Chapter 1: You're Marrying My Ex?

"I'm getting married!"

I stopped in the doorway of my apartment with one broken heel hanging from my foot and my laptop bag sliding down my shoulder.

"Huh?"

My younger sister, Chloe Hart, stood in the middle of my living room holding a glass of wine like she had just won an award.

She was glowing.

That should have been my first warning.

"You heard me," she said, grinning. "I'm getting married."

I lowered my bag onto the floor and stared at her.

"You were dating someone?"

"Of course I was, dummy. You know I love being in love."

Chloe laughed as if that explained everything.

With Chloe, it usually did.

She fell in love the way normal people changed phone cases—quickly, dramatically, and with complete confidence that this time was different.

I kicked off my damaged heel and limped toward the couch.

"Is it that guy named Zane with a silent G? The one from the yoga retreat in Los Angeles?"

Her face twisted.

"Ew, no. Zane was an asshole."

"Right. Of course he was."

I collapsed onto the couch and rubbed my temple.

"Congratulations, I guess. Who's the lucky guy?"

Unlucky, if I was being honest.

Instead of answering, Chloe reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a thick cream envelope decorated with silver calligraphy.

She held it out to me with both hands.

"Read it."

A quiet sense of dread settled in my stomach.

I took the envelope and opened it.

The card inside was heavy, expensive, and elegant.

Exactly the kind of invitation Chloe would choose.

My eyes moved across the words.

"You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Chloe Hart and Dean Archer."

For one long second, my mind refused to understand what I had read.

Then my heart dropped.

Not metaphorically.

It felt as if it had fallen through my chest, crashed into my stomach, and disappeared somewhere beneath the floor.

"Dean Archer," I said slowly.

My fingers began to tremble around the invitation.

"My Dean?"

Chloe snatched the card from my hands.

"My Dean," she corrected cheerfully.

I stared at her.

The room seemed to tilt.

Dean Archer was not just some old boyfriend.

He was my college ex.

The man who had known how I took my coffee, how I panicked before presentations, and how I hated thunderstorms even though I pretended not to.

He was the man who had once promised to move to New York with me after graduation.

The man who had kissed me beneath the library stairs and told me I was the only future he wanted.

Then, on my birthday, he had ended everything with a text message.

No meeting.

No explanation.

No chance to ask why.

Just a short, cold message that destroyed me.

I had spent years telling myself I was over him.

Apparently my heart had never believed the lie.

"You're marrying my ex?" I asked.

Chloe rolled her eyes.

"Your ex? Savannah, please. Was that even a real relationship? It was just some college fling."

"We were together for ten months."

"Exactly. Ancient history."

Ancient history.

Funny how history could still hurt like a fresh wound.

Chloe lifted her wine glass and took another sip.

"Dean came back to New Hope last Christmas. We ran into each other, started talking, and everything just clicked."

"You never thought to mention that you were dating him?"

"I wanted to wait until it was serious."

"You're engaged."

"Which means it's serious now."

She said it as if I were being difficult.

I pressed my lips together.

Chloe stepped toward me, then stopped abruptly.

Her nose wrinkled.

"Actually, I don't think I should hug you. You've got ink all over your hands, and I just had this sweater dry-cleaned."

I looked down.

Black ink stained three of my fingers from the contracts I had been reviewing at work.

Compared to Chloe, I looked like I had survived a natural disaster.

My white button-down was wrinkled, my charcoal skirt was slightly twisted, and one of my heels had snapped while I was running from the parking garage.

Chloe, meanwhile, wore a pastel-pink cable-knit sweater over a white satin top, cream trousers, and ballet flats that had probably never touched an actual sidewalk.

Her blonde hair was arranged in a perfect low bun.

Every detail about her looked effortless.

I knew from experience that effortless usually required three hours and professional lighting.

"Anyway," Chloe continued, "you're going to be my maid of honor."

I blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're my sister. Obviously you're my maid of honor."

"Does Dean know?"

"Know what?"

"That the woman he dumped by text is going to stand beside you while you marry him."

Chloe sighed.

"Savannah, you're being dramatic."

I laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

"You called me and said it was an emergency."

"It was."

"I left an important meeting, broke my favorite shoe, ran three red lights, and nearly crashed my car."

"I didn't know you'd be so reckless."

I stared at her.

She took another sip of wine.

"Besides, we need to talk about your dress."

"Of course we do."

"It's green."

"Emerald?"

"No. Emerald is basic."

I closed my eyes.

"Then what kind of green?"

"Think deep forest, but regal. Like envy and royalty had a scandalous love child. Rich, expensive, and sharp. Not teal, not moss, not jade, and absolutely not that murky mall green you wear."

I opened my eyes.

"That's emerald, Chloe."

"It's not emerald."

"It is literally emerald."

"Whatever. The fabric needs to be silk. Real silk. Can you afford that?"

Something inside me snapped.

Maybe it was the insult.

Maybe it was the broken heel.

Maybe it was hearing Dean's name after years of forcing myself not to think about him.

Or maybe it was the way Chloe spoke about my pain as if it were an inconvenience.

Either way, I was done.

"Can I bring a date?" I asked.

Chloe glanced up from her phone.

"A date?"

"Yes."

She laughed.

"Savannah, you haven't had a serious relationship in years. Who could you possibly bring?"

I lifted my chin.

The lie came out before I could stop it.

"Actually, I have news too."

Chloe's smile faded slightly.

"What news?"

"I'm engaged."

She choked on her wine.

"You?"

"Yes, me."

"You're getting married?"

"That is generally what engaged means."

Her eyes narrowed.

"To who?"

My mind went blank.

Then one name appeared.

Roman Blackwood.

My best friend.

The man who called me every Sunday.

The man who sent my father cigars every Christmas and remembered my mother's birthday better than I did.

The man who always answered when I needed him.

The one person I trusted completely.

"Roman," I said.

"Roman Blackwood."

Chloe stared at me.

"Your best friend Roman?"

"The very one."

"The finance guy?"

"Yes."

"The one who texts you during family dinners?"

"Yes."

"The one Dad likes more than he likes most of our relatives?"

"Exactly."

Chloe studied my face.

I forced myself not to look away.

"And you're engaged?" she asked.

"We've kept it private."

"Why?"

"Roman is busy. I'm busy. We didn't want the attention."

That part, at least, sounded believable.

Roman did work in finance.

He was always flying between New York, London, and Chicago, handling deals I barely understood.

Chloe's expression tightened.

For the first time since she arrived, she looked genuinely bothered.

Good.

"Well," she said slowly, "that's huge."

"It is."

"I didn't think you were the relationship type."

"And I didn't think you'd marry my ex. Life is full of surprises."

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Then she smiled.

It was the kind of smile people used before declaring war politely.

"Bring him to the wedding."

My stomach twisted.

"Of course."

"The entire week."

"Naturally."

"It'll be nice to finally see the two of you together."

"Can't wait."

Chloe picked up her handbag and headed for the door.

"Don't tell the family yet," I said quickly. "Roman and I are still figuring out the timing."

"Crystal."

She opened the door.

"Love you, sis."

"Love you too."

Then she disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind her expensive perfume and complete emotional destruction.

I stood in silence for three seconds.

Then my phone began vibrating.

Once.

Twice.

Then continuously.

I pulled it from my bag.

The Hart Family Group Chat had eighteen unread messages.

Mom: BOTH MY DAUGHTERS ARE GETTING MARRIED!

Dad: Roman finally proposed? About time.

Aunt Janice: WHEN IS THE WEDDING?

Grandma: I always knew those two were in love.

Alyssa: Pictures. Immediately.

I stared at the screen in horror.

"Chloe," I whispered. "You lying little traitor."

Another notification appeared.

Roman Blackwood Calling.

My pulse jumped.

For one terrible moment, I considered letting it ring.

Then I imagined him learning about our engagement from my father.

I answered.

"Hi, Roman."

There was a pause.

His deep voice came through the phone.

"Savannah."

"Yes?"

"Your father just congratulated me on our engagement."

I closed my eyes.

"I can explain."

"You have thirty seconds."

"Chloe is marrying Dean."

Silence.

Roman knew exactly what that name meant to me.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

"Your Dean?"

"Apparently he's her Dean now."

"And your response was to tell everyone you're engaged to me?"

"In my defense, I only told Chloe."

"Your sister has never kept a secret in her life."

"I was under emotional distress."

"Clearly."

I sank onto the couch.

"I need a favor."

"I assumed that part."

"Come to the wedding with me."

"As your date?"

"As my fiancé."

The silence that followed lasted long enough to make me check whether the call had disconnected.

"Roman?"

"I'm here."

"Say something."

"I'm thinking."

"That sounds dangerous."

"Savannah."

"Sorry."

He exhaled slowly.

"How long is this wedding?"

"One week."

"One week?"

"Chloe believes weddings should be experienced as a luxury hostage situation."

Roman laughed under his breath.

The sound eased something tight inside my chest.

"And what exactly would pretending to be your fiancé involve?" he asked.

"Holding hands. Smiling. Maybe one or two fake kisses."

"Fake kisses."

His voice changed slightly.

Lower.

Rougher.

I ignored the strange flutter in my stomach.

"Only if necessary."

"And after the wedding?"

"We quietly call it off."

Another pause.

"Roman, please."

He had never been able to refuse me when I used that tone.

I heard him move on the other end of the line.

"You owe me," I added.

"For what?"

"Your twenty-eighth birthday."

"You promised never to mention that night again."

"I'm desperate."

"That's obvious."

I waited.

Finally, Roman sighed.

"Fine."

I sat upright.

"Fine?"

"I'll be your fake fiancé."

Relief rushed through me.

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

"Why?"

His voice softened.

"Because if we're doing this, Savannah, we're doing it properly."

A chill moved down my spine.

"What does that mean?"

"It means by the time we arrive in New Hope, no one will doubt that you're mine."

The call ended.

I stared at my phone.

For the first time that night, Dean Archer was not the man occupying my thoughts.