Chapter 2
Ryan stepped forward politely.
“You must be the bride.”
“And you must be the secret husband.”
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
The silence answered for us.
Sophia’s smile disappeared.
“You’re not married.”
“No,” I admitted.
Ryan added, “That was my fault.”
Sophia blinked.
“What exactly is happening?”
“I would also like to know,” I said.
Ryan glanced toward the ballroom.
“This may not be the best place.”
“It is my wedding,” Sophia replied. “Every place is currently my place.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Sophia took my hand.
“Are you okay?”
The question broke through every layer I had built around myself.
I nodded too quickly.
Her eyes softened.
“You’re lying.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your night.”
“You sitting alone and miserable would ruin my night.”
“I wasn’t miserable.”
“You ignored three messages and spent dinner folding your napkin into smaller and smaller squares.”
I looked down.
She knew me too well.
Sophia turned to Ryan.
“Why did you tell Vanessa you were Ellie’s husband?”
“Because Vanessa was being unkind.”
“That sounds like Vanessa.”
“Sophia,” I said.
“What? I’m wearing white. I’m allowed one honest sentence.”
Ryan’s mouth twitched.
Sophia noticed.
“Don’t encourage me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She looked him over.
“You really are Ryan Blackwood.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And you really don’t know Ellie?”
Ryan’s gaze moved to me.
“I know who she is.”
Sophia’s playful expression faded.
I felt the cold more sharply.
“How?” I asked.
Ryan looked past us toward the ballroom.
“Not here.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because this is your cousin’s wedding, and what I need to tell you is not something I want overheard.”
Sophia’s grip tightened around my hand.
“Is Ellie in trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you?”
Ryan considered the question.
“Possibly.”
A burst of applause came from inside.
Sophia turned.
Her new husband, Lucas, stood near the dance floor searching for her.
“That’s the cake,” she said. “I have to go before my mother cuts it without me.”
She pointed one finger at Ryan.
“Do not disappear.”
Then she looked at me.
“And you are dancing tonight.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You do now.”
She hurried inside.
Ryan watched her go.
“She loves you.”
“She’s always been more like a sister.”
“You’re lucky.”
The way he said it made me look at him.
For the first time, I saw loneliness in his face.
Not the obvious kind.
The practiced kind.
The kind that had learned how to stand quietly in crowded rooms.
“You didn’t come here for the wedding, did you?” I asked.
He met my eyes.
“No.”
The answer landed between us.
“Then why are you here?”
“To speak with Charles Prescott.”
“The groom’s father?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“A company he acquired six months ago.”
I waited.
Ryan seemed to be choosing each word carefully.
“The company was called Northstar Media.”
My breath caught.
I knew the name.
Not because of business news.
Because Daniel had talked about it constantly during the final year of our relationship.
Northstar was the entertainment startup he had dreamed of joining. He called it his real future, the place where ambitious people built careers instead of waiting for them.
“He works there,” I said.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
Ryan’s expression confirmed what he had tried not to reveal.
“You knew that.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“His name appeared in a report.”
“What kind of report?”
Ryan glanced toward the terrace doors.
“Come inside. You’re cold.”
“I’m not moving until you answer me.”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“Northstar was purchased by a Prescott investment group. Blackwood Technologies was considering a partnership with them.”
“What does that have to do with Daniel?”
“We audited parts of the company before signing anything.”
“Audit?”
“Contracts. Intellectual property. Financial records.”
My unfinished novel suddenly came to mind.
I dismissed the thought immediately.
It made no sense.
Ryan continued.
“One file contained a proposed project under Daniel Harper’s name.”
I held his gaze.
“What project?”
“An episodic drama called The Last Honest Summer.”
The world went quiet.
The title belonged to me.
It had been written across the top of my notebook for almost four years.
A story about two sisters growing up above a failing seaside motel.
A story Daniel had read in pieces while sitting at our kitchen table.
A story no one else had seen.
I stepped backward.
Ryan reached out, then stopped himself before touching me.
“That’s mine,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“How?”
“The original document contains your name in the metadata.”
I stared at him.
“That could be anything.”
“It includes forty-three pages written under the username EllieWrites87.”
My heart began to pound.
That was my old username.
I had used it on every draft before switching laptops.
“Daniel said he deleted those files.”
Ryan said nothing.
The silence answered.
I pressed one hand against the cold stone railing.
“He took my story?”
“It appears he submitted it as his own.”
“No.”
The word came automatically.
Not because I believed Daniel incapable of hurting me.
Because believing this would require rearranging years of memories.
Every night he had encouraged me to read him another chapter.
Every time he told me the plot was too quiet.
Every time he suggested I stop wasting energy on fiction and focus on something practical.
He had called my novel a hobby.
Then he had taken it to Los Angeles.
Ryan stepped closer.
“You should sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I am tired of people telling me that.”
He stopped.
“You’re right.”
I looked through the glass doors.
Inside, Sophia and Lucas were cutting their wedding cake. Everyone applauded as they fed each other small pieces, laughing when frosting touched Lucas’s nose.
The happiness of the room felt very far away.
“How much did he submit?” I asked.
“The full manuscript.”
My stomach twisted.
“I never finished it.”
“The final third was written by someone else.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why were you reading it?”
“It was part of the intellectual property package Northstar claimed to own.”
“Did you like it?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Ryan blinked.
Then something warm entered his expression.
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
He did not say it to flatter me.
That made it worse.
“I read hundreds of pages every week,” he continued. “Reports. Proposals. Contracts. Most of it disappears the moment I close the file.”
“And mine?”
“I remembered yours.”
I looked away.
No one had ever said that to me.
Not even Daniel.
Especially not Daniel.
“Why didn’t your lawyers contact me?”
“They intended to.”
“Intended?”
“I asked them to wait.”
My head snapped toward him.
“You stopped them?”
“For forty-eight hours.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles Prescott is here tonight, and Daniel’s sister is part of the bride’s extended family. I needed to understand whether the submission was a misunderstanding before a formal claim damaged people who may have had nothing to do with it.”
I stared at him.
“That’s why you came.”
“Yes.”
“And then you saw me.”
“Yes.”
“At table nineteen.”
“Yes.”
“Being insulted by Vanessa.”
His mouth tightened.
“Yes.”
I pulled his jacket from my shoulders and held it out.
“You should have told me immediately.”
“I know.”
“You used me.”
“No.”
“You needed information about Daniel, and suddenly you became my husband.”
“That was not calculated.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I saw you trying not to cry while someone deliberately reminded you that the man who left you had found a more impressive life. I reacted.”
“You don’t react.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“You’ve known me for approximately twelve minutes.”
“Everyone knows your reputation.”
“My reputation is mostly written by people who have never had dinner with me.”
May you like
“Have you had dinner with many people?”
“Not recently.”
