Chapter 2 Great Timing, Truly

A little after eight, I was still staring at the dress like an idiot when my phone buzzed on the vanity.

Rafael’s office number.

I frowned and picked up. "Hello?"

"Miss De Cruz?" A polite, a bit stiff male voice. His secretary, Deo.

"Yeah..?"

"Sorry to bother you. Mr Bernardi asked me to let you know he is still at the office. His meeting just finished." A short pause. "He also has not had dinner since noon."

I glanced at the dress, then at the mental picture of Rafael buried in work on the phone earlier. No dinner. Working for our wedding. His fiancée at home wasting time ranting at the air.

"Is he alone at the office?" I asked.

"Only a few staff on the night shift."

My head moved before my brain caught up. "Okay, thanks, Deo."

As soon as the call ended, I stood up. The decision just fell into place.

"All right," I muttered, opening my wardrobe. "If the groom is busy saving contracts, the bride will save his stomach."

I went downstairs to the kitchen and found my mama busy arranging tiny pastries into boxes.

"Where are you going?" Her eyebrows shot up when she saw me grab two catering bento boxes that had been sent over for the family.

"Delivering dinner." I opened the fridge and took out some drinks. "Rafael hasn’t eaten. If he passes out tomorrow, who is going to sign the marriage book?"

Mom gave me a quick glare. "Don’t stay out too long. You need to look fresh tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah. I am not running away," I joked automatically.

Twenty minutes later I was there.

Rafael’s office sat on the top floor of Bernardi International. The elevator carried me up past a ridiculous number of floors while some bland instrumental music tried and failed to calm my heart.

My reflection in the stainless steel walls showed a black sweater, jeans, hair twisted into a lazy bun. Bride-to-be carrying dinner, not the glamorous version from a jewelry commercial.

The elevator doors opened. This floor felt quieter. Thick carpet swallowed my footsteps, the lights dimmed to half. The night receptionist nodded when she saw me.

"Good evening, Ms De Cruz."

"Evening." I lifted the paper bag of food. "He is still inside?"

"He is. In his office." She flicked a glance at the frosted glass door at the end of the hallway. "You can go right in. The door is not locked."

Of course it was not. Rafael trusted security systems and access codes, not humans.

I walked slowly, sneakers hardly making a sound on the carpet. Through the glass, his office looked half dark. Only his desk lamp was on, spilling light over the piles of paperwork on the big wooden desk.

My hand turned the handle. The door opened a little, enough for me to stick my head in.

"El?" I called him softly.

No answer. Empty. His desk sat neat, laptop still awake. His chair was pushed back a little, like he had just gotten up. His jacket hung over the back.

I stepped fully inside and closed the door behind me. His cologne still clung to the air, mixing with the smell of cold coffee in a half-finished cup.

"Why does this feel like the start of a crime movie," I muttered, setting the food down on his desk. "He said he was working, plot twist he is kidnapped?"

On the left side of the office, another door stayed shut. The small lounge. Couch, bathroom, sometimes he crashed there for a bit when he worked late. I knew because I had once spent an entire afternoon in there memorizing design sketches while he answered emails.

I had just lifted my hand to knock when I heard it.

A woman’s laugh.

Light, sharp, one of those sounds my brain recognized on instinct. The laugh that filled voice notes at midnight, complaining about clients, men, life.

Elena’s laugh.

My whole body went rigid.

My fingers froze in the air, hovering just above the door handle.

Then another laugh followed. Deeper. Rough. Familiar.

Rafael.

I stood in the middle of the room, hand still suspended. My brain jumped to the logical option.

Okay. Maybe Elena stopped by. Maybe they were watching memes.

Maybe I was being dramatic.

A bitter, sarcastic laugh slipped out of me. "Sure, Maya. Because at eight p.m. the night before your wedding, it is perfectly normal for your vent buddy and your groom to be bonding on the office couch."

Something thumped softly on the other side of the door. Then a low moan. Then whispers. My name did not show up in any of them.

My stomach twisted.

I could leave. Grab the food, get back in the elevator, pretend I never made it here. Stand at the altar tomorrow and act like I knew nothing.

Another part of me had already turned the handle.

The door swung open.

The tiny room knocked the air right out of my chest.

The light was dimmed, but bright enough to show everything. The pullout couch had been turned into a bed. The sheets were a little rumpled, a pair of high heels on the floor, one of Rafael’s shirts thrown over a chair.

And in the middle of it, Rafael half sitting up, Elena in his lap, her dark hair spilling over the shoulders of the man who was supposed to be standing next to me tomorrow.

Skin against skin. Rafael’s hand locked around her waist. Their mouths still far too close.

I did not make a sound.

My body reacted first.

The paper bag slipped out of my hand. The dinner boxes hit the floor, lids flying open, rice and sides spilling across the expensive gray carpet. The crack of plastic and styrofoam sounded way louder than it should have.

The laughter in the room stopped.

They turned at the same time.

Elena processed it first. Her brown eyes went wide, her face went stiff. Her lips were still red, shiny. The sheet covered her to mid thigh, not nearly enough to hide anything that needed hiding.

"Maya." Rafael pushed himself up.

My name sounded strange in my ear.

I had no idea what showed in my eyes.

Inside, everything felt empty. Quiet.

The whole room suddenly sharpened. A smear of sauce on the carpet. The fold of his shirt that he had not finished buttoning. The thin lace line of Elena’s bra peeking along her shoulder.

The ring on my finger that suddenly weighed too much.

"This is not..." he took a step toward me.

I stepped back. My body moved on its own. Half a step, just enough to dodge him. My knees shook. My hands went cold. My mind, annoyingly, started organizing sentences.

I laughed. The sound came out dry and cracked. "Wow. I was just thinking tomorrow we could start a new life. Turns out you two started early. No invitation."

Elena opened her mouth, then closed it again. "May, I..."

"Don’t." My hand came up.

Rafael tried to come closer again. "Let me explain."

"You’re late," I answered. "You should explain this to your secretary first. So he would not bother calling me to say you have not eaten. Turns out you..."

The next word jammed in my throat.

I swallowed, stomach rolling. "Already ate," I whispered.

Silence dropped between us, heavy and solid. My lungs felt like they refused to fill all the way. My heart hammered under my ribs, like it wanted out.

I looked at Elena. My best friend, who had just texted me, "I will step on Rafael first then carry you."

Irony laughed somewhere in the back of my head.

"Thank you," I said, my voice flat. "For everything. For the support, for the Pinterest board, for..."

I lifted my hand and drew a small circle in the air.

"The bonus pre wedding package."

Rafael said my name again. Panic lived in it now. Of course it did. He had just remembered I was real.

I turned before he could touch me. The sole of my sneaker almost slipped on the sauce, but I caught myself and kept going, bumping into the door, then his desk, then whatever got in the way.

The main office blurred past like a streaked photo. Desk lamp. Open laptop. Black suit jacket on the chair. Dinner exploded all over the floor.

I did not stop.

His office door flew open hard enough to make the night receptionist jump. "Miss, is everything..."

I was already past her. The elevator felt too far, so I veered toward the emergency stairwell and shoved the metal bar until it clicked loud. Cold air rushed up, smelling like raw concrete and steel.

The soles of my sneakers slammed into the steps, one after another, my stride uneven. My breath came rough. My eyes burned. My vision blurred, but I did not wipe it away. If I stopped, I would shatter right there.

My wedding dress flashed in my head.

The disco ball shimmer, crystals, layers of tulle.

Then the office couch, skin on skin, sheets half off.

I laughed again, short and broken in the middle. My own voice sounded unfamiliar.

Tomorrow morning I was supposed to walk down an aisle. Right now I was running down a fire stairwell, cold sweat on my neck, my heart cracking in my chest.

I had no idea where I was going.

I knew I could not stand next to Rafael Bernardi anymore.

My feet kept pounding downward, the echo of each step slamming off the concrete walls, drowning out whatever might still be calling my name somewhere above.