Page 7 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Lara

I pace the apartment, arms wrapped tight around myself, like I’m the only thing holding me together. My phone pings nonstop, calls, messages from catering, the planner, the DJ. I should respond. I should do something.

But I can’t.

Each ping feels like a slap. Each message drags me deeper into this nightmare. I drop the phone; it bounces off the couch. I don’t care.

I sink to the floor. The cold hardwood presses into my skin, grounding me in the wreckage. The weight of everything I thought I had crushes me. I wanted the wedding, the dress, the fairy tale, the “happily ever after.” Now? I can’t even show up to my own.

The phone buzzes again. Connor. The DJ. Another message from the planner, polite reminders to pay or reschedule. Each word lands like a punch, but none cut deeper than the silence around me.

I glance at the screen. My thumb hovers over the notifications. Disgust twists in my stomach. I used to dream of helping women budget for life events. Now I’m the one left at the altar, buried in debt.

Gideon.

His name flashes across the screen, followed by a photo, him and Delilah. Faces too close. Her hand on his chest sears through me. I can’t look away, though I don’t want to see it.

Why is he doing this? Why is he letting her play him?

A sob ris es, but I swallow it. My chest tightens. The ache in my stomach flares, fire licking under my skin.

I squeeze my eyes shut, palms pressed to my face. Blocking it out only makes it worse.

Am I stupid? Just a placeholder? Was Delilah right?

My fingers hover over the phone. The urge to text him, to demand answers, nearly suffocates me. My pulse throbs in my fingertips, begging me to reach out.

But I won’t.

I fucking won’t.

The phone slips between the couch cushions as my hand drops to my side. He won’t see how much this hurts. He won’t see how much I still want him, even now.

I want to scream, but nothing comes, just shallow breaths that barely fill my lungs.

I reach for the phone again and scroll to his profile. He’s laughing with her—that easy, carefree joy cuts deep. I’m not angry at Delilah; I know exactly what she’s doing.

But he’s letting her.

I should text him. Scream at him. Ask why he’s allowing this.

But I don’t. My fingers freeze. No words come. I press the phone to my forehead, wishing it could erase the ache. A breath slips out—thin, unsatisfying.

Then comes a knock at the door.

I don’t move. I’m not ready.

The knock comes again, louder.

“Lara.” Calvin’s voice cuts through—sharp, demanding, concern wrapped in steel.

I don’t answer. I sit there, wishing I could disappear. The door clicks open behind me. Footsteps draw closer.

“Lara. ” His voice slices through the fog. He steps into view, eyes scanning me, dark, assessing. His gaze softens when he sees me disheveled and fragile, then his jaw tightens. My messy bun. Bloodshot eyes. Sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt I grabbed because it was easy.

“You need to pull yourself together,” he says, firm and unapologetic. “This isn’t you. Stop wallowing.”

I don’t answer. Don’t look at him. He’s right, this isn’t me.

He crouches in front of me, lifting my chin with a finger. “Look at me. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

His touch doesn’t comfort; it exposes.

“I can’t face him,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I just can’t.”

He says nothing, only pulls me to my feet with surprising strength. I stumble, and he steadies me.

“Shower,” he says. “It’s the first step. Not today. Not like this.”

I want to argue. To scream that I can’t. That I’m not ready.

But I don’t. I drag myself to the bathroom. Steam wraps around me, warm and forgiving. I close my eyes and let the water fall over me.

I can’t think of Gideon. I can’t think of anything.

Yet even as the water pours down, the thought lingers: maybe I’m doing the right thing by not reaching out. Maybe this is the universe telling me I deserve better, someone who chooses me.

A knock at the door.

“Eggs and toast. And we’re talking.”

I don’t answer. He knows I heard him.

When I finish, I dress and find him waiting. His gold watch gleams; his hair is slicked back, every strand in place. The suit, tailored, expensive, intimidating. His eyes meet mine, cutting through the fog.

He’s right. I need to get my shit together.

“Get dressed,” he says. “You’re not letting him win.”

There’s a promise in his voice, a vow. He’ll make sure Gideon pays.

I nod, wiping my face with a towel, then head to my bedroom. When I return, Calvin’s eyes flick to my clothes: a simple sweater and jeans. But I’m standing.

I don’t know what happens next. Yet for the first time in days, I think I might have a chance at figuring it out.

As he heads to the door, he glances back, a smile curving his lips.

“I’ll make sure he pays.”

I think about how lucky I am to have him.

Calvin’s past is a mystery, but what little he’s shared paints a bleak picture. He grew up with Delilah’s estranged grandparents, hidden away so no one would know the truth. Delilah’s mother had an affair with my father. Calvin was the secret they buried.

I’ll never forget the day he messaged me on Instagram. Out of nowhere: We’re related.

At first, I didn’t believe him. But when I looked closer, I saw a resemblance to my father. Like staring at a stranger who already felt like family. I thought it would bring Delilah and me closer. We share a brother. We’re family.

But I was wrong.