1 “I heard Summer Holloway is back in town.” “She’s the one who walked away from Grant, right? Filed for divorce herself?” “Grant is running the family firm now. You’d think she’d be kicking herself. He’s the most eligible man in the state.” “Why would she regret it? She only got the ring because her sister ran off. She was just a placeholder. The crown was always going to return to its rightful head.” I stood outside the heavy mahogany doors of the country club lounge, the muffled whispers drifting through the cracks like a foul draft. For three years, I had been the ghost of this town, a cautionary tale whispered over mimosas. They called my departure a “gambit,” a desperate play for attention. Even my parents believed that lie. The day the ink dried on the divorce papers, my mother hadn’t offered comfort. She’d offered a warning. “Since it’s over, Summer, don’t you dare reach out to him,” she’d said, her voice sharp as a razor. “Sloane’s leg is still healing. She needs Grant right now. Don’t you dare stir the pot.” When I didn’t answer, her expression hardened. “That marriage belonged to your sister. If she hadn’t gone to London for the Royal Ballet, you never would have even been in the room.” Sloane and Grant. The golden couple of our social circle. But on the eve of the most anticipated wedding of the decade, Sloane had fled to Europe to chase a spotlight she loved more than him. With the press already hovering and the merger of two family fortunes at stake, the Holloways and the Huxleys made a cold, tactical decision: Swap the bride. I don’t know what they said to Grant to make him agree. All I knew was that for three years, he treated me with the polite distance of a stranger. Everyone knew he was still mourning the ghost of my sister. He kept his study locked. But one afternoon, he left the door ajar. I made the mistake of looking. The walls were a shrine. Framed photos of Sloane—Sloane dancing, Sloane laughing, Sloane in a white dress that was supposed to be hers. I had never seen Grant look at me the way he looked at those pictures. In those photos, he was alive. With me, he was a statue. The seed of divorce took root in my heart that very moment. The day I finally reached my breaking point, I overheard him on the phone. His voice was a low, tender murmur I had never earned. “Hey, don’t be scared. I’ll be there in ten minutes… You can’t walk on that leg yet. Wait for me. Just stay put, okay?” He turned and saw me standing in the hallway. “Dinner is ready,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You should eat before you go.” He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even look at the table. He just grabbed his coat. “Eat without me. Don’t wait up.” As he reached the door, I called his name. “Grant.” He stopped, his hand on the knob, a flicker of impatience crossing his handsome face. “What is it, Summer?” “Grant,” I said, the words feeling like a heavy weight finally being lifted. “I want a divorce.” 2 By the time the news reached my parents, the papers were already signed. Grant hadn’t fought me; in fact, he’d been surprisingly generous, granting me a settlement that amounted to half his personal assets. My parents hauled me home that night like I was a criminal in the dock. They interrogated me, disgusted that I had “gutted” a man who was practically family. “Summer, how could you be so cold-blooded?” my father barked. “Did you marry him just for the payout? Is that who you are?” Sloane stood by the fireplace, leaning heavily on her crutches, tears welling in her eyes. “Summer… is this about me? Do you hate me because I came home? Because he’s been helping me?” Before I could speak, my mother cut in. “Grant was supposed to be her husband. If Sloane hadn’t been so impulsive three years ago, they’d be raising our grandchildren by now.” Sloane loved Grant, but she loved the stage more. After he’d proposed, she’d received an offer from a world-class troupe. She had chosen the limelight and left him in the dust. For three years, they’d been silent. Until that night. The night his phone rang at 3:00 AM. He was pressed against my shoulder, his breathing just beginning to level out. He answered it right there, in our bed. Because we were so close, I heard the broken, sobbing voice of my sister on the other end. Grant froze. One second. Five seconds. Ten. It took thirty seconds for him to snap out of it. He threw on a robe and walked out without a single word to me. He didn’t come back that night. The next morning, I learned from my mother that Sloane had suffered a career-ending fall during a performance. Grant had flown out personally to bring her home. Even though she moved back into our parents’ house, Grant was the one who managed her doctors, her physical therapy, her every need. My parents even had the audacity to give me a “pep talk.” “Don’t take it personally,” my mom said. “She can’t dance anymore. Her life is over. Grant is the only one who can pull her out of this depression.” Sloane was always the masterpiece; I was just the rough sketch. She was beautiful, talented, the sun everyone orbited. I was the “smart one,” the quiet one, the girl who didn’t know how to charm a room. Everyone hovered over the broken star. Including my husband. His patience for me evaporated. One evening, he promised to pick me up from work. I waited for two hours in a torrential downpour. I caught a fever that night, a brutal, bone-shaking chill that landed me in the hospital. Grant was forced to leave Sloane’s side to sit by my bed. My mother saw it as a tactical move on my part. She stormed into my room, screaming. “You dragged him away for a common cold? Sloane almost tried to hurt herself last night because she felt so alone!” she hissed. “You’re healthy, Summer. How can you be so cruel to a sister who is disabled?” I looked at her, my vision blurred by fever. “But Mom… Grant is my husband.” “So what? You only have him because she let you have him! You stole her life!” The irony was suffocating. Sloane was the one who had begged me to marry him. Before she’d left for London, she’d sat me down in her room. “Summer, I know you’ve had a crush on him since we were kids. This is your chance. It’s better if it’s you than some stranger. You don’t want Grant to end up with some gold-digger, do you?” I had remained silent, my heart aching. “Please,” she’d pleaded. “Unless… you’re worried I’ll come back and take him from you?” I had flinched then. She’d laughed, relieved. “Don’t worry. I’m going to be a star. I’ll never look back. I promise.” She kept that promise for three years. Then she broke it, and my world along with it. 3 Once the divorce was finalized, I moved south. I bought a small, aging inn on the South Carolina coast and didn’t look back. I didn’t call home for three years. Then, out of the blue, Sloane called. “Summer, come home for the wedding,” she said, her voice sweet and cloying. “I won’t feel right starting my life with Grant unless you’re there to give us your blessing.” I stared at the ocean for a long time. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there.” The day I arrived at my parents’ house, the autumn air was crisp. As I rolled my suitcase through the front door, Sloane came flying down the hallway. “Summer!” She moved with ease—the “permanent” disability seemed to have vanished. Despite the chill, she was wearing a thin, silk slip dress. Following closely behind her was Grant, carrying a pair of slippers and a cardigan. “Sloane, put your shoes on,” he scolded, his voice soft. “If you catch a cold, I’m going to have to—” He stopped dead. He saw me. It was the first time we’d stood in the same room since the courthouse. I forced myself to be civil. I nodded toward him. “Grant.” Three years hadn’t changed him much. He was still striking, but the cold edges of his face had softened into something warmer. He looked… happy. He gave me a stiff nod and turned his attention back to Sloane, draping the cardigan over her shoulders. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. I have some calls to take.” Sloane looped her arm through mine, her grip surprisingly tight. “I was so worried you wouldn’t come. We’re doing my final fitting tomorrow. You have to come with me.” I pulled my arm back gently. “I have plans tomorrow.” Sloane pouted. “Something more important than your sister?” “Yes. Much more.” “Well, maybe we can move it to the day after? You’ll be staying here, so—” “I’m staying at a hotel,” I interrupted. “Tell Mom and Dad I’ll see them at the rehearsal, but I won’t be staying in this house.” I turned and walked out before she could protest. I hadn’t gone two blocks when a sleek black SUV pulled up beside me. The window rolled down to reveal Grant. “Get in. I’ll give you a lift.” “I’m fine, thanks,” I said, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk. He was persistent. He crawled the car forward at my walking pace. “It’s impossible to get an Uber in this neighborhood. Just get in, Summer.” The walk to the hotel was miles away. I gave in and climbed into the passenger seat. I gave him the address of a modest boutique hotel downtown. He frowned. “Why aren’t you staying at the condo on the Waterfront?” The Waterfront condo was part of the divorce settlement. “I don’t like that place,” I said. He didn’t know I’d sold it the month the divorce went through. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. When we arrived, he got out and grabbed my suitcase before I could reach for it. “I’ll take this up.” “I’ve got it, Grant.” I reached for the handle, but he didn’t budge. He looked at the hotel—it was clean, but far below the luxury he was used to. “Are you having money trouble, Summer?” “No.” He ignored me and walked into the lobby. “What room?” Grant had always been like this—once he decided on a course of action, he was a bulldozer. I led him to the elevator in silence. When we reached my door, I took the suitcase from him. “Thanks. I’m pretty tired, so I won’t invite you in.” “Summer, wait.” I turned. “Have you been… okay? These last three years?” His gaze was searching, almost sincere. I couldn’t remember him ever using that tone with me when we were married. Before I could answer, the hotel door swung open from the inside. A man stepped out. He was tall, with the kind of effortless, rugged grace that made the hallway feel too small. He had messy dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass. He didn’t even look at Grant. He just wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his chest. “You’re late. I was starting to think you got lost.” He leaned down, his lips brushing mine. “What the hell is going on?” Grant’s voice was like a thunderclap. The man ignored him, deepening the kiss for a lingering, possessive beat before finally looking up. He looked at me with a lazy, teasing grin. “I leave you alone for three hours and you already found a stray? You’re a handful, Summer.” I tried to push him away, but he was like a mountain. I looked at Grant, whose face was pale with fury. “We’ll talk later, Grant.” Grant’s hands were curled into fists. This was the silent rage he usually reserved for boardrooms. But before he could explode, I was pulled inside the room and the door was shut in his face. The man—Jude—pinned me against the door. “If I recall, your flight landed at eleven. It’s two o’clock. Three hours, and you’re already making eyes at the ex?” I poked his solid chest. “Jude…” He caught my hand, his voice dropping an octave. “Don’t ‘Jude’ me.” I gripped the hem of his shirt and looked down. He sighed, his large hand cupping my chin to force me to look at him. He saw the shimmer in my eyes and his anger vanished instantly. “I haven’t even started teasing you yet. Why are you crying?” I sniffled. “I just… I missed you.”
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