Dex was attentive without being clingy, creative without being pretentious, and passionate about his work without being self-absorbed. He remembered that I liked extra foam in my coffee, surprised me with takeout from my favorite Thai restaurant when I had a bad day at work, and listened patiently when I needed to vent about difficult clients or office politics.
He was everything I thought I wanted. Everything Kieran wasn’t, someone available, direct about his feelings, unencumbered by complicated loyalties to my family.
When Jude visited during his leave in July, I was nervous about introducing them. My brother was always protective, always had strong instincts about people, and I knew his opinion would matter more than I wanted to admit.
“So this is the famous Dex,” Jude said when I brought him home for dinner. He shook Dex’s hand with that firm grip that was less about greeting and more about taking someone’s measure.
“Famous might be overstating it,” Dex replied with an easy laugh. “Willa’s told me so much about you.”
They made conversation over my admittedly terrible attempt at cooking pasta, and Dex was charming and respectful, asking Jude about his military training and expressing genuine interest in his experiences. But I caught my brother watching Dex with the careful attention he usually reserved for situations that unsettled him.
After dinner, while Dex was in the bathroom, Jude pulled me aside.
“I don’t like him,” he said without preamble.
“What?” I was genuinely shocked. “Why? He’s been nothing but nice to you.”
“That’s exactly the problem. He’s performing nicely. Everything he says sounds like he’s reading from a script.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“Maybe. But there’s something about the way he looks at you. Like he’s cataloging your reactions, figuring out what you want to hear. He’s used to getting what he wants, Willa. And men like that…they’re dangerous.”
A flash of anger surprised me with its intensity. “The thing is, he’s not Kieran. He actually wants to be with me.”
My brother’s face went very still. “What does Kieran have to do with this?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache building behind my eyes. “I’m tired of everyone I date being compared to some impossible standard. Dex makes me happy. Isn’t that enough?”
Jude studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for something beneath my words. “Are you happy? Really?”
The question caught me off guard. I had expected him to argue, not ask me to examine my own feelings. “Yes,” I said, but even as the word left my mouth, I wondered if it was true.
“Okay,” he said finally. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you. Just…be careful.”
I didn’t trust my instincts. I trusted Dex instead when he told me my brother was just being overprotective. I trusted him when he said Jude couldn’t understand what we had because he had never experienced real love himself. I trusted him when he suggested that maybe Jude was jealous, that I had finally found someone who put me first.
Two weeks after Jude returned to base, Dex proposed.
He took me back to Murphy’s Pub, the place where we met, and got down on one knee right there in front of everyone. The ring was stunning, a vintage setting with a large, flawless diamond, the kind of piece that clearly carried a history. Dex told me it had belonged to his grandmother, the only relative who had ever truly cared about him. She had told him to give it only to the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Holding it in my hand, I felt the weight of that history and the seriousness of his promise.
“Willa Winslow,” he said, his voice carrying across the suddenly quiet room, “you’ve made me believe in love again. Will you marry me?”
Everyone in the bar was watching, waiting for my answer, and I felt the weight of their expectation pressed against me like a physical force. This was it. It was my chance at happiness, at building a life with someone who chose me first. Someone who wasn’t Kieran Cross, would never be Kieran Cross, but who was here and real and wanted me.
“Yes,” I said, because what else could I say? Because I convinced myself that the flutter in my stomach was excitement, not anxiety. Because I wanted desperately to believe that this was what love was supposed to feel like.
But even as I celebrated, even as I called Jennifer and my other friends to share the news, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that something was wrong. That real loveshouldn’t feel like settling. That happiness shouldn’t require so much effort to maintain.
I ignored that voice. I buried it under wedding planning and apartment hunting and the thousand small decisions that came with building a life with someone. I told myself that doubt was normal, that cold feet were expected, that love was as much a choice as it was a feeling.
I was wrong about everything.
But I wouldn’t realize just how wrong until it was too late to run.
5WILLA
The fairy talelasted exactly eight months and three days. I knew the precise timeline because I started counting from the moment everything changed, marking each day that followed like a prisoner carving lines into a cell wall.
