“That’s what this is. You’re in it. You can’t see what we all do.”
“I don’t think this is the same,” I say, but even as I say it, it feels weak.
“Let me ask you something.” Her voice shifts into serious-mode. “Are you happy about this engagement?”
I hesitate. “Yeah. I mean… I think so.”
“No. Not logically. Noton paper.When you picture the wedding—when you really sit in it—what feelings come up?”
I close my eyes.
“The whole town would be there. Keith’s parents are, like, really important?—”
“No,” April cuts in. “Keith’sparentsshouldn’t be the first thing you think about when it comes to your wedding.”
Her voice is gentler now. “This isyourlife, Faith. No one else’s. Forget what your family wants, or what looks right on a holiday card. When you picture yourself married to Keith,how do you feel?”
I blow out a long sigh.
“I feel… good. I guess. I mean?—”
April doesn’t say anything.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
She and Morgan talk about everything. They fight, they make up, they check in all the time. Their relationship feels like a partnership.
And mine?
Mine feels like a plan everyone agreed to years ago, and I just didn’t stop it.
April sucks in a breath. “Faith, last year, when I was falling apart over Matt? You were the one who pulled me out. You were steady. You were smart. You were honest with me even when I didn’t want to hear it.”
I sit on the edge of my bed, heart pinching.
“I’m just trying to return the favor,” she says gently. “If a guy is making excuses to sleep with other women, that doesn’t sound like love. Does it?”
I don’t respond right away. Her words land in the pit of my stomach and settle there—heavy.
“April, I just don’t know what else to do, okay?” I say finally. “I love my family. And I do love Keith. I wasn’t expecting him to pull the rug out like this, but I know he still wants to marry me.”
“Does he?” she asks, not cruel—just firm.
“I think he just needs… I don’t know. Space. We’re young. Maybe he needs to sow some wild oats. That’s what guys do, right?”
There’s a pause.
“Yeah?” April says. “And what about you?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“Doyouneed to sow some oats?”
A huge, involuntary laugh escapes me. “Me? No.”
But even as I say it, I swallow hard.
Because Hunter Holloway’s eyes flash in my memory—dark, sharp, knowing. His forearms. That smirk. That silence that somehow saideverything.
