Johnny
She finds me in the library.
The golden hour bleeds through the tall windows, brushing against the rows of books like it belongs here more than I do. I lean against the windowsill, untouched glass of scotch in hand, watching the skyline crumble under its own secrets.
Axel texted me a heads up that this conversation was coming. I don’t know why. God knows I don’t deserve the warning.
I don’t turn when the door opens. I don’t have to. I know it’s her by the way the air shifts. She’s always been the only person who could walk into my space like she owned it.
“Johnny?” Her voice cuts sharp.
I finally look at her. She stands just inside the doorway, arms crossed, gaze lethal. She’s so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“You’re getting married?”
The fury beneath her calm is unmistakable.
“You should’ve told me,” she adds, stepping in. She doesn’t sit. Not that I expected her to.
I nod, slow. “I know.”
“I had to hear it from them.”
I swirl the scotch, but don’t drink it. The habit is a crutch for my feelings.
“That wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
She huffs out a laugh, bitter and humorless. “Oh, but you were planning to tell me eventually, right? Maybe slip it in between your vows? Or during the reception toast?”
Her words cut. I set the glass down on the table beside me.
“I wasn’t planning to go through with it.”
“Oh?” she says cooly, tilting her head. “So, it’s a fake wedding. That’s so much better.”
“It’s not real,” I bite out. “It’s strategy. Leverage. A distraction.”
“And it never occurred to you that maybe I should know I’m part of the goddamn distraction? You didn’t think I should know about the part where your face is on somefiancée’swedding announcement?”
I wince.
“Honey—”
“No,” she snaps, holding up a hand, cutting me off. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to talk. It’s time for you to listen. This isn’t about strategy, or deals, or whatever move you think you’re making.”
Her voice trembles, just barely. “It’s about you andme. And the fact that the one person I trusted least… still managed to hurt me the most.”
Fuck.
“Do you really think I wouldn’t choose you?” I ask quietly. “That I wouldn’t burn it all down for you if things were different? If it meant keeping you?”
“You did choose,” she snaps. “You played the board. You calculated and you arranged all the pieces. You had every opportunity to tell me, but instead, you waited in silence while I played into your hand like a fool.”
She drifts toward the shelves, fingers brushing the spines like they might offer answers.
“Do you think of me?” she asks, still facing the shelves. “Even once, when you’re with her?”
“Every second,” I breathe. And it’s the truth. “But you weren’t here. I didn’t know you would come back into my life before this was done.”
