Chapter 1

My fiancé, Don Julian Ashford, lost the hearing in his left ear years ago—an ambush by a rival family when he was seventeen. He hears everything through his right ear now.

Three years. Every time I raise my voice at him, he can't make it out.

But he can hear Sienna Vaughn, my closest friend, tap her fingernail against a coffee cup from three meters away.

Sienna never speaks up. She directs him with gestures.

Two soft taps on the table. Julian's on his feet, sliding an Americano across the counter into her hand.

She glances toward the window. He's already up, drawing the blackout blinds.

Meanwhile I'm sitting on his right. I say his name twice at ordinary volume.

He turns. Blinks.

"Sorry, baby. Louder. Didn't catch that."

I bury the hurt. Tell myself he's just worn out from the wedding logistics.

Until the engagement shoot. Julian pulls Sienna into the frame. Arm around her shoulder.

"Group shot. She's here anyway."

The photographer hesitates. Hands the proof to me.

In the photo, Julian's right pinky is hooked around Sienna's. He's laughing, loose.

I set the bouquet down on the vanity.

Watching him lean into her, smiling the way he used to smile at me—I don't cry. I don't ask.

If he's never going to hear me, I'm done spending myself on him.

***

The photographer fans thirty proofs across the table.

Julian's eyes slide past me. Land on Sienna.

"Sienna. Which one?"

Sienna doesn't answer. Just taps one shot with her index finger. The group shot.

Julian turns to the coordinator.

"This one. Blow it up. Front-of-house welcome board."

The coordinator freezes. Looks at me.

Sienna takes a graceful half-step back.

"A maid of honor probably shouldn't be on the welcome board, Julian."

Julian's already lifted her Burberry trench off the chair.

"Come on. You've been with us since day one."

Only then does he remember I exist. Turns to me. Asks my blessing.

I smile.

"Sure. Put it in the middle."

There's not going to be a bride standing next to it anyway.

He nods, pleased. Reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I tilt my head. Pretend to fix my hem. His hand hangs in the air. Drops.

He doesn't try again.

He doesn't notice I've dodged him, because at that exact moment Sienna's nail has just tapped the rim of her empty water glass. Twice.

Julian goes to the bar. Comes back with a bottle of room-temperature Fiji. No ice.

Her temperature.

Sienna looks up. Mouths at him, silent. Thank you.

Julian reads every curve of her lips.

Meanwhile, my "Pour me one too" is delivered less than two feet from his left ear.

He doesn't even turn his head.

I open my phone. Pull up the Newport venue booking and the first-class tickets I'd reserved for the grandparents.

I start with the Acela. Six first-class seats, Boston to Penn.

Cancel. Refund. Confirm.

While Julian is adjusting the angle of Sienna's straw, the last notification pings.

I hit cancel on the full hotel reservation.

Eighteen thousand four hundred, refunded to my Amex.

He never once turns to see what I'm doing.

Next: welcome favors.

Forty boxes. Curated them one at a time last month. Fortnum & Mason English Breakfast paired with Harney & Sons Earl Grey.

Julian's grandmother has drunk that exact combination every morning since 1998.

Sienna picks up a Walker's shortbread from the samples. Wrinkles her nose. Pushes the whole tin two inches away.

Julian sees.

Turns to the favors manager.

"Swap the entire lot. Blue Bottle pour-over sachets instead. Sienna recommended them before."

I raise my voice.

"The grandparents don't drink coffee."

Julian raps his knuckle against his own right ear.

"Baby, the louder you get the less I hear. It's just noise. Manager, go ahead."

The manager brings over the change order.

Bottom line jumps from thirty-eight hundred to twelve thousand four.

Sienna's at the sample table, ribbon looped through her fingers. It's tangled around her wrist. She doesn't work it loose. She just frowns at Julian.

Julian crosses the room. Unwinds it, coil by coil, from her wrist.

The morning we went to City Hall to register, I had a fresh pair of Manolo Blahniks on. Not broken in yet.

He walked three yards ahead of me. Kept checking his watch. Called back for me to hurry up.

"Nora. Move it. You're embarrassing me."

He couldn't hear my heels dragging on the floor. He just thought I was slow.

The manager's still holding out the pen.

I set the change order back on the table. Take a step back. Smile at Julian.

"Your call. You sign."

He frowns. But Sienna's watching. He signs. Chase Sapphire.

Twelve thousand four.

Ashford's ports move hundreds of thousands in and out every day. That customs pipeline was built on three patents in my name, three years ago. But he tells me to front the wedding money. Says it's a small enough item that I can handle it solo.

While they're picking gift-wrap colors, I open the beverage supplier's back end.

Forty tables. Champagne tower. Two magnums of Dom Pérignon per table.

Delete. Cancel. Confirm.

Julian comes back with a sample bag of Sienna's coffee. Still riding the buzz of a decision made together.

"Nora. Dinner?"

Three times louder than he was speaking to me two minutes ago.

Because Sienna is watching.

Because Julian has to perform the doting-Don-fiancé for whatever audience is present, to secure the shape of his role. My actual thoughts have never entered the calculation. He only softens in front of the family.

"Whatever," I say. Ordinary volume.

He doesn't hear.

He turns back to Sienna.

"Sushi?"

She nods. Traces a small circle in the air.

"The conveyor spot in SoHo. Got it."

He doesn't look at me once.

I follow them out of the venue. My phone is dark in my hand.

The confirmation email is already sitting in my inbox.

Your cancellation has been processed. Refund will be returned in 5–7 business days.