“You don’t owe me explanations about your career, Freya. I just want to know what’s happening in your life, that’s all.”
“I know. And I want to tell you. It’s just…” She trails off, looking uncertain.
“Just what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” She forces a smile. “I’ll see you for the final dress fitting?”
“Actually, I think that’s just you and Bella. Grooms aren’t supposed to see the dress, remember?”
“Right. Traditional superstitions and all that.” Her laugh sounds hollow. “I’ll call you after, let you know how it goes.”
“Sounds good.”
She starts to leave, then turns back. “Um… hey. Are you happy? With all of this, I mean. The way everything’s turned out?”
The question catches me completely off guard. Am I happy? I’m about to marry the woman I love, even if she doesn’t love me back and we already have our divorce planned. I’m securing the biggest deal of my career. I’m finally getting the public image of stability and commitment that my business needs.
I should be ecstatic.
Instead, I feel like I’m slowly losing the most important person in my life.
“I’m happy you’re getting the recognition you deserve,” I say finally. “Your exhibition will be incredible.”
It’s not an answer to her question, and we both know it. But it’s the only honest thing I can say without revealing more than I’m ready to admit.
“Good night, Ben.”
“Good night, Freya.”
I watch her walk away, then return to the empty rooftop where the catering staff is cleaning up the remnants of our engagement party. In a week, we’ll be married. In a year, we’ll be divorced. And somewhere in between, I’ll have to figure out how to go back to being just friends with the woman I’m realizing I can’t live without.
Assuming our friendship even survives what’s to come next.
CHAPTER 18
FREYA
I’m fumbling with my keys when I reach my car, exhausted from hours of smiling and making small talk with people who think I’m living some kind of fairy tale romance. The engagement party was beautiful—Carson really outdid himself with the rooftop venue—but I feel drained from performing happiness for three hours straight.
All I want is to go home, take off these heels, and try to forget about tonight.
But when I walk around to the driver’s side, my heart sinks. My front tire is completely flat, the rubber practically melted against the asphalt of the parking garage.
“Seriously?” I mutter, kicking at the offending tire with my already aching foot. “Tonight?”
I pop the trunk to check for a spare, even though I already know what I’ll find. Or rather, what I won’t find. I’ve been meaning to replace it for months, ever since I had to use it last winter, but like so many things in my life lately, it got pushed aside by more immediate concerns.
Like planning a fake wedding to my best friend.
I pull out my phone and call AAA, trying to ignore the fact that it’s nearly midnight and I’m standing alone in a parking garage in heels and a cocktail dress. The dispatcher tells me it’ll be at least an hour before a tow truck can get to me.
An hour. Perfect.
I’m scrolling through my contacts, debating whether to call Bella or just wait it out, when headlights sweep across the garage. A familiar black convertible pulls up beside me, and my stomach does an unwelcome flip.
Ben’s window rolls down. “Car trouble?”
“Flat tire. No spare.” I gesture helplessly at my car. “I called for a tow, but they won’t be here for an hour.”
