I lift the bourbon bottle again, tipping it back and letting the burn slide down my throat.
Cheers.
To the woman I love.
Getting married.
To someone who isn’t me.
2
It’s Time To Let Him Go
Italy, Five Years Earlier
Life is so different here. Everything moves faster. Nothing is the same without you. —Your friend, Enzo
Izzy
Myhandstrembleatmy sides, every muscle coiled tight. The door to the bar stands open, waiting for me—daring me. But my feet refuse to move.
Months of planning, of waiting, have led to this. And now that he’s only a few feet away? I don’t know if I can do it.
I blow out a shaky breath and pull my sweatyblonde waves into a high ponytail, desperate to cool myself down.
You can do this.
One step. Then another.
Then I’m inside.
I scan the crowded bar, weaving between bodies as I move deeper in.
There he is.
Despite everything—despite the time that’s passed, despite the way he left me—a smile tugs at my lips.
He’s surrounded by his enforcers. Of course he is.
But that’s not what stops me.
It’sher.
The girl he’s smiling at with the same softness he used to give me. The girl who’s looking at him like he hung the moon.
My heart fractures, splintering into a million tiny pieces.
He reaches out his hand. She takes it, laughing as he tucks a lock of hot pink hair behind her ear.
Each breath I take is shaky.
I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve known he’d moved on. He’s the one who stopped responding. He’s the one who left. What was I thinking?
Salt fills my mouth. My cheeks are damp. I swipe at the tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
Then I turn away.
It’s time to let him go.
