Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Fate appears to be conspiring against me.
In all our years of early mornings and late nights, James and I have never struggled to find time to talk. But now, it’s as though the universe has decided we can’t be trusted alone together.
Every time I find him, someone is there. We’re never given a moment.
Waking up early for a run? Ivy’s already lacing up her shoes, smiling brightly as she insists on joining.
Staying up late, hoping for a chance encounter in the sunroom?
She’s there too, with fingers looped tightly through his arm, her face placid as she follows him into the room with a new book—Dune, of all things.
I just need five minutes. Even a text feels impossible under Ivy’s constant surveillance, especially considering Mason’s vindictive tendencies if he were to discover something in writing when I finally ask for our separation.
Every time James meets my eyes across the crowded room—beyond the chaotic swirl of family, beyond Ivy’s grip, beyond final wedding preparations—his gaze holds a single, unmistakable question.
The same one he’s been asking for years: Choose me.
He’s still here, mechanically going through the motions of a wedding we both know is wrong and waiting for the one word that will end this whole charade: yes.
But it’s the night before the wedding, and I’m out of fucking time.
There’s no rehearsal dinner. No rehearsal. I don’t know how that happened, but maybe Ivy realized making him look at the altar twice wasn’t wise.
After our family dinner, I pull Jules aside.
“Can Anna sleep over with you tonight?” My voice is frantic, my hands twisting into each other, unable to stop fidgeting.
Her eyes go wide. She knows exactly what I’m about to do.
“Fuck yes!” She pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’ve got Anna and your cover. Go do the damn thing.”
A line from our favorite Bachelorette and the final push I need to do the most reckless, and possibly bravest, thing of my life.
Ivy commands the dining room table, issuing final orders before the big day. With James tucked away at the hotel, she’s fully absorbed in last-minute preparations, confident he’s safely out of my reach. All eyes are on her. No one notices me slip away toward the basement.
My running gear waits where I left it a few hours ago, when my plan took form. Near the exit. My personal escape route. I strip off my jeans and sweater, pulling on my winter running gear with clumsy fingers. My zipper sticks, betraying the calm I’m pretending to feel.
I have my phone. My keys. And one plan: find James.
The resort isn’t far. Just a few miles of road to where James, his mom, and Darrell moved earlier today. The distance slips away, my mind cycling through everything I need to tell him. Every truth I’m finally ready to ask for and give in return.
Words I’ve buried for years rise demanding to be spoken.
As the lodge comes into view at the base of the ski resort, a glowing beacon in the dark, I push myself even harder.
I break into a sprint, breath ragged, heart hammering.
The lobby glows with holiday warmth. Twinkling strands of light hug the thick wooden rafters, shiny red and green ribbons hang from wreaths.
Guests move past, going about their evenings, even as something monumental—years in the making—is about to happen.
But I only see one person: the dark-haired man, at the bar, staring into a crystal tumbler of amber liquid.
His hair is disheveled. Dark circles shadow his eyes. Nothing about him is relaxed.
He looks up and sees me. A lifetime of emotion compresses into a single, searing glance. Desperation. Pleading. Love. His expression shifts from wrecked to hopeful in a heartbeat.
“You’re here?” His eyes sweep over me, drinking me in. “Did you run here?”
I lift his glass from the bar, holding his gaze as I bring it to my lips. He watches my mouth close over the rim. The whiskey burns going down, but my lips quirk in a playful smirk.
“Well, I figured I could use the miles and, you know... happened to end up here.”
“Sydney...” His voice is a choked whisper. “I don’t know if I can take a joke right now. Why are you here?”
I set the glass down, pull off my mittens, and trace the line of his jaw. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
He doesn’t hesitate. Tossing a stack of bills on the counter, he takes my hand and leads me to the elevators.
He doesn’t let go—not as we walk, not while we wait, shoulder to shoulder with other couples.
He’s still holding on when we reach his room, when he opens the door, when he guides me to the small couch.
James closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Before I have a heart attack, can you please say it?” His voice is deeper than usual, rougher. “Tell me what this means.”
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here.”
“What does that mean? I need you to be very specific.” He drops to his knees, bringing himself to my eye level.
“James…” I whisper. “I’m here for you. For me. I don’t want you to marry her.”
With an exhale that sounds like relief, James pulls my hat off and cups my face with shaking hands.
“Say it again.”
“Please, choose me.”
His breath is soft against my hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against mine as he draws me closer. “Sydney, I’ve been yours for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to get here.”
I close my eyes, soaking in the rise and fall of his chest, the scent of his skin, the sheer rightness of being here. His fingers slide up my back, into my hair, before moving back down, as he tucks his face into the crook of my neck. Our bodies settle into perfect understanding.
Soft laughter in the hallway, the distant ding of the elevator—the reality of our tangled lives. It all gradually filters back in. The clock on the wall reminds me that hours from now, he’s supposed to marry someone else.
“James, I promise that I’m here. I won’t run or push you away. I want you. I want everything with you. But we have to do this right. I have Anna to think about.” I press back from his chest, fidgeting with the seam of my jacket.
“I know that. I do. But, Christ, Sydney. What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to let me do this the right way. For Anna. For us. I need to end things with Mason amicably, and you need to untangle yourself from Ivy in a way that doesn’t leave scorched earth behind.”
His laugh cuts through the room, sharp and bitter, as he drags a hand over his face. “I think that ship has sailed. God, it’s the night before the wedding.”
“Let’s not add fuel to the fire. We owe it to ourselves to do this right.
No secrets. No sneaking around.” My voice steadies as I continue.
“I need time to stand on my own feet. To step away from Mason. To leave my job. I don’t want to be a corporate lawyer anymore.
I want to help women—every day, all day—with your mom.
” I draw in a shaky breath. “And I need to know I can do this myself. I don’t want any more shields or life rafts. ”
“You’re really here this time?” His fingers thread through mine again.
“I am.”
“So I’m supposed to call off the wedding and let you walk away? Go back to D.C. with your husband, and wait for you to decide when you’re ready?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
He pulls me closer until we’re inches apart. I’m perched on the edge of the couch, and he’s still kneeling between my legs.
“I’m so fucking tired.” He scans my face, searching for anything that might make this easier. But there’s nothing easy about it. Tenderly, he brushes his fingers against my cheek, then picks up his phone. “I ordered you an Uber. Please, take it back to the cabin. I need to know you’re safe.”
He stands to walk away, but I can’t bear for it to end this way.
“James.”
I reach forward and pull him back to me. In that pause, his breath catches. I surge in and capture his lips in a kiss I hope tells him everything my words haven’t.
It isn’t rushed or desperate, or full of unchecked hunger. It’s everything we’ve said—the years of anguish, of love unspoken—pressed into a single, tender kiss. My fingers run through his hair, aching to grab hold, to pull him closer and never leave this room.
His hands land on my hips, gripping me firmly as if he’s on the same page.
But he wrenches his mouth from mine, leaving me breathless, shaking.
And for the first time, I don’t know what I’m seeing in his eyes as they search mine, what he’s trying to find.
Reassurance, maybe. Conviction. But whatever he sees, or doesn’t, he walks away.
And I’m left in the silence, unsure if I’ve set us both free… or lost him for good.