Page 20 of I Wish I Would’ve Warned You (Forbidden Wishes #3)

EMILY

O ur kiss and the way Cole came have gone unmentioned.

Even though the memories loop through my mind every few hours, neither of us say a word about them.

We’ve slipped into a rhythm instead—quiet, delicate, and dangerous.

I write on the balcony in the morning while he paints on his.

He brings up breakfast and lunch without asking, a silent barrier between me and my mother’s endless questions.

In the afternoon, I nap against his chest. At night, we sit beneath the moonlight, creating art like it’s the only thing holding us together.

This afternoon breaks the rhythm.

It’s too hot for the balcony, and neither of us wanted to retreat to our bedrooms. So we’re in the downstairs living room, sprawled on the couch.

I’m stretched out across Cole’s lap, his sketch pad balanced on my bare back like a second skin.

One of my legs dangles over the cushion, a napkin of half-finished verses crushed in my fist. He sketches slowly, dragging his pencil down my spine, then replaces it with his fingers—threading them through my hair, slow and deliberate, like he’s anchoring me to the moment.

The moment fractures when Ramen clears his throat.

“Dinner,” he announces, then freezes.

I sit up. Cole doesn’t move.

The chef brings us a tray with two bowls of soup and lingers for half a second longer than necessary. Then he glances toward the front hall.

“Your parents are heading back from the beach,” he says, like he’s trying to make sense of what he walked in on. “They should be back in about ten minutes.”

We both nod. He leaves.

I force my hands around the bowl. The warmth is a welcome distraction. If I meet Cole’s eyes right now, I’ll remember too much—his mouth on mine, the sound he made when I touched him, the moment everything tipped past the point of no return.

Then the door opens.

“Oh, great—you’re both here,” Aidan says, his voice a little too cheerful. My mother’s beside him, wind-tousled and glowing.

“We were thinking we’d have to chase you down to share today’s great news,” she beams.

“What is it?” I ask, spoon halfway to my mouth.

“We eloped!”

“We’re married!”

They speak at the same time.

Everything inside me stops.

My hand slips. The glass of water beside the soup tips and crashes to the floor, shattering loud and sharp. My fingers twitch, useless. My heart is hammering too fast, too loud, and for a second I feel it—hot, rising nausea climbing up the back of my throat.

Cole goes still beside me.

He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. His jaw locks so tight I can see the veins in his neck strain. Then he sets his bowl down on the tray with slow, deliberate care.

“Look at my ring!” my mom squeals, thrusting her hand out like it’s the crown jewel. The diamond nearly blinds me. “Isn’t it perfect, Emily?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Cole stands.

“Can I talk to you?” he says, looking directly at Aidan. His voice is even, but underneath it is a quake.

“Now?” Aidan chuckles. “Can it wait?”

“No.” Cole’s tone sharpens. “It can’t.”

My mom doesn’t notice. She’s still spinning, still glowing, already halfway into her next sentence.

“We wanted to wait for a big wedding next year,” she says, “but then we realized—why wait? Why not just do it now and let everything else fall into place?”

Everything else.

Like us.

“We’ll have a ceremony for everyone next spring,” Aidan adds. “That gives us time to gel. Emily will be in college by then, and Cole’s moving out, so there’s no need to make this feel rushed.”

Cole lets out a single, humorless breath. Almost a laugh. But not quite.

“I said it can’t wait,” Cole says, tense.

“Son, we can step outside a little?—”

“ Now ,” Cole demands.

He stalks past the tray, through the living room, and down the hallway. The door slams shut behind him. Loud. Final.

My mom barely flinches.

“He figured that would happen,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “Cole’s never really wanted his dad to remarry. We can’t take it personally.”

I try to breathe, but the air feels too thick.

“I’ll tell you the whole proposal story!” she chirps, already pulling out her phone. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

I don’t want the story. I want to be anywhere but here.

But I can’t leave.

I can’t run—not with Cole storming out first.

Not without making this whole thing collapse.

So I stay.

I smile like I’m not unraveling.

She props up her phone and FaceTimes Samantha, squealing as she shows off the ring and launches into a story I’ll never forget, no matter how hard I try.

Dinner by the water. A dance on the sand. A trio of musicians. A perfect sunset. Aidan kneeling. Saying things like “You make me whole” and “I want to do forever with you.”

By the end of it, I’m not even listening.

All I hear is the echo of glass on tile. The sound of Cole walking away.

And the roar in my chest that feels too much like heartbreak to be anything else.