The Wedding We Survived

Elena smoothed a stray hair behind her ear, catching her reflection in the ballroom mirror. Thirty-four years old and still terrified of open bar weddings. Somewhere between the hors d'oeuvres and the third round of toasts, people stopped being colleagues and started being weapons.

"You look nice," Marcus said, appearing beside her like he'd been summoned by her misery. He'd taken off his hat—those ridiculous fedoras he affected like armor against the world—and his hair looked suspiciously perfect for someone who'd been drinking since noon.

"Marcus. I didn't know you were coming."

"Wild horses." He gestured toward the dance floor where their boss was currently attempting to two-step with someone's grandmother. "Greg is in rare form tonight. Full bull in a china shop routine."

She'd slept with Marcus once, three years ago, after the merger announcement layoffs. It had been comfort wrapped in lust wrapped in grief, and they'd never spoken of it again. Until now, apparently, when tequila had loosened everyone's tongue except hers.

"Your ex is here," Marcus added, like it was casual conversation starter and not a structural threat to her evening.

Elena's stomach dropped. James had brought his new fiancée. They were probably holding hands somewhere, being young and optimistic, their futures stretching out like something they deserved.

"I need air."

She pushed through the crowd, past Greg still terrifying the elderly, past the dog table where someone's service animal was eating better than half the guests. Outside, lightning cracked the sky open, sudden and violent. The first drops hit her bare arms like cold coins.

"Elena." Marcus followed her out. "Wait."

"Why?" She turned on him. "So we can pretend we didn't spend six months avoiding each other's eyes in every meeting? So you can tell me I look nice and we can both pretend not to remember how you sounded when you—"

"I was going to say," he cut in, "that I still have your scarf from that night. The blue one."

The rain came harder. They stood there like idiots, getting soaked while their boss terrorized grandmothers inside and James built a future with someone else.

"Why bring it now?"

Marcus laughed, a soft broken sound. "Because I'm tired of pretending. And because Greg cornered me earlier and spent twenty minutes telling me what a mistake I made, letting you walk away, and I was drunk enough to listen."

Lightning flashed again, illuminating his face—serious now, like she'd never seen him. "I don't want your scarf back, Marcus."

"I know." He stepped closer. "I'm offering to give you everything else too."