Not Mr. Right

When I went to return my engagement ring, the jeweler asked me why. Right in front of her, I slid it onto my finger. It caught at the second knuckle and wouldn't go any farther. "You can see for yourself. This isn't my size." The jeweler went pale and offered to resize it on the spot. I shook my head, my voice eerily calm. "You can fix the ring size. You can't fix the shoe size. And you definitely can't fix the wedding dress." Everything about my wedding to Charles Garth was mine in name only — my name was on the invitation as the bride, and that was as far as it went. Every time I asked him to come try on the dress with me, he'd keep his eyes on his laptop and answer without looking up. "I'm busy. I already know your measurements. I gave them to the boutique myself. "Just show up and be the bride. Everything's already handled." But three days before the wedding, what I got was a ring that wouldn't fit and a dress I couldn't wear. The shoes, the gloves, the garter — every single piece was sized for my best friend. Something I'd been holding onto for a long time finally gave out, and it left a hole in my chest. Charles frowned, still trying to talk me into it. "It's just a ceremony. You two are so close — would it really be so bad if Maia stood in for you at the altar?" I didn't say anything. I didn't refuse, either. I just thought — maybe it wouldn't be so bad to swap out the groom instead. Chapter 1 When I got home, Charles Garth was already on the phone with someone else. "She's back. Yeah, make sure you stay warm. The wool shawl I bought you should get there today. "Keep it over your legs when you sleep. Don't let yourself get cold." Listening to him coo over someone else like that, my eyes burned. I'd told him so many times that the air conditioner blew straight onto my desk at work, that it left me aching all over. Sometimes, without looking up from his laptop, he'd say, "Bring a jacket. Drink more hot water." Sometimes he'd just glance at his phone and grunt. Not once had he ever murmured, soft and warm, that he'd bought me a wool shawl and told me not to catch a chill — not until now, and not for me. He set his phone down and seemed to notice me for the first time. "Go make dinner," he said. "Maia's coming over to eat with us in a bit." Then he ticked the dishes off on his fingers like he was reading off a menu. "She likes home cooking. Make her honey mustard glazed salmon, lemon herb roast chicken, brown sugar bourbon pork chops, sautéed green beans with almonds, and — throw in a butternut squash soup too. She's always going on about losing weight, and that'll help with the bloating." I didn't move. I didn't say anything. I just stood there looking at him. It took Charles a while to catch on that something was off. A faint smile crept onto his face. "What's wrong? Why aren't you saying anything?" I looked away, toward the wedding photo on the wall. "Aren't you going to ask me how the ring and the dress turned out?" "Oh," he said, and then, almost as an afterthought, "so how did they turn out?" A bottomless exhaustion welled up in my chest. My lips parted, but looking at the photo of the two of us underneath that framed picture, I suddenly didn't know what to say. Before I could get a word out, his head had already dropped back down, the corner of his mouth curling up like he'd spotted something amusing. From half a step away, I saw it clearly. The person messaging him was Maia Cooper — the one who'd saved herself in his phone under the nickname "Luna." She sat pinned at the top. I sat below, unpinned. In that moment, my own best friend looked more like his girlfriend than I did. Charles looked up then, a faint trace of reproach in his eyes. "Why are you still standing there? She'll be here any minute." I'd been home thirty minutes, and in all that time he hadn't asked a single question about the wedding or the ring — not even when I dropped a hint, half hoping he'd bite. Whatever he said about it was pure lip service. But when it came to Maia, he couldn't have been more attentive. I tried once more. "Does she have anything she won't eat?" Charles's head snapped up. The answer came out of him almost before he could stop it. "She doesn't eat ginger, garlic, or cilantro. You already know that, don't you?" I went quiet. A few seconds passed before I answered. "I know her tastes. "What I didn't know was that you'd remember them so well." I left the words hanging there, ignored the look on his face, and turned toward the kitchen. This, I thought, was probably going to be the last meal we'd ever eat as a couple. Chapter 2 Half an hour later, Maia showed up carrying coffee. Charles jumped up and jogged to the entryway, kicking my slippers out of the way like they were an obstacle. Then he reached to the top shelf of the cabinet and pulled out a pair of slippers for her, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I bought these for you." A pair of pink bunny slippers, with two round, wide eyes stitched onto the toes. I'd had them sitting in my shopping cart for half a year. Every time I'd tried to buy them, he'd stopped me. "You're a grown woman. Are you going to wear something like that? People will laugh at you." When it was Maia's turn, there were no snarky comments about her being a grown woman, no laughing at her either. He'd charged them straight to the card he'd linked to my account and bought them for her instead. Catching my look, Maia turned and smiled, giving me a little wave. "Jude, I brought you coffee." No surprises there — two iced Americanos, and one hot oat-milk latte. She handed me the latte, and it hit me all at once. Charles's favorite drink used to be lattes. He had a sweet tooth. He used to say a hot latte tasted just like me — warm and sweet, the kind of thing you couldn't forget once you'd had a taste. I'd blushed and punched him for saying it, and he'd laughed himself silly, running off while he begged for mercy at the top of his lungs. After that summer, my own drink of choice changed from Americano to latte. But somewhere along the way, without my noticing, the cup in his hand had switched to Americano. I said thanks and headed for the kitchen with the coffee. Maia plopped down right next to Charles and leaned into his shoulder, waving a hand like it was nothing. "What are we, that you're thanking me for coffee?" She thought I was thanking her for the coffee. What I was actually thanking her for was helping me spot a cheating scumbag. Hot oil crackled and popped in the pan, but it still couldn't drown out the laughter shaking the living room. Charles fired off one question after another. "Is the SE project design finalized yet? Put your heart into it — the higher-ups are watching this one closely. "What do you want for lunch tomorrow? Sausage rolls or corn chowder? "Did you buy the jewelry for your bridesmaid dress yet? Want me to get it for you?" I listened quietly, and without meaning to, sliced my finger. I hissed at the sting. "Jude, what happened?" Maia called out. I sucked on my finger and answered, half-mumbling, "I cut myself." "Oh," Maia said, and added, "be more careful, then." Charles poked his head around the door and glanced at me. Once he'd confirmed I was fine, he shook his head with a scoff. "You really have gotten worse. Cutting yourself just chopping vegetables." He didn't bring me a bandage, and he didn't offer to take over. He just leaned against the doorframe and needled me from there. Back in college, I'd bumped my leg lightly on the back of his electric scooter. He'd panicked so badly he'd carried me on his back all the way to the campus clinic, made the doctor swear up and down a dozen times that I was fine, and only then, eyes red, walked me back to class. I remembered lying against his back that day, thinking, 'This is probably the person I'll spend my whole life with.' I never imagined that years later, I'd be bleeding right in front of him and he wouldn't even look twice — that he'd just turn back around and keep laughing it up with Maia. The blood kept coming, a bright, spreading red. Charles finally couldn't pretend not to see it. He sighed and stepped over. "Go get that bandaged up. I've got this." I looked up at him. "I thought you hated cooking?" He had a sinus condition and always complained that kitchen smoke and steam irritated his nose. Ever since we'd moved in together, cooking and dishes had both fallen to me. Just last week, we'd bickered over whose turn it was to cook and whose turn it was to wash up. Now he just grunted, pulled on an apron, and rolled up his sleeves, saying, all unhurried, "What choice do I have? A little pig is hungry." A voice shot back from the living room. "Charles, you're the pig!" He laughed under his breath and shoved me out of the kitchen. I stood frozen where he'd left me, thinking that laugh of his was one of the ugliest sounds I'd ever heard. Maia set down her phone and pulled me over to the couch, the way she used to. She crouched in front of me with the first aid kit, just like old times. Cotton soaked in antiseptic swept over the cut. Gauze wound around my finger, loop after loop. I looked at the best friend I'd had since college and felt something complicated settle in my chest. Back when I'd had acute appendicitis and was writhing in pain in bed, she'd stayed by my side at the hospital the whole night through. The month my wallet had run dry, she'd shown up with a whole case of boxed mac and cheese and eaten it with me. When Charles and I first got together, she'd clung to me and sobbed until she shook, saying over and over, "Now that you've got a man, don't you dare ditch me." So when she'd chased after me all the way from Muron City, I'd pulled strings to get her into the design department. And when she'd volunteered to take charge of my wedding, I'd handed her every last detail and thrown myself into the SE project instead. But I'd only ever imagined how it would start. I never imagined how it would end. She tied off the last knot in the bandage and looked up at me. "Jude, would you give Charles to me?" Chapter 3 Even though I'd already made up my mind, already braced myself for it, hearing Maia put it so plainly still hit like a fist closing around my heart. Under the lamplight, Maia's eyes glistened. "You're already the design team lead. You've got the talent, the ability, and a family with money behind you. I've got nothing." So that was her excuse for stealing my man. "And if I said no?" The pleading vanished from Maia's face in an instant. She grabbed my injured finger and leaned in close, spelling it out word by word. "He gave those measurements himself. Don't you want to think about why he remembers my size so well? Don't you want to know how far we've gone?" I didn't answer. I picked up my coffee and threw it in her face. Maia yelped. "Jude, this is my fault... I'm the reason your ring and your dress came out the wrong size..." The next second, Charles came storming out of the kitchen. He didn't spare me a glance — just grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Maia's head, dabbing at her carefully. Then he rounded on me. "What's gotten into you? It's not her fault the sizes are wrong! If you're angry, take it out on me!" He planted himself between us, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes, like I wasn't his fiancée, wasn't his girlfriend at all, but his enemy. I bit my lip, my voice shaking. "Aren't you going to ask what she said to me first?" Charles glanced at Maia, his eyes full of tenderness. "She's carefree. She's never had a scheming bone in her body. Whatever happened, it's your fault, no question. "Maia's your best friend. Why can't you cut her some slack instead of embarrassing her like this?" He didn't ask a single follow-up question. He'd already decided everything was my fault. The room went dead silent, nothing but Maia's stifled sobs. After a long moment, Charles let out a breath, glanced at me, and his tone softened without him even seeming to notice. "Sorry, I was too harsh. But you really did go too far this time. "I thought what I was about to ask might be a bit much, but now, I think you owe Maia an apology. "Why don't you just hand over the credit for the SE project? Give it to her." I stood up, staring at him like I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Last month, chasing that design contract, I'd pulled seven or eight all-nighters in a row and landed myself in the hospital. He'd been the one telling me back then, "I've got you covered. You don't have to push yourself that hard." He knew perfectly well that landing this project all but guaranteed my promotion to head of the design department. And now, he wanted me to hand it over. Maia didn't say she didn't want it, and she didn't try to smooth things over either. She just gripped Charles's sleeve tighter and stepped closer to him. I stared, unable to look away, at their two hands twined together through the fabric of his sleeve. Quietly, I asked, "And if I refuse?" Charles frowned. "Maia's been running herself ragged for your wedding. The least you can do is give her the project as thanks. If you won't agree to it, the wedding gets postponed indefinitely." I clenched my fists and repeated myself. "You're sure about this?" He didn't answer. He just took Maia's hand — her face full of wounded innocence — and walked straight out the door. Before it closed, he looked back at me and sighed. "We're going out to eat. Think it over. Once you've come to your senses, the wedding goes ahead in three days like planned." He never said what would happen if I didn't come to my senses. But the sight of his fingers laced through Maia's said it all. "About the wedding — I already changed grooms." The only answer I got was the door clicking shut. Chapter 4 That night, Charles didn't come home. Not one message, not one call. The next morning, I called my parents. "Mom, Dad. I've changed grooms." They didn't ask a single question. They just laughed. "We always thought something was going on between Charles and that Maia. Long past time you traded him in. If you hadn't been so taken with him, we'd never have given a smooth-talking player like that a second look." They weren't wrong. What my parents had seen at a glance had taken me years to see for myself. No wonder Maia had sent me a photo that morning of the two of them, heads together on the same pillow, with a smirk tacked onto the message: [Guess what happened between us last night.] I took a deep breath and powered off my phone. The moment I stepped off the elevator, the HR director tagged me in the group chat. [The SE project led by Jude Barrymore is suspected of design plagiarism and misappropriating another employee's work. The company has decided to terminate Jude Barrymore's position effective immediately, with a permanent ban on rehiring.] The message wasn't long, but I stood there staring at it for a full several minutes. Laughter erupted all around me. "So the self-proclaimed design team lead was a serial plagiarist this whole time. Reported by her own best friend, no less — that pretty much confirms it." "And to think Mr. Garth was going to marry her. Why would anyone marry a thief like that? Disgusting." I listened to the contempt, the insults, my feet nailed to the floor. Maia pressed a cup of water into my hand, her eyes red. "Jude, it's all over now. I won't hold the plagiarism against you. Things between us can go back to normal." She said the words like nothing had changed, but the smile at the corners of her mouth was stretched nearly to her ears. I held my breath and stared straight at her. "Why?" She leaned in close to my ear, smiling, and dropped her voice. "You should get the hell out of Rumina City, hand over Charles, the project, and the wedding to me. This is what a loser deserves." "What makes you so sure you've won?" She let out a short laugh. "Don't believe me? Just wait and see." That was when someone jumped in to accuse me. "Jude used her so-called friendship to steal Maia's design. Firing her isn't enough; she needs to apologize publicly, right now!" "Exactly! A thief, a parasite like that should be blacklisted across the whole industry! Make sure she never finds work again. Let's see her plagiarize after that!" I opened my mouth to argue back. Charles came out of the programming department and stepped in front of me, every inch the protector. Something warm rose in my chest, and I was just about to say "I didn't do it" when he suddenly turned to face me instead, gripping my wrist. "Jude, just apologize. If you copied her work, you copied it. If you're genuinely sorry, Maia won't hold it against you. And our wedding will still go ahead as planned." Whatever warmth had been building in my chest scattered before it ever came together. Sunlight slanted across his handsome features from the window, familiar and, at the same time, like looking at a total stranger. Back when I'd first started at the company, a senior colleague had tried to steal credit for my design work. Charles had marched straight to the CEO's office with his employee badge in hand, willing to throw away his own job just to get me justice. Back then he hadn't even had a title yet — just a senior programmer with nothing to his name. Now, he was part of company leadership, someone whose word carried weight, and he was standing here asking me to apologize for a crime I hadn't committed. I wrenched my hand free and stumbled back a step, my lips trembling. "I didn't do it." He went quiet for a moment, then looked back up at me, his voice low. "I know. But since you won't give up the credit voluntarily, this is the only way left." A roar went off in my ears. My throat closed up like it had been slit clean through. I couldn't get a single word out. Seeing how badly I was shaking, Charles looked almost pained. He stepped closer, his eyes burning into mine. "Even if you lose your job, you've still got your parents. You've still got me. We can support you. "But Maia has nothing. If you just admit to the plagiarism, the design director position goes to her." Those lips of his had kissed me more times than I could count, had whispered endless declarations of love to me. Now, they opened and closed, and every word out of them was a knife to the heart. I pried his fingers off me one by one, my voice hoarse. "I won't admit to it." "You have to!" A flash of impatience crossed Charles's eyes. He pointed at Maia. "You had acute appendicitis once. If she hadn't saved you, you'd have died from the pain. You owe her this." His face had gone cold, every word a blade. Maia put on a wounded expression, but there was laughter hiding behind her eyes. All around me, the crowd kept shouting for my apology. I closed my eyes and said, "Fine. I apologize. I plagiarized. I'm a thief." Then I bowed to a triumphant, beaming Maia. Consider it repayment for the debt I owed her all those years ago. By the time I carried my box of belongings out of the building, a Maybach was already waiting by the curb. I looked back once, up at the thirty-fifth floor, then ducked inside and sat down. Almost the same instant, a text from Charles popped up on my phone. [The day after tomorrow, I'll be waiting for you at the wedding venue.] I typed back a few words. [No need. You aren't my groom.]