Of course he had the name of a fucking Confederate States general.
How did I not know his full name before? But the answer was clear to me. He never got any bills to our shared apartment back then. His parents paid his way for everything. I never actually saw his ID, either. Connor was a big deal back in college. He never got carded when we were at bars and clubs.
“You’re not going to make a scene, Layla Schmidt. No, look at me.You’re not.” I wagged a finger at myself in the mirror. “You’re going to go out there, sit on your ass—that looks great in this dress, by the way—wait until the ceremony is over, and go back to your daily program. He doesn’t have any power over you anymore. He’s somebody else’s problem now.”
But Kellianne didn’t deserve this. She was only twenty-three. Not much older than I was back when Connor—who was a year older than me, now thirty-four—destroyed my life.
Maybe he’s changed.
But I knew he hadn’t. To change, you must first bear the consequences of your actions, and he never did. His family was always there to clean up his mess.
What were my options here?
Well, I could go back there, pretend he was a complete stranger who didn’t alter every decision and dream I’d ever had, play along, go home, and forget about it.
My second choice was to go out there, make a scene, embarrass everyone—mostly myself—and run off to tend to my own nervous breakdown.
The third was to walk out of here and tell Kellianne I was sick if she ever asked where I was next week, when she returned to work.
I knew I wasn’t going to run away this time, which left me with the first two options.
Ignoring a pending calamity was never my style. I was the woman who sent all her friends mammogram and Pap smear reminders, who always volunteered to be the designated driver. My apartment was fully babyproofed for my friends’ toddlers. I grew seventeen different plants in my living room to offset my carbon footprint on this planet.
I was the kind of person who gave a crap. Whether it was her business or not.
I knew I was going to say something and hate myself for it.
I knew, before I even got out of the restroom.
Because I was Layla Schmidt, and I always stood against injustice.
Especially when it smiled in front of my face in a five-thousand-dollar suit.
Chapter Three
Layla
By the time I walked back into the venue, the ceremony had already begun. Kellianne stood next to Connor, wearing the most angelic white mermaid dress, her pale-blond hair arranged in an elegant updo. Somehow seeing her like this, all cherubic and virtuous, strengthened my resolution to speak up.
She was exactly who I’d imagined he would end up with. The body of a model, the personality of a saint, and the age of Leonardo DiCaprio’s next girlfriend.
The wedding officiant was droning on about how the couple had met as I slid back into my seat next to Tara.
It took me a second to realize she was bawling her eyes out into a crumbling piece of tissue. I averted my gaze toward her, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. I’d never been this emotional at a wedding. Even when Mads—my best friend since we were both out of diapers—wedded Chase.
“Hey, you need some water?” I asked.
“No.” She blew her nose loudly into the tissue, drawing alarmed looks from our surroundings. “I’m just ... this is so ... unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” I blinked.
“Connor and I dated for two years before he met Kellianne. I always wondered if there was a slight overlap, since ... since ...”Pfffft.She blew her nose again. “But he said that I was imagining things. That I needed to let go. Well, now the wedding officiant said they met at Coachella? We were still together in April.Ibought him that ticket. I ended up not going because my grandmother passed away.”
“What?” the woman next to her whisper-shouted, whipping her head to us. “He was with you? He was with me up until and including the end of March. For two years.”
Oh boy.
“How long have Connor and Kellianne been together?” I asked Tara, a chill burrowing into my bones.
