Last time. When Ash had been madly in love with his bride-to-be, and they’d had the perfect wedding and the perfect life.
She shouldn’t listen in, she knew that. But she couldn’t help herself. And as she heard Ash list the reasons he wanted to go through with the wedding...she couldn’t stop herself hoping for words she knew she wouldn’t hear.
Because I’m in love with her, Dad.
Of course, they never came.
Because he wasn’t in love with her. And he never would be. And she had to come to terms with that.
‘She makes me happy too. I never thought I’d find that again.’
She made him happy. That was something, wasn’t it?
After Grace.
Grace. Grace, who she loved and missed and wished she could see just once more every single day.
Grace, who held Zoey’s fiancé’s heart and would never give it back.
And so Ash was trying to recreate the future he’d lost, casting Zoey as Grace.
‘I can’t play that part,’ she whispered to herself, realisation washing over her.
She’d known what he’d wanted—the life he’d had torn away from him. She just hadn’t realised that she couldn’t give it to him.
She couldn’t be Grace for him—that wasn’t who she was. And she definitely couldn’t live knowing he was spending every day comparing her to the wife he’d lost.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t marry Ash.
Oh, God, she was running out on another wedding.
She turned to leave, only to find Mrs Carmichael rushing up the steps behind her.
‘Zoey! Perfect timing. I’ve brought you these.’ She held out a large bunch of yellow roses and Zoey tried not to recoil from the offering.
Not yellow. Yellow is for friendship. She heard Grace’s voice in her head as she remembered helping her choose wedding flowers for Ash’s last wedding.
‘That’s so kind. Um, could you just hold onto them for me? While I pop to the bathroom? Last-minute make-up check, you know...’ She forced a smile, which Ash’s mother returned.
‘Of course. I’ll wait here for you.’
‘Lovely,’ Zoey said weakly. No chance of escaping back out of the front door now, then.
Zoey hurried down the opposite corridor to where she knew Ash would be waiting, hoping there was a bathroom down there somewhere. Preferably one with a window that opened out onto the street.
* * *
‘Ash?’
‘Mum! There you are. We were supposed to start ten minutes ago,’ Ash said as his mother bustled in carrying a bunch of yellow roses.
‘Not that the bride’s here yet,’ his father put in.
‘Yes, she is,’ Julia Carmichael said. ‘That’s what I came to tell you. I saw her ten minutes ago as she came in, and she asked me to hold these for her while she popped to the bathroom. But she never came out!’
Ash’s heart began a slow descent into his stomach. She wouldn’t. Would she?
‘I’d go and check on her but, really, I thought it might be better for you to do it, Ash?’ his mum went on, looking concerned.
‘Definitely better for me to do it,’ he agreed. ‘Wait here. Don’t let them cancel or do anything until I get back. Okay?’
His parents nodded, and Ash stalked off towards the nearest ladies’ bathroom.
He almost wasn’t surprised to see a pair of hot pink high heels discarded by the door. Or the window above the sink pushed as far open as it would go.
Or even the bride, trying to climb out of it.
‘Isn’t this where we started?’ he asked, keeping a tight hold of his temper. ‘With you trying to escape through a window?’
Of course she was running. She was Zoey Hepburn. It was what she did.
Zoey jerked her head around, bashing it on the window frame as she did so. She winced, but didn’t cry out. ‘Ash...’
‘No, don’t even start,’ he snapped as she climbed down from the counter. ‘I know how this song goes—I’ve heard you sing it enough for others in the past, haven’t I? It’s not me; it’s you. As if I didn’t already know that.’
‘Hey,’ Zoey said sharply. ‘Will you give me a chance to explain?’