Then: “Excuse me?”
“Thewedding. It’s off.”
Another pause, this one longer. I can practically hear him blinking in disbelief.
"Ash.” His voice drops—calm, controlled, like he’s talking to a toddler about to stick a fork in an outlet. “This isn’t a good time for one of your dramatics, okay? The wedding costs more than most people spend on their house. Let’s just—”
“I’m serious,” I cut in, sharper this time. “It’s not happening.”
He sighs. “Okay. Talk to me. What happened? Is this a lover’s quarrel? Do we need to spin this—?”
“She left.” I drag a hand over my jaw. The stubble’s rough, my skin raw. I look like hell. “She won’t even talk to me. I’m the one calling it off.”
“You’re the one—?” Scott’s voice jumps half an octave. “You can’t just back out, man. We’re too far in. Think about the brand partnerships. For Christ’s sake, your whole reputation. Remember why we’re doing this. Do you have any idea how much money is on the table?”
“I don’t care about the fucking money.”
Silence crackles on the line.
“I care that I broke the heart of the woman that I—” The words stick, my throat tight like someone’s squeezing it shut. I try again, but the sentence won’t come. That I what?
I drop my gaze, rake a hand down my face. “I care that I hurt her,” I manage finally, my voice low. “That she’s gone—and it’s my fault.”
Scott makes a strangled sound, halfway between a laugh and a curse. “Well. Shit. This isn’t just money, Ash. This is your image. You chose this storyline. You leaned into it. The reformed rockstar. The surprise romance. The sweet kindergarten teacher no one saw coming. America is ready to cry at this damn wedding.”
“There’s nothing I can do,” I snap.
“That’s not true. She signed a contract, didn’t she?” I hear him pacing on the other end.
“Don’t you dare—” The words rip out of me. “I’m not forcing her into a marriage she doesn’t want. That would be fucking insane!”
His tone turns icy. “So what, you’re just going to blow it all up? The narrative, the contracts—the future?”
“I already did,” I say, quieter now. “When I let her walk away.”
Silence stretches. For once, Scott doesn’t have a comeback.
“I broke her heart,” I add after a beat, the words dropping like stones in my chest.
Scott exhales, long and sharp, back to exasperation. “Fine. I’ll handle the damage control. But you’re telling Celeste. You’ve got a meeting with her in the city in an hour.”
We hang up, and half an hour later I’m on my way to meet Celeste.
I drive through Laurel Canyon with the windows down, hoping the breeze might clear my head. It doesn’t. My thoughts are stuck in a loop—playing every word Scott said this morning and every wordI didn’tsay to Olive when I had the chance.
Now I have to face the woman whose Pinterest boards still think I’m getting married in two days. She’s going to eviscerate me with her eyes and her clipboard—and honestly, I probably deserve it.
At the next red light, I glance to my right.
There’s a café on the corner. Small, shaded, half-hidden behind potted succulents and a chalkboard sign that sayscoffee first, decisions later.
A woman sits at a window table, sunlight in her hair, legs curled under her, a paperback open in her hands.
She’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt. No makeup. Nose buried deep in the book.
For a second—just a second—I think it’s her.
My breath catches. My whole body tenses like it might actually be possible, like she might look up and smile and sayHey, I was waiting for you.
