I called him from the back of my father's car.

One ring. Two. Five.

*You've reached Kael Morrow. Leave it with my assistant.*

"Again," I whispered, and dialed.

Priya sat beside me, still holding the champagne flute like she'd forgotten it was in her hand. "Evie. You've called him nineteen times."

"Twenty's a round number."

It went to voicemail again. I didn't hang up this time. I listened to the beep, and then to the silence after it, and I said nothing at all.

"Take me to the penthouse," I told the driver.

---

Kael's place smelled like him. Cedar, cold air, the espresso he made at five every morning without asking if I wanted one.

His charcoal suit from last night hung over the back of the dining chair. He'd worn it to the rehearsal dinner. He'd kissed my temple in it and said, *Tomorrow, you're mine.*

I picked up the jacket. I don't know why. Maybe to hold something he'd touched.

Paper crinkled in the inside pocket.

"Evie?" Priya called from the foyer. "What is it?"

I unfolded it. A hospital transfer form. Clinique Rive, Geneva, to Lenox Hill, New York.

*Patient: Serena Hale.*

*Diagnosis: Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.*

*Scheduled admission: June 14.*

June 14.

Today.

I laughed. It came out of me sharp and sudden, like a hiccup.

Priya hurried over. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because he knew." I held the paper up so she could see the date. "He had this in his pocket while he toasted me last night. He *planned* it."

She read the name. Her face changed.

"Who's Serena Hale?"

I knew. I'd known for three years, the way you know about a crack in the ceiling you never look at.

"The one before me," I said. "His first love. Her family moved to Switzerland when he was twenty-four. He told me once that she was the only person who ever understood him." I folded the form along its creases, neat, careful. "I thought he was over it."

"Evie, the woman in the photo—"

"Was wearing my grandmother's ring." I grabbed my keys. "I know."

---

Lenox Hill. Cardiac wing. Eighth floor.

The nurse at the desk took one look at my wedding dress and her mouth fell open.

"Ma'am, are you—"

"Serena Hale. Which room?"

"I'm not allowed to—"

Then I heard his voice down the hall. Low and soft. A voice I'd never heard him use with me.

"Small sips. There you go."

I followed it to room 812.

The door was half open. Kael sat on the edge of the bed, still in his tuxedo, his bow tie loose around his collar. He held a paper cup to a woman's lips. She was pale, dark-haired, beautiful in a fragile way. And on her left hand, sparkling against the hospital blanket, was my grandmother's sapphire.

"Is this a bad time?" I asked.

Kael's head jerked up. The cup tipped. Water splashed onto the sheets.

"Evelyn." He stood. "What are you doing here?"

"What am *I* doing here?" I stepped inside. My train dragged across the floor, gray now at the hem. "I was at our wedding, Kael. Four hundred people. Your mother. A string quartet that played the same song three times. Where were you?"

"Lower your voice. She's resting."

"Answer me."

His jaw set. "You can see where I was."

"I can see you ran. You left me at the altar for her."

"Kael," the woman whispered. She pushed herself up on one elbow, and the heart monitor beeped faster. "Is this her? Oh God. I'm so sorry. I told you to go back."

"Lie down, Serena." He turned and fixed the pillow behind her. Gently, so gently. Then he faced me again, and every bit of that gentleness was gone. "This is exactly why I didn't call you. I knew you'd do this."

"Do *what*? Ask why my fiancé disappeared?"

"Make a scene." He ran a hand through his hair. "Her parents died in March. A car accident in Lausanne. Both of them. She has no one, Evelyn. *No one.* She flew here alone for treatment, and her heart failed on the jet. On the tarmac. She stopped breathing in my arms."

"And it never crossed your mind to text me? One line? *I'm at the hospital*?"

"I was a little busy keeping her alive."

"You had her transfer papers in your jacket last night." I pulled the form out of my bodice and held it up. "Scheduled admission, June fourteenth. You knew she was landing today. You knew before you kissed me goodnight."

For a second, just one, his eyes flickered.

Then they went flat.

"You went through my things."

I stared at him. "That's what you heard?"

"Kael, please don't fight." Serena's voice cracked. Tears slid down her cheeks right on cue. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have come to New York. I just didn't know anyone else here. You were the only person I could think of." She pressed her hand against her chest. The ring flashed. "Evelyn, I swear, I didn't want to ruin anything."

"Then take off my grandmother's ring."

She blinked. Her hand curled closed.

Kael stepped between us. "I gave it to her to hold. Her hands were shaking. She needed something to grip during the ambulance ride."

"Out of everything in the world, Kael. *That* ring."

"It's a piece of jewelry."

"It's the only thing my grandmother left me."

"Then I'll buy you ten more." He said it like he was settling a bill. "You're being hysterical. Look at you. You came to a cardiac ward in a wedding dress to scream at a sick woman who just buried her parents. Do you hear how insane that is?"

The monitor shrieked. Serena gasped and grabbed his sleeve.

"Kael—it hurts—"

He spun toward her. "Breathe. Serena, look at me. Breathe."

"Make her stop," she sobbed into his arm. "Please. I just want her to stop yelling."

I wasn't yelling. I hadn't raised my voice once since I'd walked in.

Kael hit the call button. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed with one thumb, his other hand still on Serena's back.

"Marcus. Eighth floor, 812. Now."

I went cold. "You're calling security on me?"

He didn't look at me. "You need to go home and calm down."

"I'm your *fiancée*."

"Not today, you're not."

The words hit harder than a slap. I actually stepped back.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall. Kael's driver, Marcus, filled the doorway. He looked at me in my ruined dress, and he had the decency to look ashamed.

"Ms. Castell," he said quietly. "Please."

"Don't touch me."

"Take her downstairs," Kael said. "Put her in a car. Make sure she gets home."

Marcus took my arm. Not rough. Firm enough that I knew he'd been told not to let go.

I turned in the doorway. Kael was smoothing Serena's hair back from her forehead. He didn't watch me leave.

But Serena did.

Over his shoulder, her tears had already dried. Her eyes met mine, perfectly calm. She lifted her left hand, turned it so the sapphire caught the fluorescent light, and mouthed three words.

*He chose me.*

The monitor beside her beeped slow and steady.

Not a single skipped beat.

Two pink lines.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at them until they blurred.

"Evie?" Priya's voice came through the door. "You've been in there eleven minutes. I'm counting."

"It's positive."

Silence. Then the door flew open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"Positive *positive*?"

I held up the stick. She grabbed it, squinted, and sat down on the bathmat in her pajamas like her legs had quit.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. What are you going to do?"

"Tell him."

"Evie. He called *security* on you."

"Six days ago. He's apologized since." I pressed my palm flat against my stomach. Nothing there yet. Just me. "He sent flowers. He said he wants to reschedule. He said once Serena's stable, everything goes back to normal."

"And you believe that?"

"I believe this changes things." I stood up. "He always said he wanted a family. A real one. Not like his mother."

Priya looked at me the way you look at someone walking onto thin ice in high heels.

"Then call me the second you're done," she said. "The *second*."

---

I bought a tiny pair of white baby socks on the way to the penthouse. I put them in a gift box and tied the ribbon twice because my fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

I rehearsed it in the elevator. *Kael, sit down. I have something for you.*

The doors opened.

Kael was in the foyer. So was a wheelchair. And in it, wrapped in a cream cashmere blanket I'd never seen before, sat Serena Hale.

The box slid in my hand.

"Evelyn." Kael didn't even sound surprised. "Good. You're here."

"What is she doing in your home?"

"*Our* home," Serena corrected softly, then pressed her fingers to her mouth. "Sorry. I mean yours. Both of yours. I'm still a little foggy from the meds."

I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on him.

"Kael. Answer me."

"She was discharged this morning." He pushed the wheelchair toward the guest suite like he was rolling in luggage. "She can't stay in a hotel alone. Her cardiologist wants someone with her around the clock for at least two weeks."

"Then hire a nurse."

"Strangers make her anxious. Anxiety spikes her heart rate." He parked the chair by the window and tucked the blanket around her knees. "You saw what happened at the hospital."

"I saw a lot of things at the hospital."

His jaw ticked. "Don't start."

"She's not staying here."

"She is."

"Kael, I *live* here. We're supposed to be getting married—"

"And we will." He turned around fully now, and his voice went low and patient, the voice he used on junior executives who'd made expensive mistakes. "Evelyn. She has no family. No one. She almost died a week ago. I'm asking you for two weeks of basic human decency. Is that really too much?"

"You're not asking. You already decided."

"Because I knew you'd react like this." He sighed. "Be sensible for once. Be the woman I thought you were."

The ribbon on the gift box had come loose. I hadn't noticed I was twisting it.

"What's that?" he asked.

I shoved it behind my back. "Nothing."

He didn't push. He didn't care enough to push. He checked his watch instead.

"I have a board meeting in Stamford. I'll be back late, maybe tomorrow." He grabbed his coat off the hook. "Her pills are on the counter. Labeled by time. She needs soft food, nothing salty. Make sure she rests."

I laughed. Short. Ugly.

"You want *me* to take care of her."

"You're home all day anyway."

"I work, Kael."

"You arrange flowers." He leaned in and kissed my cheek. Quick. Dry. Like stamping a document. "Thank you. I mean it."

The elevator doors closed on him.

And behind me, Serena giggled.

---

I turned around slowly.

She had already kicked off the cashmere blanket. She stood up out of the wheelchair, stretched her arms over her head, and rolled her neck like a cat waking up from a nap.

"God, that thing is uncomfortable," she said. "Do you know how hard it is to look tragic for six straight hours?"

"You can walk."

"I can do a lot of things." She strolled to the sofa and dropped onto it. "Be a sweetheart and grab my bag? The pink one, by the door."

I didn't move.

She smiled wider. "Fine. I'll get it."

She fetched it herself and set it on the coffee table like a trophy. Hermès. Rose Sakura. The kind of bag with a two-year waitlist.

"Kael bought it for me this morning. As a 'welcome home' present." She stroked the leather. "He said pink suits my complexion. What did he get you when you moved in? Oh, wait. Let me guess. Nothing?"

He'd gotten me a toothbrush holder. I'd thought it was romantic.

"And this." She tugged down the collar of her sweater. A diamond necklace lay against her collarbone, three rows, catching the light every time she breathed. "Cartier. He picked it himself. Said it matched the ring."

My grandmother's sapphire was still on her finger.

"Give me back the ring, Serena."

"Hmm." She held her hand up and admired it. "No."

"It's not yours."

"Neither is he. Yet." She tilted her head. "Now. I'm thirsty. Warm water. Not hot, not cold. *Warm.*"

"Get it yourself. You're clearly fine."

She pulled out her phone and held it up, thumb hovering.

"Kael's still in the car. I could call him right now. Tell him you screamed at me. Tell him my chest feels tight." She pouted. "He'd turn that car right around. And who do you think he'd blame?"

My hands curled into fists.

"Warm water," she repeated sweetly.

I went to the kitchen. I filled a glass. I brought it back.

She took one sip and spat it onto the rug.

"Too hot. Are you *trying* to burn me?" She held it out. "Again."

I brought another.

"Too cold. My cardiologist said cold liquids shock the system." She poured it into the potted fern. "Again."

The third glass, she drank half and handed back without a word. Then she pointed at her feet.

"My slippers are in my suitcase. Bottom zipper. And the suitcase needs unpacking. Hang the silk things, fold the rest. Don't wrinkle anything."

"I'm not your maid."

"No." She lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes. "You're something much more useful. You're the girl who gets to stay here, in his home, as long as you keep me happy."

"And if I don't?"

Her eyes opened.

"Then I make one phone call, Evelyn, and you're out on the sidewalk with your little flower shop and your little secrets." Her gaze dropped to my hand. To the box I was still holding behind my back. "Speaking of secrets. What's in the box?"

I held it tighter.

"Nothing."

"Liar." She sat up, and for the first time her voice lost its sugar. "You came in here looking like a girl on Christmas morning. You were going to tell him something."

She stood and crossed the room in three easy steps. No wheelchair. No shaking. No failing heart.

Then she reached for the box.

"Let me guess," she whispered. "Is it something small?"