Prologue

Ivy

I have no tears left to cry. Literally, I’m completely dried out. In case you’re wondering how many tears it takes to get there, two straight days of crying should do the trick. I’m still in the same spot I’ve been since yesterday, curled up on my couch while looking at the mountain of wedding gifts surrounding me. Because, yes, when you get stood up the day before your wedding, people still send their gifts. The thing is, I can’t even be mad at them. I know it comes from a place of love. They’re probably thinking that their nicely wrapped kitchen appliances will cheer me up. I’m a glass half-full kind of girl, but come on—how can a juicer put a smile on my face after I’ve been thrown away like yesterday’s trash by the man I love? Okay, the juicer might be a bad example. I love juices, especially fresh orange juice with our incredible Florida oranges. But a toaster? Seriously?

It’s like they’re not even trying.

The doorbell rings, and I immediately know who it is. There’s only one person brave enough to visit the jilted bride. My sister, Hazel.

I drag myself to the front door and open it. Hazel is holding two cups of coffee, a sisterly smile on her face.

“Hey.” I leave the door open and shuffle back to my spot on the couch.

“Oh, you started opening your presents,” she says, trying not to trip as she follows me. Sitting down on the armchair, she hands me a cup. “And you got a silver cutlery set. Not bad.”

“Take whatever you want,” I mumble. “As an early wedding present, since you’re getting married in less than a year now.” You’d think that statement would make me cry. But nope. No tears left, remember?

Ignoring my sarcasm, she says, “Olivier and I decided to stay in town a little longer. He’s at the hotel right now, but maybe later the three of us cou—”

“No,” I cut in. “Don’t ruin your vacation week on my account. You're supposed to whisk your Frenchie fiancé away on a tour around the state. You can’t skip out on that. You guys work so much.” Olivier is a high-demand chef in France. Dan and I actually went to visit them a few weeks ago.

“Ivy—”

I swallow hard. “Please, Hazel. Go back to normal, or I never will.”

“You’re hurt. I don’t want to leave you alone like this.” She puts her bag on the table, a frown pulling at her lips. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I know,” I say, picking at a loose thread of fabric on the couch. Not as sorry as I am, though. “How did I not see the signs? We were together for three years, and not once did I think he was still hung up on his ex.”

She’s at my side in an instant, comforting me with a hug. “This is not on you, Ivy! No one could have predicted this.”

“Anyway, I’ll be fine,” I say, breaking away from the embrace and forcing a shaky smile. “Go on vacation. I feel so much better today. See? I’m not even crying anymore. Must be a good sign.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Fine. But call me, okay? If you need anything at all. We won’t be far.”

I nod, and this time, I give her a sincere smile. “I will.”

After I see Hazel out, I perch on the edge of the couch and open all the cards that came with the gifts so I can promptly return them. Except for the juicer. I think I’m keeping that.

I’m halfway through when my phone pings in my pocket. I drag it out and see a calendar notification on my screen, “ Honeymoon in Winter Heights ” followed by a ski and a heart emoji.

My heart sinks to my stomach. With everything going on, I’d forgotten about our winter wonderland honeymoon. I was the one who insisted on it because I’ve always wanted to see snow. I’d actually dreamed of a snow wedding, but Dan hates the cold, so we settled on a compromise—a Christmas Eve wedding in sunny Florida and a snowy honeymoon in Colorado. Well, looks like I’m not getting either. Stupid Dan. All the activities that I had planned, learning to ski, dog sledding, cooking classes, wine tasting . . . Everything paid for, and it’ll all go to waste. Not to mention all the cute winter outfits I ordered during Black Friday, packed and ready to go.

I begin tearing open another envelope, and then it hits me. I might not have had my Christmas wedding, but I could still have my winter vacation. I’ve already taken the days off, and Dan paid for the airfare, lodging, activities—everything. Why not enjoy it? He owes me at least that.

Plus, staying here in the apartment we’ve shared for the past year isn’t going to help me move on.

Screw this. I’m going.

I need it.