I finished dressing on autopilot, my movements stiff and robotic.
When I emerged, the party was in full swing.
Chloe was showing off a photo on her phone, and Marcus was laughing at something one of the other bridesmaids said.
Rhys was standing near the door, scrolling through his phone, but I felt his awareness of me like a change in the atmospheric pressure.
I walked over to the refreshments table and poured myself a glass of water, my hand shaking slightly.
From this vantage point, I could see Marcus clearly.
I watched him throw his head back and laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He was good. He was kind and stable.
He’d just confessed his “strategic alliance” and offered me a second chance. He was the harbor.
Jessica’s words echoed in my head. *He deserves someone who is one hundred percent sure. *
I wasn’t sure of anything anymore, except for the illicit thrill that pulsed through me whenever Rhys was near.
My phone buzzed on the table where I’d left it.
It was lying face up. A new message had appeared on the lock screen.
**Rhys: You look like you need a rescue. Say the word. **
I stared at the words, my heart caught in a brutal tug-of-war.
On one side was Marcus, laughing in the bright, champagne-scented light—the safe, solid future I was supposed to want.
On the other was this message, a lifeline to a dark, thrilling escape—the reckless, passionate present I couldn’t seem to live without.
Jessica was right. I was being profoundly, horribly unfair to everyone.
But as I looked from Marcus’s trusting smile to the promise of illicit understanding in Rhys’s text, I knew with a sickening certainty that I wasn’t strong enough to stop.
Not yet.