Coward.
Maybe. Probably. But I couldn't make myself regret it.
Elizabeth deserved better than a husband who would spend their entire marriage pretending. She deserved someone who truly wanted her.
That wasn't me. It had never been me.
And now, finally, I'd stopped pretending otherwise.
Time passed. I had no way to measure how much.
I sat in the dark and thought about Elizabeth.
By now, she would know. The ceremony time would have come and gone. Someone would have checked the groom's suite, found it empty, raised the alarm. She would be standing in her wedding dress, surrounded by three hundred guests, waiting for a man who wasn't coming.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
But sorry didn't change anything. Sorry didn't undo the humiliation I had caused her, the scandal I had created, the three hundred guests who'd witnessed the Langford family's perfect second son vanish into thin air.
I thought about her face when she realized I wasn't coming. Confusion first, then worry, then slow dawning horror as the minutes stretched on and the whispers started.
She would hate me. She had every right to hate me.
But she would also, eventually, be free of me. Free to find someone who could love her the way she deserved. Someone whose heart raced when she walked into a room. Someone who truly wanted to touch her, hold her, be close to her.
I couldn't give her that. I'd known it for months, maybe years. I'd just been too much of a coward to admit it.
Until today.
My mind drifted, exhaustion and shock pulling me under, and I found myself back at the fountain.
Four weeks ago.
The site visit had gone exactly as expected—which was to say, it felt like slow suffocation wrapped in luxury linens.
I walked through the gardens with Elizabeth on my arm, her hand tucked into my elbow, her perfume sweet and familiar. She pointed out the rose arbor, discussing color schemes with the wedding planner, radiating genuine excitement I couldn't begin to fake.
I nodded in the right places. Smiled when smiles were expected. Played the role of eager groom while my mind drifted somewhere far away.
This is the rest of your life.
The thought had been circling for days, but here, walking through the venue where I would say my vows in four weeks, it landed with crushing weight. This garden. These flowers. This woman beside me. This life that had been chosen for me before I'd ever had a chance to choose for myself.
I was twenty-six years old, and I had never made a decision that was truly mine.
The group moved toward the fountain—an ornate stone structure at the center of the garden, water catching the September sunlight. The wedding planner discussed photo opportunities, sight lines, and the perfect backdrop for the ceremony.
I wasn't listening.
I was watching the water, letting the sound fill my head, trying to drown out the voice that kept whisperingyou can't do this, you can't do this, you can't—
My foot caught on the raised stone edge.
I pitched forward, arms flailing, certain I was about to fall face-first into the fountain.
Then a hand closed around my arm.
The grip was firm—almost bruising—yanking me backward with a force that knocked me completely off balance. Before I could process what was happening, I stumbled into something solid. Someone solid.
