The crystal champagne flute trembled in my hand as I stood alone at the bar of the San Jose country club, watching my cousin Clare’s engagement party unfold like a glossy magazine spread. Perfect lighting. Perfect flowers.
Perfect family smiles that never quite reached their eyes when they landed on me. I checked my phone again. No messages from Logan.
The sleek designer watch he had given me for Christmas showed 7:45 p.m. in Zurich. He should have been done with his consulting meeting by then.
“Julia, darling.”
My mother’s voice carried that particular lilt she reserved for public performances. She was steering an older couple toward me, her pearl necklace catching the light. “This is the Andersons,” she said.
“They’re new members.”
Then she gave them her practiced smile. “This is Julia. She’s between relationships right now.”
I bit back the correction.
Two years engaged to Logan, and she still pretended he didn’t exist. The Andersons murmured polite greetings and mercifully moved on, champagne glasses in hand. My phone buzzed.
Finally. But it was only my team in Dubai confirming tomorrow’s client presentation. I needed somewhere quiet.
I needed to call Logan, to hear his voice ground me in reality before I floated away on a sea of family fiction. The hallway leading to the ladies’ room offered blessed silence after the tinkling laughter and clinking glasses of the main room. My heels clicked against the marble as I dialed Logan’s number.
Then I heard it. Laughter floating from around the corner. My mother’s voice and Aunt Patricia’s, sharing that particular cadence of gleeful mockery I remembered from childhood.
“Two years engaged to a man no one’s ever met,” my mother said, her words slightly loose from champagne. “Who does that?”
Aunt Patricia’s answering laugh sounded like breaking glass. “Aviation consultant,” she said.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
