Denys spared me a glance.
"She's in no state to listen to reason right now."
When those words landed, the ache in my ankle somehow dulled.
I took a cab to the studio.
Lucretia Swanson was still pulling overtime, and when I pushed the door open she nearly dumped her coffee onto her keyboard.
"Weren't you getting engaged tonight? How did you end up like this?"
I dropped my bag on the desk.
"Called it off."
She crouched to look at my foot and swore under her breath.
Then she hauled me straight to the nearest ER.
The doctor picked out a small sliver of glass, put in two stitches, and told me to keep it dry for the next few days.
I'd just gotten back to the studio when my phone lit up.
A text from Denys: 【Hailey's falling apart. I'm taking her home first. Handle the wound yourself.】
Lucretia read it and let out a bitter laugh.
"Who exactly did he get engaged to today?"
I didn't answer.
When the antiseptic hit the cut, the pain made my fingers dig into the edge of the desk.
Half an hour later, Denys showed up.
He came through the door looking worn out, as if I were the one who'd put him through all of this.
He walked up to me and reached out, on reflex, to ruffle my hair.
"Still hurts?"
I turned my head away.
His hand stopped in midair.
"Sally, enough of this."
I looked up.
"Did you look into it?"
"Into what?"
"The blackout."
He frowned.
"The hotel's wiring is old. I'll send someone to deal with it tomorrow."
I held his gaze.
"Hailey said she changed the lighting cues."
He was quiet for a second.
"She wanted to surprise you."
I laughed.
"So the surprise turned into an accident, I get hurt, and she's innocent."
"Can you stop coming after Hailey?"
His voice dropped.
"She already feels terrible about it."
My chest went tight, like the air had been pressed out of it.
After a long moment, I said, "Denys. The engagement's off."
He looked at me the way you'd look at a child throwing a tantrum.
"Because I went to check on Hailey first tonight?"
"No."
I said it word by word. "Because you go to her first every single time."
The air went still.
My phone rang. It was my dad.
When I picked up, his voice was rough. "Come home, sweetheart. Your mom made you a bowl of pasta."
My eyes went hot in an instant.
"Dad."
"Mm?"
"Denys won't be coming around anymore."
The line went silent for a few seconds.
Then my dad said,
"Good. He's not welcome in this house anymore either."
When I got home, my mom knelt in front of the couch to redo the bandage.
Her hands shook so badly the cotton swab kept slipping.
"How did it cut so deep?"
I said, "A glass broke."
She didn't ask anything else, just bent down and blew gently on the wound.
At the table, my dad kept piling food onto my plate.
My mom watched me with red eyes.
I set down my fork.
"Dad, Mom. I don't want to get married."
My mom's tears spilled over at once.
My dad's face was grim.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
He pushed the soup toward me.
"Then you don't."
I froze.
His voice dropped lower. "We raised you for twenty-some years. Not so you could go to someone else's house and learn to swallow your pride."
My tears dropped into the bowl.
The truth was, I should have understood a long time ago.
Three years ago, when Denys's company was barely surviving, I was the one who drove with him from one building-materials plant to the next.
After his mother's stroke, I was the one who went to the hospital every week to sit through her rehab.
The day I got my spot to study abroad, he held me at the airport.
"Sally, wait for me. Once the company's steady, I'll see you off myself."
