As he ordered food for her, he was messaging me, flooding me with pictures of wedding gowns and asking, [A friend of mine is getting married. Since you’re good at planning weddings, can you help her pick a dress?]
I scrolled through hundreds of photos and picked the gown I once loved most, the very same one Gideon had told me wasn’t flattering on me.
Yet he quickly replied, [My wife really has great taste. My friend loves it.]
Soon after, a message popped up in my work group chat.
[Boss: There’s a small private wedding at the church this weekend. The groom needs an experienced planner. Who’s available?]
Without hesitation, I typed, [I’ll take it.]
The next few days, Gideon acted like nothing had changed. He still staged little “romantic gestures” for me. But I noticed the difference. Most of those gifts were cheap leftovers. Clearly, the real treasures went straight to Arabella.
They were like lovers in their honeymoon phase, a love-hate couple, still targeting each other, but becoming deeply affectionate.
Arabella flaunted it shamelessly. [If I keep pushing forward, what place will she have left?]