You had been married for less than an hour, and somehow, you already wanted to rip the wedding ring from your finger.
Two years.
You had dated Maxim Ravenel for two years before he finally proposed. You knew almost everything about him—or at least, you thought you did.
Which was exactly why his choices for the wedding had confused you so much.
Pink.
Pink flowers. Pink ribbons. Pink decorations. Pink accents on the cake. Even your bouquet had been filled with blush roses and delicate pink peonies.
Maxim hated pink.
Not mildly disliked it. Hated it with a burning passion.
You didn't particularly like pink either, but each time you suggested another color, Maxim had insisted.
"Trust me. It'll be perfect."
Then there had been the food.
Shrimp cakes.
Escargot.
Even bizarre fried insects served as a supposedly fancy delicacy.
Foods he wouldn't normally touch.
And then there were the little boxes of green matcha cookies given out as wedding favors.
Maxim hated matcha.
You had questioned him about practically everything, but he'd been oddly adamant about every detail.
Eventually, you'd stopped arguing.
It was his wedding too, after all.
Or so you'd thought.
The ceremony ended. The photographs were taken. Guests hugged you goodbye, and eventually you and Maxim climbed into the decorated wedding car.
You were tired, but happy.
You had just settled into the passenger seat when someone abruptly knocked against the window.
He immediately unlocked the door.
Your smile disappeared.
Margaux.
His ex-girlfriend.
She opened the passenger door and looked straight at you.
"Move to the back, would you?"
You stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
Margaux rolled her eyes.
"I said move. I get carsick in the back."
"No."
You let out an incredulous laugh.
"It's literally my wedding day. I'm sitting beside my husband."
You expected Maxim to agree.
Instead, his hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"You just move."
Your stomach dropped.
"Maxim—"
"Please don't start an argument. Just sit in the back."
Humiliated, you slowly climbed into the backseat.
Margaux immediately slid into the place you'd been sitting.
Your place.
He didn't say a word.
Then Margaux noticed a small decorative box sitting between the seats.
"For me?"
she squealed.
He nodded.
She opened it.
Her face lit up.
"Awww, baby!"
Your eyes narrowed.
Margaux pulled out several green cookies.
"You got me matcha cookies! You remembered how much I love these!"
Then she reached deeper into the box.
"And pink edible glitter!"
She giggled.
"You remembered! I always sprinkle this on them!"
Your chest tightened.
"Those are ours,"
you said softly.
She glanced over her shoulder.
"What?"
"Those are our wedding cookies."
Silence.
Then Margaux laughed.
Not awkwardly.
Knowingly.
"Oh, honey."
Something about those two words made your blood run cold.
She reached backward and pulled your bouquet straight off your lap.
"Hey!"
Margaux examined it with a pleased smile.
"Pink peonies and roses."
She looked toward Maxim.
"Exactly what I always wanted."
You froze.
She turned toward you again.
"You seriously haven't figured it out?"
Your heart began pounding.
"Figured out what?"
She gestured toward the wedding venue disappearing behind the car.
"The pink decorations? Me. The shrimp cakes? My favorite. Escargot? Love it. Matcha cookies? Obviously mine."
She lifted your bouquet.
"And this?"
Her smile widened.
"This is exactly how I described my dream bouquet to Maxim years ago."
Your face slowly lost its color.
Every confusing decision.
Every detail Maxim had insisted upon.
Every time you'd told yourself that it didn't matter because you loved him.
You looked down at your wedding dress.
Then at your ring.
Then at the woman sitting beside your husband.
Margaux casually hugged your bouquet against her chest.
"Honestly, the whole wedding was basically my dream wedding."
You looked at Maxim.
He hadn't defended you.
He hadn't corrected her.
He hadn't even looked surprised.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Maxim..."
His eyes met yours in the rearview mirror.
"Tell me she's lying."
His jaw tightened.
You leaned forward between the seats.
"The colors. The flowers. The food. The cookies..."
Your eyes burned.
"You planned our entire wedding around her?"
"Maxim—"
"No."
Your voice cracked.
"Don't you dare give me some excuse."
Margaux leaned comfortably against the passenger seat, still holding the bouquet that was supposed to belong to you.
You stared at Maxim.
"Was there anything today that you chose because I loved it?"
He went completely silent.
And somehow...
That silence was already starting to feel like an answer.