Two days before our wedding, I stood barefoot in the catering kitchen of a beautiful North Carolina estate, still wearing the white dress from our rehearsal dinner, and heard the man I was supposed to marry explain why he had chosen me.
Two days before our wedding, I stood barefoot in the catering kitchen of a beautiful North Carolina estate, still in my white rehearsal dinner dress, listening to my fiancé explain why he’d chosen me.
Not because he loved me.
Not because four years together had convinced him I was the one.
Because I was thirty-seven.
Because Ryan Caldwell believed women my age knew when their options were disappearing.
“She’s safe,” he told his best man.
Then he laughed.
“She’s not going anywhere, Eric. Claire knows what dating looks like at her age.”
I gripped a champagne bottle.
For several seconds, my fingers seemed useless.
The kitchen door stood open three inches. Beyond the service hall, Ryan and Eric drank bourbon in a small library while staff cleared the rehearsal dinner dishes.
Neither knew I was listening.
Eric muttered something I couldn’t hear.
Ryan replied more clearly.
“Natalie is exciting. Claire
