Five days before Claire Whitmore was supposed to marry Adrian Cole, she carried the final seating chart into his office and found him canceling their wedding without having the courage to say the word.

He stood with his back to her, one hand in his pocket, the other pressing a phone against his ear.

“Move the Zurich meeting to Friday,” he said. “No, I’ll fly Thursday night. I want to be there when they sign.”

Claire stopped just inside the door.

Thursday night.

Their rehearsal dinner was Thursday night.

She looked down at the cream-colored seating chart in her hands. Her grandmother was seated near the front because her hearing had gotten worse. Adrian’s divorced parents were separated by three tables. Claire had spent an hour making sure no one allergic to shellfish sat near the seafood station.

Tiny problems.

Ridiculous problems.

Problems belonging to a woman who still believed there would be a wedding on Saturday.

Adrian ended the call.

Only then did he see her.

His expression changed instantly.

Not guilt.

Preparation.

Claire knew that expression. She had seen it before their second wedding date disappeared because of a merger. She had seen it before their third was sacrificed to an investor conference.

“Claire.”

“No.”

His brows drew together.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Can we sit down?”

“No.”

He exhaled slowly, as if she were an employee becoming unnecessarily emotional during a negotiation.

“The Zurich acquisition is in trouble.”

Claire almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, she placed the seating chart on his desk.

“Saturday, Adrian.”

“I know what day the wedding is.”

“Do you?”

His jaw tightened.

“Come on.”

There it was.

Come on.

Two words he used whenever her pain inconvenienced him.

Come on, Claire, it’s one dinner.

Come on, Claire, birthdays happen every year.

Come on, Claire, you know how hard I’m working.

Come on, Claire, don’t make this bigger than it is.

Four years of her life had been reduced to one long request not to make anything bigger than it was.

Adrian came around the desk.

“This deal affects hundreds of employees.”

“And our wedding affects what?”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Answer me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“We can move it.”

Something inside her became very quiet.

He continued quickly, encouraged by her silence.

“Six weeks. Maybe eight. We could do November. Actually, winter could be beautiful. You always liked Christmas.”

Their first wedding date had been in June because Claire loved peonies.

The second had been in September because Adrian loved fall.

The third had been in February because it was the only month his schedule allowed.

Now winter could be beautiful.

Claire looked at the man she had spent four years defending.

He was still handsome. Infuriatingly so. Tall, clean-cut, pale gray eyes, dark blond hair, an expensive charcoal suit tailored perfectly across his shoulders.

She remembered the first year of their relationship, before success had hardened his calendar into scripture. He used to appear outside her office with coffee. He once drove three hours because she called him crying after her childhood dog died.

That man had existed.

That was the dangerous part.

Women rarely waited years for monsters.

They waited for good men who kept promising to become good again.

Adrian reached for her hands.

“We’ll choose another date.”

Claire let him take them.

“I promise.”

There it was.

Another promise.

She stared at their joined hands.

Then at the diamond on her finger.

Four years earlier, when Adrian had proposed beside a frozen lake in Vermont, she had cried so hard he laughed and pulled her into his coat.

She had thought the ring meant she had been chosen.

Now she understood something humiliating.

Being proposed to and being chosen every day were not the same thing.

Claire slowly pulled her hands from his.

Then she removed the ring.

Adrian watched, confused.

She placed it in his palm.

His expression remained almost amused.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving it back.”

“Claire.”

“You won't need it.”

“For God’s sake.”

He laughed once.

Actually laughed.

Not because anything was funny, but because he genuinely could not imagine consequences surviving longer than her anger.

“You’re upset.”

“Yes.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“Probably.”

“You’ve been planning this wedding for months. You’re under pressure.”

Claire stared at him.

He believed he was explaining her to herself.

“Go home,” he said. “Sleep. Take tomorrow off. We’ll have dinner tomorrow night and talk when you’re calmer.”

“I’m calm now.”

“No, you’re not.”

She felt something almost like pity.

Not for herself.

For him.

Because he still didn’t understand.

“You know why you keep canceling our wedding?” she asked.

“The company—”

“No.”

Her voice was so soft that he stopped.

“You cancel because you know I’ll still be here afterward.”

A faint line appeared between his brows.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“I love you.”

“I believe you.”

That shook him more than if she had accused him of lying.

Claire swallowed.

“I think you love me as much as you know how to love someone. But you also think loving me means I’ll wait forever.”

“Claire—”

“You were right.”

His face softened, misunderstanding.

Then she finished.

“I would have.”

The softness vanished.

“I would have waited another year. Maybe two. I would have kept explaining you to my mother. I would have called the florist again and apologized. I would have put that dress back in its box and pretended the humiliation didn’t hurt because I thought patience was what good women gave men they loved.”

She took a breath.

“But something happened today.”

“What?”

“I got tired.”

Adrian stared at her.

“People get tired, Claire.”

“No. I got tired of being your almost.”

She picked up her purse.

“There isn’t going to be another date.”

His face finally changed.

Only slightly.

A flicker.