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PROLOGUE

FOUR YEARS AFTER THOSE WHO WAIT

Sutton paced back and forth, pressing her hands to her stomach, where the butterflies were absolutely going crazy .

This was normal, right? To feel this way the morning of your wedding?

Sutton had to believe that was the case because she’d felt this crazy twisting and turning in her stomach since she’d woken up this morning.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!”

Regan’s voice snapped Sutton out of her thoughts, and she turned to look at her best friend as she let herself into Sutton’s hotel room.

“How did you get in here?” Sutton asked, staring incredulously at Regan, who grinned, totally unashamedly, as she held up a key card.

“I grabbed your spare last night from your dresser. My plan as your maid of honor was to surprise you with breakfast and tea in bed before your mom comes in and then the hair and makeup people and all that jazz.”

True to her word, she held a tray with Sutton’s favorite breakfast foods and a tea kettle in her hands.

Sutton couldn’t hold that bit of key-card pickpocketing against Regan. Her best friend had been a very involved, supportive maid of honor throughout the last year, and Sutton had appreciated every second. She’d planned excursions with Sutton’s bridal party—consisting of Regan as well as Emma, Alex, Jane, and Isla, Sutton’s sisters-in-law—all suiting Sutton’s exact interests. On top of that, she’d come to every cake tasting and meeting with the wedding planner that Layla hadn’t been able to attend at the last-minute thanks to her work schedule.

So Sutton wasn’t all that shocked when Regan was showing up bright and early to continue her support on her big day.

“I expected to find you sleeping in bed, a smile on your face as the visions of white gowns danced in your head,” Regan commented, her mouth pulling into a slow frown. “I didn’t expect to find you holding your hands against your stomach like you’re going to be sick. Are you going to puke?”

Sutton shook her head before pausing to wonder—was she?

She forced the ill feeling back down. “No. I’m not going to be sick.”

Skepticism slid over Regan’s face. “Uh, okay .” She took a few steps into the room, put the tray down, and marched over to Sutton, landing her hands on her hips. “Tell me what’s going on in that magnificent brain of yours.”

Sutton closed her eyes, as if Regan could read through them into her soul or something. “Nothing. Really. I’m—I’m excited.”

“Oh, no.” Regan gasped. “Are you going to be a runaway bride?”

“No!” Sutton yelped, affronted by the very idea. “I’d never do that to Layla. Are you kidding me?”

Regan shrugged. “Well, I’m mostly upset because I don’t have a go bag to whisk you away to a tropical island for a week while you heal your wounds. But we can buy stuff on the journey; it’s fine.”

Sutton huffed out a breath, rolling her eyes as she turned away from Regan. “We aren’t running off.”

“Okay. I mean, there’s still time, so…” Regan trailed off. “I’ll handle everything if you?—”

“Oh my god, I’m not leaving Layla at the altar,” Sutton cut her insane best friend off, scoffing out a laugh. “Why do you sound so gung ho about it?”

“I’m… not,” Regan spoke carefully. “I’m just, you know, in support of your happiness.”

Sutton turned back to her best friend, studying her through narrowed eyes. “And you don’t think Layla is going to make me happy?”

“Uh, no. I do. I mean, you feel happy, right?” Regan’s voice was soft and probing.

“Yes,” Sutton answered immediately.

And she did . Her life was in a good place—a really good place.

She was in her final year of getting her Ph.D., she was surrounded by supportive friends and family, and she loved a beautiful, brilliant woman. A beautiful, brilliant woman who loved her back. Who wanted to marry her. Today.

They’d planned their wedding day around Layla’s crazy residency schedule as best as possible, and so far, everything was going off without a hitch.

So… yes.

Sutton was happy.

“It’s just—I’m getting married today,” she breathed out, feeling the weight of those words as they settled over her. They weren’t necessarily pushing her down or suffocating her, but it was a big thing to say all the same.

“Which is your dream,” Regan cautiously spoke, still studying Sutton through narrowed eyes.

“Exactly.”

“And… you can’t think of anything or anyone that would make this dream better or more exciting than Layla makes you feel?”

Unbidden, Charlotte’s face popped into Sutton’s mind.

She didn’t think of Charlotte Thompson often. Not anymore, not after almost four years. Sutton told herself she’d think of Charlotte even less frequently if Charlotte was just… any normal person in the world.

But she wasn’t. She was Charlotte Thompson, rising star politician, whose popularity had only continued to skyrocket since their time in one another’s lives had ended.

As a consequence, Sutton couldn’t avoid her all of the time. Charlotte’s speeches in Congress or on the news would inevitably pop up, and Sutton would see her, hear her, all perfectly styled hair and satisfied half-smiles and curvy hips under well-tailored clothing.

Sutton quickly shook her head.

It seemed normal for the only other person she’d been in love with to pop into her mind on a day like today, right? Besides, having this dream with Charlotte didn’t make Sutton feel whimsical or excited, emotions she’d felt for the majority of her engagement to Layla.

It mostly reminded her of that dull ache Charlotte had left her with when she’d chosen her career over Sutton. In fairness, Charlotte was a politician of her word; she’d never made a promise to Sutton that she didn’t keep.

And that was great.

Charlotte got to live out her dreams, and Sutton now got to live out her own.

Everyone wins.

“No. I was just having some pre-wedding butterflies. But I’m ready for a celebratory breakfast.” When Regan’s brow remained furrowed, she added, in a voice she hoped was chirpy and pleasant, “Now.”

Charlotte walked into her apartment, kicking the door closed behind her, as she spoke into her phone, “Yes, Bryce, I’m meeting with Senator Pike next week about it… Great. All right. Have a good night.”

She let out a deep breath, exhaustion from her very, very long day finally edging in and demanding to be felt.

She’d kept herself very busy today, deliberately scheduling as many meetings as possible. As it was, she’d just returned home and hung up with the governor at nearly nine o’clock p.m., despite having been out of her D.C. apartment by six this morning. And she hadn’t gotten very much sleep last night either.

Today was the day.

Charlotte had learned about Sutton’s big day unwittingly, but it had been burned into her memory as if it were a core, defining moment ever since.

It had started a few months ago. She’d been at a fundraiser upstate when she’d overheard a small group of people talking, including a current Massachusetts senator, who mentioned Jack’s daughter’s upcoming wedding .

Charlotte had been really on her game that day, up until that moment. She’d been schmoozing and wheeling and dealing, and then her stomach felt like it had fallen to her fucking feet.

Jack was a common name, Charlotte knew, but she also knew Senator Eaton didn’t have any family members named Jack, and therefore, he was likely talking about a friend. Likely a coworker, given this event and who she was talking to.

No, Jack , coming from Melody Eaton, could only mean one man; Charlotte was sure of it.

She’d known Sutton, Jack’s daughter, was dating someone.

Against her better judgment, Charlotte had never been able to bring herself to block Sutton on social media. She’d never been able to stop herself from looking at Sutton’s accounts every so often, when her curiosity—see also: longing, regret—got the better of her.

She didn’t do it frequently , which was why it was okay. Only once or twice a year. That was sane. That was fine.

This woman Sutton had been dating for over a year was… attractive, Charlotte had to grudgingly admit. She was apparently a fucking doctor. Dr. Layla West.

Charlotte was able to draw the line at looking into Layla West . She’d only learned what she knew about her from Sutton’s posts.

That night at the fundraiser, she’d excused herself outside in the still-chilly air, her hands shaking slightly as she’d pulled out her phone and looked at Sutton’s Instagram page.

The first post felt like a stab to the heart.

Sutton’s beautiful, beaming face. Her blue eyes shined into the camera, and the large, diamond engagement ring glinted from her finger. Engagement photos. August 22 nd was written under them, and Charlotte truly might have thrown up had dinner already been served.

It shouldn’t have shocked her, shouldn’t have stolen the breath painfully from her lungs. She’d always known Sutton was the kind of person who wanted to get married. To settle down and build a life with her partner. It was why Charlotte and Sutton were never meant to be more than they were to one another.

But god , it fucking hurt.

Even though Charlotte hadn’t looked at those photos again, they were so vividly emblazoned into her mind’s eye. The last few months, weeks, and days leading up to Sutton’s wedding had felt like Charlotte was living with a ticking time bomb. Following her to work, then back home, crouching in the corner of her bedroom at night.

In her wildest fantasies, she imagined showing up today at whatever beautiful venue Sutton had inevitably chosen and telling Sutton that she’d never really gotten over her. That when Charlotte closed her eyes and thought about when she’d been the happiest in her personal life, it had been with Sutton, and that she couldn’t fathom that ever changing.

But then Charlotte snapped herself back to reality. That wasn’t her life; it wasn’t the path she’d chosen for herself. Sutton had— clearly —moved on and found someone who wanted the same things.

And yet…

As Charlotte poured herself another glass of wine, two hours after coming home from work—Oops! That was the whole bottle!—she found herself living in those thoughts.

The fantasy of it made her feel good. Made her feel like she hadn’t made a mistake. While she was drunk like this, she could be the most honest with herself by admitting that she did regret it. She regretted everything, especially the way she could still see Sutton crying as she walked out of her life.

Charlotte inhaled sharply, only to realize she was crying herself when she blinked and felt the tears falling down her cheeks.

Unable to stop herself, she blearily reached for her phone with the hand not holding her wineglass and searched for Sutton’s name with slightly clumsy fingers.

Sutton Spencer-West popped up instead.

The glass slipped from Charlotte’s hand and shattered, the glass and dark red wine spreading over her otherwise pristine kitchen floor, but Charlotte couldn’t care less.

She pressed her now-free hand over her mouth, stifling any of the ugly, heartbroken sounds that wanted to escape.

“No, no, no,” she whispered against her palm before she tapped on Sutton’s name and pulled up her page.

Right there was a picture of Sutton in her wedding dress, luminous and radiant, clutching the hand of her new wife as they walked down the aisle.

Charlotte closed her eyes tightly, hiccuping as she tried desperately to stop crying, but that only served to make her cry harder.

What did she fucking expect?

She’d broken Sutton’s heart four years ago, and Sutton Spencer wasn’t a woman who would be on the market for long. She was someone who wanted and deserved to be loved and cherished, and Charlotte had been unable to do that. Now she was married , and Charlotte…

Charlotte had to let go.

She had to really, truly, finally let go of these ridiculous, baseless dreams that she and Sutton would somehow find their ways back to one another.

Because Sutton was happy, and Charlotte didn’t deserve her.

No, wait?—

Because Sutton was happy, and Charlotte was, too, her drunk mind told her.

Or, she could be.

Her heart ached —god, it ached—as she stared down at Sutton’s picture.

Charlotte knew what she needed to do. She knew it was finally time.

With that resolve in mind, she blocked Sutton’s profile.