Chapter 1

one

EMMALINE - EIGHT YEARS AGO

There’s a knock on the ornate wooden door of the oldest church in southern California, a gorgeous eighteenth-century building.

“Don’t come in. I’m dressing.”

“Emmaline?”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Just call me,” I say, stressed but not wanting to tempt fate. But instead of him agreeing, the door creaks open, and footfalls close in.

Grant, my fiancé, stares at me in the full-length mirror. It’s not the gaze of a man overtaken with emotion at the sight of his bride. He takes a deep breath, and I smile.

“Couldn’t wait to see me?” I ask playfully with a trembling voice.

“You look beautiful,” he says, but his tone is flat. Tightness grips my chest as he rests his ass against the vanity just to the side of the gold filigree mirror. “Emmaline… you value honesty, ri ght?”

My brows draw into the center, and anxiety creeps up my throat. “Yeah.”

He looks so dapper in his tuxedo with his black hair slicked back off his face. His jaw twitches. I know that means he doesn’t want to confront whatever it is. Reaching for my hands, his smooth thumbs skim over my skin, and he twiddles with my ring as his Adam’s apple peeks from his collar. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Marry you. I haven’t been faithful. I love you, but I’m not in love with you.” His eyes finally land on mine. They’re clear, not red.

My throat closes as I stand there looking at my reflection. Watching as my eyes blur and tears fall from my lashes. With quivering lips and a heart that understands his words, but my brain can’t compute them—it’s like he’s speaking a foreign language.

“What… what are you saying?” I pull my hands from his because my heart knows.

Grant stands, taking a step toward me. “I’m calling off the wedding.”

“Why are you saying this? Why didn’t you tell me last night?” I ask, sobbing. I can’t look at him, so I stare at the mirror. Tears stream like a waterfall down my cheeks, yet I look perfect, like a porcelain doll. The makeup artist promised me I would be streak free in case I cried at the altar.

Grant’s chest rises, and he continues, “That’s when I realized. At the party, I had sex with…”

My eyes round, and my mouth drops open, remembering the only people at the after-rehearsal dinner party were my bridesmaids. “You had sex with one of my friends. Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

I struggle to remove my wedding dress, but it’s not cooperating. The sheath dress is too tight and requires more effort than I can muster.

“The hell it doesn’t.” But soon, I’m standing in front of him in a corset with my boobs popping out the top, a garter belt, and a thin strip of lace. He swallows and lust shadows his eyes. “Who? Who, you son of a… no, I can’t call your mom that. She would be so ashamed of you.”

“Emmaline, I do love you. We’re just not compatible sexually. I can’t be what you want.”

Yet his gaze says the opposite.

How does he know what I want? He’s never freaking asked. “Get out,” I cry, then pick up the bottles from the vanity and hurl them at him. “I hate you. I hate you.”

When the door closes, I collapse onto the floor, muttering how much I hate my fiancé and how I’ve wasted the past three years of my life. My maid of honor finds me. “Emmaline, what’s wrong?”

And when I tell her, she doesn’t seem surprised. I overlooked all the flirtations, passing it off as she’s an extrovert, a bubbly, pint-sized princess.

Wanting too much—expecting too much is a toxic trait. The life I dreamed of shattered only hours before my wedding by my best friend and my fiancé.

My world crumbles in ten minutes. The world I woke up to this morning, no longer there. It’s bright and sunny in California, yet gray skies are all I can see. My parents are out thousands of dollars for a wedding. I’m humiliated and my brother Roman is angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

Why? Because Grant is Roman’s best friend and agent.

My mom’s lips quiver as she tries to hold back tears. “Oh, sweetheart.” My dad sweeps me into his arms. My safety net. I’m sure this isn’t how they envisioned their daughter’s wedding, and the look of disappointment washes over their faces.

“Baby girl, one day you’ll be loved by a man who will cherish you.” My dad kisses my forehead. “Now, let’s get you out of here.”

Disguising me in a tuxedo and putting my hair under a baseball cap, Roman whisks me out of the church basement. The idea of facing anyone right now is overwhelming.

Once we’re in his car, I notice his cheek is bruised and his knuckles covered in blood. He’s breathing hard. “Dad and Mom took care of everything. That piece of shit. How did I not know?”

I lean my head against the window. “How did I not know?” I whisper.

“Em, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know. I thought he had changed.”

“Can I stay with you and Penelope tonight?”

He gives me a soft squeeze of my hand. “Of course. I knew he was a player before, but he said you had changed him. Shit, Em, I’m so sorry. This is why best friends and teammates are off limits. Pieces of fucking shit. This is on me.”

“I just wish Mom and Dad weren’t out all this money. ”

“They have plenty. Don’t worry about it. You’re what matters.”

Penelope stays at the church with our parents to let any guests who don’t get the message that the wedding is off. Lost in my thoughts, my brother is suddenly opening my door, and we’re standing in his kitchen. “Thank you for loving me,” I say, with emotion hogging my soul. He fills his Keurig, and a few minutes later, I have a mug filled with green tea in my hand. “What would I do without you?”

We’re a year apart—Irish twins. Our parents are still madly in love. Roman has been dating Penelope since his freshman year of college, and they’re getting married at the end of the hockey season.

I thought I had found the love of my life. Now I’m not sure if Grant ever loved me. He must have been taking the easy path where he got to hang out with his best friend all the time, even double dating. He must be hurting too. When he called off the wedding and told me he didn’t love me, he knew he would lose Roman in the process, yet it was still worth it to him to let us go rather than be in a loveless marriage. When Roman’s anger subsides, he’ll be grieving the loss of his best friend.

“Do you need anything?” Roman asks as he draws me into a hug.

I can’t hold back the sobs. “I don’t deserve this.”

“You don’t.” He rubs circles on my back. “The guest room is yours for as long as you need it.”

“Thanks.”

Walking into the light-tan, painted room with orange curtains and a comforter the same color would normally be a breath of fresh air. An escape. But now, I sit on the bed not knowing what to do or how to feel. Should I be thankful Grant told me now instead of in ten years when we had kids, and it ripped our family apart? Or should I be angry that he delivered the gut punch on our wedding day.

What am I going to do? Grant and I planned on having kids right away, so I don’t have a career plan. My family has plenty of money, and Roman plays hockey professionally, so I won’t be on the streets, but none of it will be mine.

As I rummage through my bag that I took to the church, I remove the t-shirt, Grant’s shirt. Rose Sports Agency. “Roman?”

He must be standing outside the door, just waiting for me to need him.

“Yeah?”

“Can I wear one of your shirts to bed? And can we burn this one?” I ask, handing him the black t-shirt.

Roman wads up the shirt, shaking his head. “Only if you set it on fire with me.”

“Deal.”

When Penelope gets back from the church, she finds us outside by the fire pit, roasting marshmallows. There’s a wistful breeze blowing, and I’m snuggled into my brother’s arm, pulling the charred sticky marshmallow from the iron rod. “Come roast marshmallows with us,” I say, laughing. Because what’s not to laugh about?

“It doesn’t smell like marshmallows.”

Roman nudges my shoulder, “He’s burnt and buried in the ashes.” Penelope’s eyes open wide. “Don’t worry, babe. It was just the asshole’s shirt.”

“What do I do now?” I ask.

Roman answers instantly like he’s been waiting on me to ask. “Since Penelope has to travel for work, you’re going to Atlanta with me. We play the Jets.”

“I guess I can cry in Atlanta as easily as here.”

My brother lays his hand on my arm, giving it a pump. “It’s okay if you do, but it’s also perfectly fine for you to get drunk and dance your tail off.”

I do like to dance.