The investor lunch had been on the calendar for a month. Twelve Whitmore backers in a private dining room at the Larkspur, a chance to show off the happy couple two days after the party.

I'd already decided to skip it when my phone rang.

"Evelyn, sweetheart." Margaret Whitmore sounded warm and slightly out of breath, the way she always did. "Graham says you're under the weather. Is it bad?"

So that was the story he'd gone with.

"I'm just tired, Margaret."

"Of course you are, after that party. But the Aldens flew in from Chicago, and Ruth keeps asking about you. I've spent all week bragging about my daughter-in-law." She laughed. "Come for an hour. For me."

She had no idea. This woman had mailed me a birthday card every year for six years, and her son hadn't told her a thing.

"I'll be there at noon," I said.

Natalie was the first person I saw when I walked in.

She was moving around the table in a gray blazer, setting a folder at each place. When she noticed me, she dropped her eyes and kept going.

Graham reached me before I'd taken three steps. "Thank you for coming," he said under his breath, his hand on my elbow.

"Why is she here?"

"She's running point on the Harbor Group file. Half these people came for the numbers, and she's the only one who knows where everything is. She couldn't miss today."

"You said you'd move her."

"I will. After this closes." He pulled out my chair, already smiling at someone over my shoulder. "Not here, Evie. Please."

I sat. He took the seat on my right. Natalie slipped into the one on his other side and opened her laptop.

Across the table, Margaret beamed at me like I'd made her whole week.

We got through the salad course before Ruth Alden leaned forward with her wineglass. "All right, I've been patient. Is there a date? Margaret says September."

"September fourteenth," Graham said.

His hand settled over mine on the tablecloth, easy and warm, his palm covering the bare finger where the ring should have been.

"Evelyn's handled every detail. I just show up where she tells me to."

Everyone laughed. Margaret pressed a hand to her chest.

I looked at his fingers wrapped around mine. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't even acting. As far as Graham was concerned, we could tear each other apart in my kitchen, and none of it had anything to do with this table.

On his other side, Natalie slid a page in front of him and tapped a line with her pen. He glanced down, nodded, and murmured, "Thanks," without turning his head. She'd tabbed his folder in three colors. When he started talking about occupancy projections, she watched him like he was the only person in the room.

His thumb was still stroking my knuckles.

That was when I finally saw it clearly. On his left, the steady fiancée his mother adored and his investors trusted. On his right, the young assistant who understood his work and thought he hung the moon.

He hadn't been torn between us. He'd never planned on choosing at all.

I slid my hand out from under his and picked up my water glass.

After dessert, the investors moved into the conference room next door for the Harbor Group briefing. I hugged Margaret goodbye and almost made it to the elevator.

"Evelyn. Wait."

Graham caught my wrist and drew me into the hallway, away from the open door.

"Give me one week," he said.

"For what?"

"To fix this. Natalie and I, nothing is ever going to happen again. I swear to you. One week, and if you still want out, I won't fight you on it." His voice dropped. "Six years, Evie. That shouldn't die on the worst night we ever had."

I'd come prepared for excuses. I hadn't come prepared for him to be right.

Six years weren't fake. We'd moved three times together, from the walk-up with the broken radiator to the place where we painted the bedroom twice because I hated the first blue. He knew I was afraid of thunder. He used to call me from airports during storms and stay on the line until it passed.

And I knew his stomach hurt before every major negotiation. There was a roll of antacids in my purse right now, because for six years there always had been.

I still loved him. That was the worst part. It hadn't stopped just because it should have.

"Graham," I said.

His grip on my wrist softened. He could hear it in my voice, and so could I. I was about to say okay.

The conference room door opened.

Natalie leaned out, one hand on the frame. "Graham, they're waiting for you."

He turned his head. "Coming."

He didn't hesitate. He didn't even think about it. His hand was still on my wrist, but his shoulders had already angled toward that door.

I laughed.

It wasn't bitter. It just came out, the way it does when you finally get a joke everyone else got years ago.

Graham looked back at me, confused. "What?"

"Nothing. You should go. They're waiting."

"Evie, I need an answer. One week."

"You just gave me the week." I pulled my wrist free. "That was all of it, right there. Somebody calls, you turn around, and I stand in a hallway until you're done."

"That's not fair. It's a room full of investors."

"It's always a room full of something."

Natalie was still in the doorway, pretending not to listen.

Graham looked at her, then at me, and I watched him do the math. He did it quickly. He always did.

"We'll talk tonight," he said, and went inside.

I didn't wait to see the door close.

That night, I called Rosecliff Gardens and asked for the events coordinator.

"September fourteenth, the Whitmore-Shaw wedding. I need to cancel the booking." I listened while she explained the deposit policy in a careful, sympathetic voice. "Yes, I understand it's nonrefundable. Cancel it, please."

She emailed the confirmation within ten minutes. I read it once and filed it.

Then I opened Sebastian's email.

I went through the clean-room clause one more time, every line of it. No Whitmore documents. No Whitmore numbers. Nothing in my head that belonged to Graham.

That was fine. I was done carrying things for him anyway.

I typed my name on the signature line and hit send at 11:20.

The reply came four minutes later.

*9 a.m. tomorrow, Marisol Holdings, 31st floor. Both bidders will be in the room. You should know that before you walk in.*

*I know,* I wrote back.

The next morning, I was in my seat by 8:50.

The sellers had put Cole Hospitality on the window side of the long table. Sebastian sat on my left in a charcoal suit, reading the agenda. A placard with my name on it stood in front of me, the ink so fresh I was half afraid to touch it.

At 8:58, the door opened.

Graham came in first, talking to his CFO over his shoulder, a coffee in one hand. Natalie followed two steps behind with his folders.

He saw Sebastian and gave him the tight nod he saved for people he hated.

Then he saw me.

He stopped so abruptly that Natalie nearly walked into his back. His eyes went from my face to the placard and back again.

"Evelyn?"

Sebastian set down his pen and looked up, perfectly pleasant.

"Graham. Good morning," he said. "I believe you already know Evelyn Shaw. My new Brand Strategy Lead."