened.
“What?”
“It’s sad.”
“You think you know him?”
“I know enough.”
“He always comes back to me.”
“Then why are you standing in my office trying to convince me?”
That landed.
She stepped closer.
“You leave, and he’ll eventually realize.”
“Maybe.”
My answer surprised her.
“Maybe you’ll get him. Maybe you’ll discover the man you spent eighteen years wanting is just a man who avoids difficult conversations and mistakes being needed for being loved.”
Her face hardened.
“You don’t deserve him.”
And suddenly I smiled.
Not the polite smile I had practiced for seven years.
A real one.
“That sentence is why you lost before this ever started.”
I turned away.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
Natalie’s voice softened.
“He was going to leave you once.”
I turned slowly.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“He came to my apartment,” she said.
“He told me he didn’t know if he still wanted your marriage.”
I stared at her.
May you like
Then Natalie delivered the knife carefully.
“And I’m the one who convinced him to go home.”
