Thanks for Skipping Dress Day

My fiancé, Skeet Fadley, stood with me at my dress fitting when his phone rang.

"Skeet..."

Her voice came through on speaker. That was all it took—I knew today's bridal photos weren't happening again.

Skeet glanced at me, guilty. "Babe, something came up with Norah. I gotta go."

Not a question.

A notice.

I stared at myself in the mirror, already in the gown, and gave a small nod.

"Go."

It's fine.

My groom's about to change anyway.

I watched Skeet rush out. The bridal boutique assistant holding my gown frowned.

"What's more important than the bride trying on her dress?"

I gave a dry smile.

That wasn't the problem.

It was the person calling.

Norah Cheney.

Skeet's so-called mentee, who'd been there three months.

Back then, he'd complained—

"The new interns suck. Especially Norah. She can't do anything. I have to explain everything three or four times. She's exhausting."

I'd spent forever calming him down.

I never thought this girl would keep showing up in our lives.

Or that something between them would shift.

I shut my eyes. "I'll take this one. No need to try others."

I pulled out my phone and paid.

They packed it up fast.

I glanced at the couples in the store. My chest tightened.

My phone rang.

Mom.

I told her what happened.

"Then replace him."

Her voice stayed calm, but it steadied me.

"This is your wedding. Skeet acts like none of it's on him. He doesn't take you seriously. Marry him, and you'll be miserable. Oh—and Andrew. Remember him? Our families brought it up when you were kids. You brushed it off. He didn't. Make time to see him."

I looked at myself in the mirror, standing there alone.

"Okay."

I hung up.

Soon, a friend request popped up.

I stared at it for a long time—then locked my phone.

I wandered around for a while before heading home.

Skeet was already back.

He sat on the couch, thumbs flying over his screen.

He heard me, glanced up. "Took you long enough. You pick one?"

He didn't see anything wrong with leaving me alone at the boutique.

I closed my eyes. Said nothing.

I turned and walked to the bedroom.

He hesitated, then finally set his phone down and followed.

His arms slid around me from behind.

"Are you mad? Just because I didn't stay?"

His chin rested on my shoulder. "You know Norah was freaking out. Her proposal's due tomorrow. She just graduated—I'm her mentor. I can't ignore her, right?"

"Mm."

I nodded.

He'd said it a hundred times.

The first time was when we picked out the ring.

The second was at the wedding planner's office.

The third, when our families met.

...

Now, my dress fitting.

Same excuse every time.

Every time, Skeet left me—his fiancée—to go help her. No exceptions.