Chapter 2

The next morning, Brent showed up at my door bright and early, like he'd forgotten all about the tension of the night before.

He had a roll of blueprints in his hand, and there was a light in his eyes I hadn't seen in a long time.

"Savvy, the finish plans for our place came through. I changed a few details. You're going to love it."

He pulled me along to go see the home that was almost ready for us.

The place was in the best part of downtown, a top-floor duplex with huge floor-to-ceiling windows.

He pointed at one of the windows, excited. "You'll be able to watch the sunset right here. I'll build you a rocking chair, just for you."

In that moment, looking at the hope in his eyes, I'll admit it: for a second, my heart softened.

But that hope lasted less than ten minutes.

The elevator dinged open, and Rachel "happened" to run into us.

She was in a thin little dress, her small face pale, a medical record clutched in her hand.

"Brent, Savvy, what a coincidence. You're here looking at places too?"

She coughed twice.

"I just got back from the hospital. The doctor says my dust-mite allergy is getting worse. He recommended a well-ventilated place on a high floor."

She gazed at our bright, open home with naked longing in her eyes.

"It'd be so nice if I could live somewhere like this. My old place is low and damp. Every night I can barely breathe."

Brent's face darkened in an instant.

He looked at Rachel's pale face, and his eyes were full of tenderness and guilt.

That night, he finally brought it up.

He sat across from me, choosing his words carefully.

"Savvy, there's something I want to talk over with you."

"Rachel's health... you saw it yourself. What if we let her stay in our place for six months, 'just for now'?"

"Once she's better, we'll..."

I cut him off. "We'll what? This place has both our names on it. It's our home."

He frowned, an edge of impatience in his voice.

"We'll rent somewhere for the wedding, and move back in after she's gone. You're not someone who cares about formalities anyway."

"Just six months. It'll go by fast."

I looked him in the eye and asked him, one word at a time.

"And if I said I did care?"

His frown pulled tighter, and his voice climbed.

"Savannah, can you not be so difficult about this?"

"Rachel's health has been bad since she was a kid. My parents treat her like half a daughter. Taking care of her is the least we can do!"

I laughed, laughed until the tears nearly came.

So being reasonable meant handing everything I had over to her.

My wedding banquet. My home.

And next? My husband, too?

I didn't argue with him anymore. I just quietly pulled out my phone and opened a photo.

A coworker had posted it the other night on social media, tagged at the hottest live music club in the city.

In the picture, Rachel had on flawless smoky eye makeup, holding up a glass, laughing herself breathless in a smoke-filled booth, in perfect health.

I held the phone up in front of him.

"This bad health you're talking about, is this what you mean?"

Brent's face changed at once.

He snatched the phone out of my hand and deleted the photo.

Only after he'd done all that did he lift his head and growl at me.

"You investigated her? Savannah, what have you turned into!"

I looked at him, and my heart sank all the way into an icy sea.

He wasn't demanding to know why Rachel had lied to him. He was accusing me of exposing the lie.

In his world, Rachel would always be the one who needed protecting, and I didn't even have the right to know the truth.

I stood up, walked to the table, and picked up the beautiful home design plans he'd spent three months drawing.

Then, under his stunned eyes, page by page, I tore them to shreds.

"Brent, this reasonable, understanding bride? I quit."