At our joint engagement party, my best friend and I both left with rings on our fingers. Sabrina Vale was marrying Luca Marino, the boy I’d loved for ten years. I was marrying Adrian Calloway, the man every society columnist in New York swore was obsessed with me. When it was my turn to make a toast, Sabrina brought up an old bet and grinned at the crowd. “Let’s see whether our princess already has her fiancé on a leash.” The guests started chanting for Adrian to smear engagement cake across my face. His hand stalled. For one stupid second, I thought he’d put the plate down and stand beside me like he always promised he would. Then Luca asked if Adrian was whipped before the wedding had even started. Adrian’s jaw tightened. He pressed the cake into my face himself. While the room howled, Luca told me Adrian had only approached me because the three of them had made a bet. Sabrina slipped an arm through mine as if we were still best friends. “No one betrayed you, Elena. You’re making a big deal out of a joke again.” Adrian stood in front of me, absolutely certain I’d forgive him. “The wedding’s still on. What more proof do you need?” They waited for me to cry, demand answers, and give them another chance to explain my own feelings to me. Instead, I wiped the frosting from my eyes and sent one message to my mother in Milan. [Mamma, tell the family I’m ready to come home.]
