Chapter 2

I get home and collapse on the bed. Fall asleep without meaning to.

I don't know how long I'm out before the bedroom door opens. The mattress dips.

Landon leans over me, wraps his arms around my waist, presses a kiss to my forehead.

"So this is what you meant by 'something came up'?" he murmurs. "You're busy being asleep?"

I open my eyes. Push him off. Sit up, stiff, staring at nothing.

Silence.

After a while, he sighs and pulls me back into his arms. "I'm sorry, baby."

"I know I got caught up talking to Sienna today. I ignored you. My tone was shit. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He tilts my chin up.

"You haven't eaten, right? Let me cook. I'll make it up to you—the candlelight dinner I owe you. How about that?"

The candlelight dinner he owes me.

Right.

Last time, he promised me a private dinner—just the two of us. I spent the whole afternoon cooking. Comfort food. Pot roast, cornbread, peach cobbler. Everything from scratch.

Then Sienna showed up uninvited.

And had an allergic reaction.

Landon lost it on me. "Maren, you didn't know Sienna's allergic to fennel?"

"What kind of friend are you?"

I stood there, eyes burning, throat tight. "I didn't know. Neither of you ever told me."

He scoffed. "Bullshit. Sienna and I literally talked about it on the Aspen trip. You were sitting right there. Don't tell me you didn't hear."

The words died in my throat. And then something between a laugh and a sob almost escaped.

"Yeah," I said. "I heard. But you were speaking French. And I don't speak French."

Landon stared at me for a second.

Then, without missing a beat: "So? You don't understand—and that's our fault?"

Right. Whose fault is it?

Mine, for growing up poor. For not learning languages. For not even recognizing the European cities they namedrop like grocery stores.

While they were skiing in the Swiss Alps, I was hauling firewood up a hill and got bitten by a copperhead so bad my foot swelled to twice its size.

While they were watching the Northern Lights in Iceland, I was up before dawn, walking a dirt road in the dark to catch the school bus—because if I missed it, there wasn't another one.

My world—they'll never get it.

Their world—I can't even follow the conversation.

When two worlds collide, one always has to shrink.

And it was always mine.

Landon leads me to the couch, sits me down, and heads for the kitchen.

The doorbell rings.

Sienna breezes in, arms full of grocery bags.

"Landon, you ass! You said you were cooking dinner for me tonight!"

"I bought everything!" She holds up the bags like trophies. "Lobster, abalone, and scallops—my favorite!"

I look at the bags.

Lobster. Abalone. Scallops.

I almost laugh.

So the dinner was for Sienna.

And they both forgot—I'm allergic to shellfish.

A table full of food. I don't touch a single bite.

Landon notices me sitting there, knife untouched, and his jaw tightens. "What's your problem?"

"Sienna went out of her way to buy all this. I've been in the kitchen for an hour. You're not eating? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?"

Sienna claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God, Maren—I totally forgot. You're allergic to shellfish. I'm so sorry."

Dead silence.

For a long time, no one speaks.

Then Landon clears his throat, stiff, and changes the subject. "My parents have some time next week. They want to meet with you."

"We should lock down the wedding plans."

Sienna's eyes light up. She clasps her hands together. "Oh! The restaurant—Landon actually asked me to book it. I picked this amazing place, and there's a movie theater right next door. After dinner with your parents, we could all go see a—"

I take a breath.

"No need." I cut her off. "I'm busy next week. Work trip."

I raise my head. Two sets of startled eyes stare back at me.

And for the first time in a long time, half the weight just lifts.

"The wedding can wait."