"Erick, you're late," I said, turning away from the vanity mirror.
The heavy wooden door of the bridal suite swung open. He didn't look at me. His arm was wrapped tightly around Sabrina Lowe’s frail waist.
Sabrina sobbed, burying her face into his white tuxedo jacket.
"Erick?" I asked, my voice dropping.
He ignored me entirely, guiding Sabrina to the velvet settee in the corner of my room.
"Sit down, Brina. I've got you," he murmured.
Erick reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a satin box. *My* satin box. The one holding the custom crystal shoes he had flown to Paris to design for our wedding day.
He knelt right there on the plush carpet.
"What are you doing?" I stepped forward.
"Just a moment, Winter," he snapped, sliding the glass-like shoe onto Sabrina’s foot.
Sabrina sniffled, wiping a tear from her pale cheek. "They're beautiful, Erick. But they belong to Winter. I shouldn't take them."
"Nonsense," Erick said softly to her. "It's your final wish. You wanted to know what it felt like to be a bride."
My stomach dropped. I stared at the man I was supposed to marry in less than an hour.
"Those are my wedding shoes," I said, keeping my tone flat.
Erick finally stood and met my gaze. His jaw tightened.
"Winter, you're already my fiancée," he said, his tone laced with irritation. "Can't you be a little more understanding?"
"Understanding?" I repeated.
"She's sick," he hissed, stepping between me and Sabrina. "She doesn't have much time left. Giving her a pair of shoes is the least we can do."
"They were my wedding gift from you."
"You'll wear the white pumps you brought for the reception. Stop making this a bigger deal than it is."
Sabrina let out a fragile cough. "I'm sorry, Winter. I just... I wanted to feel special. Just for today."
I didn't scream. I didn't cry. Instead, I smiled. A thin, cold curve of my lips.
"Keep them," I said.
Erick relaxed, nodding. "Good. I'll take her up to the deck to get some fresh air. Finish getting ready. The ceremony starts in thirty minutes."
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her out.
I didn't wait thirty minutes.
I followed them out of the suite, moving down the narrow corridor toward the upper deck.
Cheers erupted from the bow of the ship. Clapping. Whistling.
I pushed through the heavy mahogany doors. The ocean breeze hit my face, carrying the scent of salt and expensive champagne.
A crowd of our guests formed a wide circle near the railing.
"She looks so beautiful," a woman whispered nearby.
"It's tragic, really. The doctors gave her six months," another added. "Winter should let her have this moment. It's only fair."
I wedged myself between two of my bridesmaids.
My vision tunneled.
Sabrina wasn't just wearing my crystal shoes.
She was wearing my dress.
The custom silk organza gown I had spent months fitting hung loosely on her thin frame, the train pooling around her feet.
Erick stood in front of her. He leaned down, cupping her face, and pressed his lips against hers.
The crowd erupted into another round of applause.
My fiancé. Kissing another woman. In my wedding dress. At my wedding.
"Erick," I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the cheering.
He pulled back from Sabrina, blinking as if waking from a trance. He spotted me in the crowd.
Panic flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by defensive anger.
"Winter, I can explain," he started, taking a half-step away from Sabrina.
Sabrina swayed, clutching his sleeve. "Erick, I feel dizzy."
He immediately wrapped his arm around her waist again.
"She just wanted to take some photos in the dress," Erick shouted over the wind. "It's a harmless wish, Winter! Don't ruin this for her!"
I looked at Sabrina. Her eyes met mine over Erick’s shoulder.
There were no tears now. Just a fleeting, triumphant smirk.
Ninety-nine.
I had kept count.
When we were ten, she took my favorite porcelain doll, claiming she needed it for comfort after a bad dream.
When we were sixteen, she took my spot on the debate team because the stress of being an alternate made her ill.
My first car. My college recommendation letter. My favorite necklace.
Every time, the excuse was the same. *She's frail. She's suffering. Let her have it, Winter.*
Now, she was taking my groom.
"I'm not ruining anything," I said, stepping fully into the open circle.
The guests fell silent. The only sound was the crashing of waves against the hull.
I raised my left hand. The three-carat diamond caught the afternoon sun.
"Winter, put your hand down," Erick warned, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Stop causing a scene. We will get married in twenty minutes. Go put on your backup dress."
"No," I replied.
I pinched the platinum band and pulled. It slid off my finger with ease.
Erick's face flushed deep red. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm giving her the full experience," I said.
I tossed the ring. It hit the wooden deck with a sharp clink and rolled to a stop right at Sabrina's crystal-clad feet.
Sabrina gasped, shrinking against Erick.
"Erick, this time, I'm not yielding," I said. "Keep the shoes. Keep the dress. Keep the man."
"You're acting crazy!" Erick yelled, stepping toward me. "Pick up that ring right now!"
"We are done," I stated, my voice steady. "The wedding is off."
"Winter, if you walk away right now, I won't forgive you!" Erick shouted.
"Good. Don't."
I didn't wait for his response. I spun around, pushing back through the crowd of stunned guests.
I walked fast. My chest felt hollow, but my steps were light.
I reached the grand staircase leading down to the lower cabins.
A tall figure blocked the top step.
I stopped short, looking up.
Patrick Gallagher.
He had been in Europe for three years. I hadn't expected him to actually show up to the wedding.
He wore a dark navy suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His dark hair was swept back by the wind.
He held a glass of whiskey in one hand. In the other, he twirled a silver lighter.
His sharp eyes dragged over my plain slip dress, then flicked toward the deck where the commotion was still echoing.
Finally, his gaze dropped to my bare left hand.
He took a slow sip of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass.
"Finally woke up, did you?" Patrick asked, his voice a low rumble over the ocean wind.
I stared at him, my pulse spiking. "Patrick."
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us. He smelled like cedar and expensive alcohol.
"I told you three years ago he was a coward," Patrick murmured, tilting his head. "Took you long enough to believe me."
"Move out of my way," I said, though my voice lacked its usual bite.
He didn't budge. Instead, he reached out and gently caught my left wrist. His thumb brushed over the faint indent left by Erick's ring.
"You threw away the trash," Patrick said softly, his eyes locking onto mine. "Now, what are you going to do about the mess it left behind?"
"That's none of your business," I shot back, trying to pull my arm away.
His grip tightened just enough to keep me in place.
"It became my business the second you threw that ring," he said. "Erick won't let you walk away that easily. You know his ego."
"I can handle Erick."
"Maybe," Patrick agreed, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "But why fight him alone when you can absolutely destroy him?"
I stopped pulling away. "What are you talking about?"
Patrick leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me.
"Marry me instead."
