He Once Had 28 Chances to Marry Me
Fuzzy Melissa · Completed · 7.1k Words
Introduction
Over those three years, he has stood me up at City Hall exactly twenty-eight times.
One time, he stole my cab while I was burning up with a fever, leaving me shivering on the curb because his new, pampered protégée had a stomachache from drinking too much champagne.
Another time, he blew off our anniversary to rush to her side for a minor sprain.
Every single time we were supposed to finally make our marriage official, his precious junior skater somehow had a devastating emergency.
After twenty-eight broken promises, I finally stopped waiting. I dropped our partnership, shredded our application, and boarded a one-way flight to Milan.
But the moment I completely vanished from his life, the man who couldn't spare an hour to marry me suddenly lost his mind—chasing me across the globe to a city he swore he’d never return to, begging on his knees outside my door for a twenty-ninth chance.
Chapter 1
Three years had passed since Julian Reed and I stood before our friends and family at our wedding, yet we still hadn't made the trip to City Hall to sign the actual marriage certificate.
Tonight was the gala celebrating our fiftieth international medal in pairs skating. It was also the twenty-eighth time he had promised me that, the second the party ended, we would finally make it legal.
But right now, while a group of corporate sponsors cornered me with flutes of chilled champagne under the guise of "celebrating," Julian was in a dimly lit corner.
He was holding a plate of delicate red velvet cake, whispering and laughing with Lily—the rising star who had joined our training camp three years ago.
I was burning up with a fever. The old injury in my right ankle throbbed brutally against the constraints of my stilettos, and the freezing champagne sloshing in my empty stomach made a wave of nausea wash over me.
A few veteran coaches kept glancing my way, their eyes brimming with poorly concealed pity.
Anyone with eyes could see I was pushing through the fever and the pain, schmoozing frantically just to secure Julian’s top-tier sponsorships for the upcoming season.
Yet, when the gala wrapped up, the man who was supposed to head straight to City Hall with me ditched me. Again.
I dragged myself to the curb just as my Uber pulled up. The moment I reached for the handle, Julian’s hand shot out of nowhere and slammed the door shut.
"Lily had a couple of sips of champagne with the investors, and her stomach is really acting up," he said, his tone dripping with casual entitlement. "Let her take this car back to the hotel. You can call another one. Besides, City Hall is closed anyway. Let's do the paperwork some other time."
Without sparing a single glance at my deathly pale face, he pulled open the back door and gently guided a swaying Lily inside.
We had been skating partners for twelve years, dated for seven, and had been "married" for three. In those three years alone, he had pushed back making it official twenty-eight times. All because of Lily.
The old me would have snapped. I would have screamed, fought him, and demanded to know who his actual wife was. I would have reminded him who was the one burning up with a fever, playing the perfect PR puppet at dinner just to save his image.
But this time, I just offered a tired, hollow smile. "Okay. Drive safe."
Julian froze. He looked genuinely taken aback that I hadn't thrown a hysterical fit. But a beat later, that default, taking-me-for-granted attitude returned.
"I’ll make it up to you. I'll be home early tonight."
He shut the door. But right before he did, he took off his team jacket and wrapped it tightly around Lily's shoulders, terrified the car's AC might give her a chill.
He used to be a massive germaphobe. Every time I stepped out of an ice bath, shivering violently and asking to borrow his jacket, he would shoot me a cold stare and tell me to go run laps to warm up.
Looking back, it wasn’t about germs. He just didn't want to give it to me.
The midnight New York wind was biting, but the chill settling in my chest was colder.
I took a deep breath, pulled the crinkled marriage license application from my pocket, tore it to shreds, and dropped the pieces into a nearby trash can.
I knew then that it was time to let these seven years go.
Later that night, I went straight to our training center. I handed David, our head coach, the papers to formally dissolve our partnership, along with my resignation from the national team.
David stared at the documents on his desk, his face a mask of utter shock. "You're quitting the camp? Twelve years as the golden couple of the ice, and you're just throwing it away?"
He clearly thought this was absurd. To the rest of the world, we weren't just invincible aces; we were the textbook definition of a loving pair.
I met his gaze calmly. "Yes. I plan to switch to women's singles, or maybe just relocate entirely. Either way, I'm done skating with Julian."
David opened his mouth to argue, but his eyes dropped to my ankle, which was still trembling faintly. He swallowed his protests, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh.
"The two of you over the last decade... what an absolute shame."
It was a shame. But beneath the surface, hidden in the cracks that should have been repaired long ago, our so-called chemistry had already shattered beyond fixing.
With the paperwork filed, I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment. It was pitch black and eerily quiet.
I had barely dropped my purse when my phone screen lit up the darkness.
It was an Instagram story from Lily—a screenshot of VIP Ferris wheel tickets for tomorrow night. She tagged Julian, and of course, she deliberately tagged me, too.
The caption burned my retinas: [The absolute best team leader got me a welcome surprise! Can't wait! 🎡✨]
When Julian and I first started dating, I had excitedly begged him to take me on a Ferris wheel. Back then, he had just furrowed his brow in annoyance, telling me tourist traps were childish and a massive waste of an athlete's precious recovery time.
Turns out, he didn't hate the Ferris wheel; he just hated the idea of going with me. And the man who had promised to be home early tonight was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found.
I poured myself a glass of warm water and fired up my laptop.
Over the past few weeks, I had quietly received offers from several elite figure skating clubs.
The cursor hovered over the screen before resting solidly on an offer from an exclusive women's singles training camp in Milan.
Without a shred of hesitation, I clicked "Accept" and immediately booked a direct flight for the day after tomorrow.
Four years ago at the World Championships, Julian had a catastrophic fall on the ice in Milan, costing him the first World Gold of his career.
Ever since that day, not only did he avoid Italy like the plague, but he also aggressively shot down any opportunities I had for ice shows or overseas training there, claiming he didn't want the trauma brought back.
But now, I looked out into the empty room and whispered to the silence.
"If I go to Milan, Julian... our lives will truly never cross paths again."
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