"All settled. Come on, let's go home."

He took the suitcase from my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, his other hand sliding into mine, fingers lacing through.

I tugged free, gently.

"Your hand's hurt."

He laughed it off, unbothered. "Aw, are you worried about me?"

I didn't answer. I lifted my arm and flagged down a cab.

The scenery streamed backward past the window. Whatever joy I'd carried that morning had already been ground to dust.

My faint reflection hovered on the glass, the tiredness impossible to hide.

"Tessa," Arthur said suddenly, "we've got a working relationship, whatever else. She's a woman on her own. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing."

I gave a small "Mm" and closed my eyes, worn out.

He waited a moment. When nothing else came, he finally pulled his eyes from his phone and looked at me.

"You're mad?"

He pinched my cheek, teasing. "You're a grown woman. Since when are you this petty? Jealous over something like this?"

And just like that, I remembered my first year on the job. Walking home one night after working late, a stalker had cornered me and tried to grope me.

Arthur came the second I called him, furious enough to burn.

But his first move was to call the police.

On the way to the police station, he laid out his whole philosophy of life for me.

He said, "Eveline, arguing or throwing fists with a lowlife is always the worst option."

"Don't let them provoke you, and don't provoke them. You never know what kind of person you're dealing with. The happier one yields. When something like this happens, the best thing you can do is call the police."

Now the same kind of thing had happened again, except this time the person was Tessa, and Arthur had lost his temper, thrown his own good sense right out the window.

A sour ache spread through my chest.

"Arthur," I said, watching his reflection in the window, "what about your principle? The happier one yields?"

"What?" He didn't get it.

Or maybe he got it perfectly well and simply didn't want to.

Either way, it didn't matter anymore.

I said nothing. The cab fell quiet again.

He leaned closer and folded my hand into his palm, kneading it with a pressure that was neither too hard nor too soft, like soothing a sulking kitten.

"There. Don't be upset."

Once we got home, Arthur seemed to think the whole day was behind us, a closed chapter.

He flipped open the suitcase, putting things back where they belonged while asking what I felt like eating for dinner.

"Arthur." I looked at the busy figure across the room.

"Hm?"

"You don't need to take my things out."

He answered easily. "Business trip?"

"I promised my parents," I said, my voice level, "that this time I'd definitely bring my boyfriend home. That I wouldn't break the promise again."

"I'm going home today. I'll have dinner there tonight."

For a beat, the room went silent.

Arthur's hands stopped. He reached up and rubbed the space between his brows. "Didn't we agree? Next time, when I'm free?"

He held up his injured hand, the gesture half-hearted. "Meeting the parents should be a dignified thing. Look at my hand. Showing up like this would be rude. What if they thought I wasn't a steady, reliable guy and it left a bad impression?"

"Next time, when I'm ready. Right after we meet them, we'll start planning the wedding. I'll give you the most perfect one, I promise."

Once again Arthur fobbed me off with a flimsy excuse, dodging the meeting with my parents.

And once again he didn't forget to hand me a hollow promise, one that belonged to "next time."

I could barely remember the reasons behind the previous nine times anymore.

A project that came out of nowhere, drinks with clients, a dinner he couldn't skip, a sudden cold, every excuse that could possibly be used.

All I remembered were the photos my mom sent of a table full of food, one after another after another.

And on the video calls, the disappointment they couldn't quite hide in their eyes, even as they kept smiling, reassuring me it was fine.

I don't know why, but the longer those images sat with me, the sharper they grew in my mind.

Arthur seemed to think that, having promised me a next time, the whole episode was behind us.

He reached up, brushing my ear, his fingers lingering with easy affection. "I'm going to take a shower."

The bathroom filled with the sound of running water.

I stood where I was for a moment before walking toward the bedroom.

I opened the closet to put away the clothes he'd hung back up.

My hand stilled. My gaze caught on the wedding gown in the very back corner.

Two years ago, when we'd agreed for the fifth time to get engaged after meeting my parents, I'd dragged Arthur out to try it on.

Back then I'd been swept up by all the talk online about how every girl should have her own wedding dress, dead set on buying it.

Childishly, I'd imagined that after the wedding I'd have it framed behind glass and set it somewhere everyone could see.

Now the soft light of the room fell over it, and it was still radiant, still lovely.

And still like a silent mockery.

The bathroom door opened. I pulled my eyes away from the gown without turning around.

Footsteps came up behind me, and a pair of damp hands wrapped me into his chest, the clean scent of body wash clinging in the air.

I turned and gently pushed him away.

Arthur's hands froze midair for a few seconds, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

"Evie?"

Our eyes met, and we slipped into a strange, silent standoff.

"Arthur."

"Hmm?"

The words I'd meant to say were right at my lips when his phone rang.

He glanced at me, then turned to pick it up off the nightstand.

A few clipped replies, and he hung up. "Tessa's parents want to thank us for today. They're hoping we'll have lunch together."

"Okay." My voice was flat, without a ripple.

He didn't go get ready right away.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then said abruptly, "My hair's still dripping."

As if waiting for me to dry it for him the way I always had.

Or for the faint, sulky little grumble, "Why is it always Tessa?"

But I only glanced at the time on the screen and said evenly, "We'll talk when you get back."

The hair dryer hummed.

Then came the soft click of the door at the entryway.

I dropped onto the bed and buried my face hard in the covers.

It was a long time before I sat up and put the clothes back into my suitcase.

When I'd finished packing, I picked up my phone just as a message from Arthur popped up. "What do you want to eat? I'll bring some back for you."

I looked at it for two seconds, backed out, and tapped into another chat.

I sent over the screenshot of the newly booked flight, with one note: don't be late.

In the dead-quiet room, I lay there staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed softly.

The screen lit up. It was my sister calling.

"Sis, I feel sick to my stomach about all this."

"All these years, every time you bring up meeting the parents, bringing up marriage, it's the same thing with him. And now he still has zero boundaries with that woman. What does he even mean by it?"

What did he mean.

Nothing.

In this world, not every feeling gets to bloom and bear fruit.

He probably just hadn't decided yet who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

When I stayed quiet, her voice sank a little lower.

"So are you two even coming home? I didn't tell Mom and Dad. They're still in the kitchen working on dinner, and Uncle and his family came over too."

"Maybe just say something came up at the last minute, that you two might not be able to make it back for a while—"

I spoke softly, cutting off her unfinished sentence.

"No need. I promised them I wouldn't break my word this time."

"Tonight, I'll be bringing my boyfriend home."

From outside the door came the faint chime of the elevator arriving.

I hung up and didn't turn around. I just waited.

The sound of the lock turning over, footsteps deliberately kept light.

A few seconds passed, and the bedroom door was pushed gently open.

Arthur stood in the doorway, takeout bags in hand. "I brought you soup dumplings and noodles. Come eat?"

I didn't move. I just glanced calmly at the time.

He followed my gaze, paused, then offered an explanation. "They were elders, after all. Hard to brush them off, so we ended up chatting a while."

"Mm." I nodded, as if I understood.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" He reached for my hand as he spoke, meaning to lead me to the dining room.

I turned aside, slipping out of reach, and looked at him.

"Arthur."

"Let's break up."

His hand froze mid-air. He stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed under his breath.

"You're a grown woman. Why are you this jealous?"

It was always like this.

Somewhere along the way, every problem between us got recast into a teasing little "petty," a teasing little "jealous."

The problem got grafted onto me, and then he'd play the gentle one, the one big enough to forgive.

He dangled the takeout in front of me, his tone the put-upon patience you'd use to coax a sulking child.

"All right. I won't lift a finger for another woman again, I won't go out to eat on a whim, and I promise I'll beat you to the airport next time. Happy now? Come on, come eat."

He finished, turned, and headed for the living room.

My phone rang again.

It was my mom, probably asking whether I'd landed yet.

I picked up and only told her the flight was delayed, that I might not get home until late tonight.

Her voice carried a smile down the line as she asked about our marriage plans.

I thought for a moment, then told her plainly, "Mom, we're registering next week. I'll book your tickets ahead of time and bring you over."

I hung up and turned around. Arthur was standing in the doorway.

His frame sank into the shadows, and as he caught my words, that careless, just-humoring-her look finally drained away for good.

"Eveline, stop messing around."

He pressed his fingers to his brow. "Registering isn't some small thing. You don't just wave an ID around and say you're getting married."

"I've never met your parents. Mine don't know about any of this. We should take our time."

I picked up where he left off. "You can meet them tonight."

When I said it, he went quiet for two seconds.

The reluctance I'd expected.

I sidestepped the words already hanging there and told him the truth. "Besides the registration date, the wedding date's set too. November twelfth."

He stared at me, as if trying to sort out how much of it was real.

"It's less than a month until this wedding you keep talking about. The wedding photos, the venue, the plan, nothing's locked down, so what's the point of you picking a date? You—"

"Arthur," I cut him off. "My parents are coming for the registration next week. So are the relatives."

He let out a cold laugh. "Eveline, you decide all this on your own. Did it ever cross your mind that it would throw off the whole layout of my life, my plans? Did you ever once think about me?"

"Don't you think it's ridiculous, pinning your entire family on me to force a marriage? Are you that desperate to be married?"

"Could you not be this selfish."

His words came at me like knives.

But somehow they didn't hurt anymore.

In that moment, I only felt a bleak grief for eight years of my own feelings.

His life plans had always been crystal clear.

Clear enough to rank the "special" partnership project above all else, to put Ms. Winfield, the partner on that project, first.

Anniversaries, dates, trips, meeting the parents—all of it had to give way to this "special" thing.

With so much planned out, naturally he had no energy left to plan anything for a stale old relationship.

I met his gaze and tugged the corner of my mouth.

"Mm. You're right about everything."

After I said it, I turned and went back to the bedroom.

My phone happened to light up with a message from my friend. "I'm at the airport."