Thanks for Skipping Dress Day

Skeet suddenly spoke.

"How about this... we postpone the wedding."

I froze.

He almost looked relieved, like a weight had just slipped off his shoulders.

"Norah's at a critical point for her promotion. I don't have the energy for wedding stuff right now."

So Norah's promotion mattered more.

Even the wedding we'd spent six months planning got pushed aside for her.

A bitter ache spread through my chest.

He reached over, brushing my hair like he could calm me down. "Postponing isn't bad. We'll have more time. And you won't get upset every day because I'm too busy. Once I get through this, I promise I'll—"

"Skeet." I cut him off. "Let's break up."

His hand froze in my hair. Disbelief crossed his face.

He rubbed his temples. "Quit playing. We're not kids throwing around breakups. I said postpone for you. I want to give you the perfect wedding. Why are you—"

His phone rang.

Norah.

He declined it.

It rang again.

He glanced at me.

"Go ahead. What if it's important?"

He exhaled and stepped onto the balcony to answer.

I watched his back. Under the dim yellow light, his voice softened.

Nothing like the impatience he'd just shown me.

Suddenly, I felt drained.

I turned and went upstairs.

I slowed at the photo wall.

Seven years of us, frozen in frames.

Now they were covered in dust.

I stepped closer. My eyes landed on the one in the center.

From when we first moved in.

Skeet was putting together the wardrobe, sweat running down his face.

He heard the camera, turned, and grinned at me.

Sunlight poured through the window, cutting across his profile and the brand-new floor.

On the back, he'd written: [Our first place together.]

The faint living room light fell over the words.

Cold.

Like a quiet joke.

Footsteps came from downstairs.

I heard them. Didn't move.

A few seconds later, Skeet stopped beside me.

"Why are you standing here?"

I didn't answer.

"I'm getting married next week."

Skeet froze.

A few seconds later, he turned to me, loosening his tie, irritation creeping in.

"Bella, didn't I say we're postponing? Were you even listening? Getting married next week—you make it sound easy. Do you know how complicated a wedding is? How much I have to handle? Did you think about my time, my work, my feelings?"

"Next Saturday," I said. "The hotel, the dress, the ring—they're all set."

He rubbed his temples again, then let out a cold laugh. "Your mom pushing you again? Wake up. You can't listen to her about everything."