ROMeANTICALLY CHALLENGED. Marina Adair

Clark, for the love of my grandmother’s dress. My grandmother’s dress.” Her voice cracked, and so did her heart.

      “Anh-Bon...” The sympathy in his voice was real. Sadly, so was the pity, damn him.

      “Five million dollars. Price just went up! And before you Anh-Bon me one more time, don’t forget you also owe me half of the cost of the cake, the three hundred and fifty invitations,” of which only fifty were hers, “and the deposit I put down to hold the venue.” Being the mature bride-to-be, she had insisted on covering. God forbid she appear incapable of being a full partner in their union. “Since I haven’t received anything from the Hartford Club, I’m guessing the check was mailed to you?”

      It was the only reason she could gather for why her bank account was still short ten grand. Ten grand she desperately needed.

      “You can forward me the check,” she continued. “I assume you know how to break into my contacts and find my new address?”

      “It’s not breaking in if the owner grants you access,” Clark teased. Annie didn’t laugh. “Come on, Annie, don’t be like that. I’ll Venmo your half of the cake cost now, and I’ll pay you back the deposit for the venue after the wedding.”

      “Pay me back?” Annie’s hold on the dress slipped, the silk sliding nearly past her waist before she caught it. “What is there to pay back? The planner specifically told me that if the venue was rebooked by another party, she’d send a refund. The venue was rebooked over a month ago. Where’s the refund, Clark?”

      “Molls and I met my parents there for lunch, and I remembered what a great location it was.” His tone was wistful. “Historical but with modern conveniences. Intimate but large enough to hold everyone. Classy but not too expensive.”

      Perfect but not for me. “Get to the refund.”

      “It checked off all our wedding wants and more. When Mom asked about availability, we were told they still had us booked for that weekend.”

      “Impossible. My mom told me she canceled it.” Her statement was met with silence. “She never canceled it, did she? That’s why my grandma’s dress was still at Bliss.”

      “She said she was hoping we’d work it out.” His words were followed by a long—that’s not happening—pause that caused her insides to heat with embarrassment. A reaction that often accompanied her mother’s matchmaking attempts. “I thought under the circumstances, it would be a shame to let such a beautiful venue go to waste.”

      That bad feeling had moved through her chest and worked its way up to twist around her throat. “What’s a shame is that I spent two years waiting for that perfect venue. Half my wedding budget to reserve that venue.” Her hand fisted in the silk at her waist, the pressure wrinkling the silk. “Clark, please tell me that you didn’t promise Molly-Leigh my venue.”

      “I didn’t know what to do. She took one look at the giant windows and said the light from the afternoon sun illuminated the hall as if it were lit by a thousand candles. What was I supposed to say?”

      “That you’ve been there, done that, dumped the bride, so that venue is off-limits.”

      “I tried, but she said after experiencing the magic of the Hartford Club, she couldn’t think of a better place to get married.”

      Frustration bubbled up in her throat and the anger expanded, sealing off her airway until breathing became impossible and she feared she might pass out. Reaching behind her, she popped the top two eyehooks of her corset to let her lungs expand far enough to take in air.

      It didn’t help so she popped a third.

      “Grab a pen and paper,” she instructed, fury vibrating through her words. “Because I can think of a thousand other places to get married. Ready? Great. Now jot this down. ‘Anyplace that isn’t where you were going to walk down the aisle with another woman.’ Or how about ‘Find a place that won’t hold my ex’s money hostage.’ That’s my rainy-day money, Clark,” she stressed. “I need it back.”

      “It’s supposed to be a dry summer, but I promise I’ll pay you back after the wedding. It will just be easier and less confusing that way.”

      “For who?” she asked.

      Clark was silent, his devastating disregard for her situation sobering. “It’s my grandparents’ wedding date.”

      “I know,” he said softly. “Which is the other reason I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I wanted to get your thoughts before we committed to anything.”

      “The dress isn’t up for discussion. Period.” Realtering it again would be daunting, maybe even impossible, but there was no way in hell her grandmother’s dress was going to be worn by any woman other than a Walsh.

      “Of course not,” he said, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his disappointment. “I was referring more to the day of the wedding.”

      Annie had worked with Clark for six years, lived with him for three of those, so she knew his moods and quirks. Knew by the long, soft pauses between words that renowned surgeon Dr. Clark Atwood wasn’t providing options. He was delivering a prognosis.

      Whatever hopes Annie had about the possible outcome of this conversation were beside the point. Clark had weighed the possible scenarios, come to his decision, and nothing was going to get in the way of his wedding. It was moving forward regardless.

      Any rational person would shout a resounding “Fuck off” to the universe, Clark, the inventor of carrot cake, and—she popped another eyehook—all of Victoria’s rib-crushing secrets. But anger wasn’t a luxury Annie had ever afforded herself.

      “Clark, it doesn’t matter what I think or even what I say. It’s your wedding, you’ve made up your mind, and I’m no longer the bride.”

      Her heart gave an unexpected and painful bump, followed by enough erratic beats to cause concern. Not with resentment or jealousy. Not even anger. She’d learned long ago that resenting other people’s happiness didn’t lead to her own.

      No, the familiar ache coiling its way around her bones and taking root was resignation. Resignation over losing someone who had never really been hers to lose.

      Too tired to hold on any longer, Annie released her grip on the silk and the dress slid to her hips, leaving her with only a matching corset set, heels, and an overwhelming sense of acceptance, followed by acute loneliness.

      “I know,” he said gently. “But you’re still my friend. When we broke up, we both promised to do whatever it took to keep our friendship. I don’t want to lose that.”

      “You convinced me you weren’t ready for marriage, and not even a month later you were Instagraming love sonnets about another woman.”

      “That was shitty timing on my part. I should have handled it better.” He released a breath, and she could almost picture him resting his forehead on the heel of his hand. “I don’t even know how to explain what happened. Meeting Molly-Leigh was unexpected and exciting, and I know it seems completely insane but . . . suddenly everything made sense, the pieces all fell into place, and I couldn’t wait another second to finally start my life.”

      Annie expelled a breath of disbelief, which sent Clark backpedaling.

      “God, Annie, I didn’t mean that how it came out. But when it’s the right one, when it’s your person, you know it. And there’s this urgency to grab on and hold tight. No matter what.”

      That’s exactly how Grandma Hannah had described meeting Cleve. A single spin around the dance hall and—bam—they were in love.

      “And when you said you loved me? Was that a lie?”

      “No. I meant every word I said, and I still do. But over time it became clear that we were better as friends. You and I both know that.”

      Yeah,