Chapter Two

Hazel's POV

I went back to the bridal suite, yanked loose the laces on the back of my gown, and changed into my own sweater and jeans.

The second I had them on, I felt like I could finally breathe again.

I'd only gotten my suitcase halfway open when the door swung in. Graham walked in first, with Sloane right behind him holding his suit jacket and his iced coffee.

He was scrolling on his phone and didn't even bother saying hi. "I emailed you today's post-mortem. You were two seconds late on the vows, half a step off your mark during the ring exchange, and you left five minutes early. That's three."

"A month of practice for each one, so we'll try again in three months. I already wrote up an improvement plan. Forty minutes of walking your marks to the metronome every night, extra vow practice on weekends. Next time, don't make everybody do it all over again because of you."

This was Graham's standard procedure. After every wedding, he wrote me a post-mortem like he was reviewing a project. He listed every mistake I made, and each one pushed the wedding back another month.

I printed out the very first one and stuck it on the fridge, with every item highlighted. By the tenth, I could tell you with my eyes closed exactly what he'd pick apart.

Now there were eighteen of them sitting in my inbox.

One after another, they covered seven whole years.

Seven years hadn't gotten me a wedding. Three more months wouldn't change a thing.

I was done betting my future on his next post-mortem.

I didn't say anything, so he took that as a yes.

Sloane, on the other hand, leaned in, fascinated. "A post-mortem? He's never written me anything like that."

"He just keeps track of my perfect moments."

I froze mid-fold. "How many?"

"Six hundred-something, I think? He says I'm the only person he's ever met who never messes up." She held her phone out to me. "Don't believe me? Look."

It was a private account, full of photos of her and Graham, every one of them numbered in the caption.

Perfect Moment #207: Snagged a table at a fully booked restaurant with ten minutes to spare.

Perfect Moment #341: Wrapped the product launch at exactly nineteen minutes, fifty-nine seconds.

Perfect Moment #418: Birthday cake at the door at midnight on the dot.

Perfect Moment #590: Rode home in the passenger seat during a downpour without getting a single hair wet.

On his birthday that year, I'd waited outside his building with a cake for midnight too. Traffic was bad, and I got there four minutes late. When he opened the door, Sloane was already inside with a cake in her hands.

The newest post had gone up three minutes ago. Perfect Moment #612: Cleaned up after Hazel's wedding mess.

I'd never seen the account before, but the profile picture was way too familiar. It was the sign outside the coffee shop where we had our first date, and I was the one who took that photo.

I'd always followed Graham's account. In three years, he'd posted exactly three company announcements. I'd even defended him, saying he made a separate account to add Sloane because he didn't want to mix work and his personal life. I thought it meant he knew where to draw the line.

Now I saw it for what it was. The account I'd thought was the real one was just an empty shell he used to humor me.

I stared at those numbers. My throat closed up, and my eyes burned so badly I didn't dare look up.

Six hundred and twelve perfect moments. Eighteen post-mortems full of my mistakes.

Seven years of giving it everything I had, and all I had to show for it was a pile of emails listing everything I'd done wrong.

Sloane must have noticed the mood shift, because she swatted Graham's arm. "That's so mean. Hazel's your fiancée. You haven't logged a single perfect moment for her?"

They started bickering about it. Graham told her she was being nosy, but his eyes were smiling, and he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

I looked down and opened my messages with Ms. Harrington.

"Is that position in Zurich you mentioned still open?"

She answered almost right away. "Of course it is. I've wanted to steal you ever since you planned my daughter's wedding. I'm flying back to Zurich the morning after tomorrow. Want to come with me? I'll have my assistant book your ticket too."

I looked up and met Graham's eyes. My heart gave a strange little jolt.

But he just frowned, impatient. "Fine, I'll drop the one about leaving early. Wouldn't want anyone saying all I do is pick on you."

"But get a different dress next time. You've worn that one to over a dozen of these. It's starting to look dingy in the photos. You should've thrown it out a long time ago."

His eyes swept over the bit of white tulle sticking out of my suitcase.

My grip on my phone tightened, and I texted back, "See you then."

I'd gone to four bridal shops before I found that dress. I yanked it out of the suitcase and shoved it into the trash can in the corner, along with the earrings, gloves, and heels he'd picked out for me.

"You're right. It should go."

Graham stared at the trash can. His brow twitched like he wanted to say something.

A reminder suddenly popped up on the screen on the wall. Three minutes until the cake cutting.

I spoke before he could. "Go cut the cake. Any later and you'll miss your cue."

Sloane looked up at him hopefully. He hesitated for only a second before following her out. On her way out the door, she even winked at me. "Don't worry. I'll show you how it's done again next time."

He paused in the doorway and looked back. "Good call. I'll drop the one about your mark too. That leaves one. Just practice for a month."

"You've got this. Next time for sure."

I went back to folding clothes into my suitcase. I felt weirdly calm.

What he didn't know was that there wasn't going to be a next time.

That little bit of ground he'd finally given up, seven years too late? I didn't want it anymore.