Alexandria's POV
By the time I got home that night, Vanessa's voice was still in my head, looping like an annoying but catchy song.
You need this. You need someone like him.
I set my bag on the kitchen counter, kicked off my heels, and poured myself a glass of wine I didn't particularly want. My apartment was quiet, but not the good kind of quiet the heavy, echoing kind that made it too easy to think.
And thinking was dangerous.
Because whenever I let my mind wander, it went back to that night.
I had been early. That's the thing that still gets me if I had been late like I usually was, maybe I never would have seen it. But I was early, and the apartment door was unlocked, which should have been my first warning sign.
I walked in with a bottle of champagne, thinking I was about to surprise my fiancé. I had just finished planning the largest wedding of my career, and I wanted to celebrate with him with us before turning my attention to my own.
I never made it past the bedroom door.
They didn't see me at first. My cousin… my cousin was straddling him, her nails dragging over his shoulders, the sound of her laugh sharp in the air. He was looking up at her with that smile that had once been mine.
I froze. Every sound seemed to stretch and twist, my own heartbeat loud in my ears.
Then she saw me.
She didn't even move to cover herself. She just smirked, like she had won something.
He tried to speak said my name, like that would undo it but I couldn't hear him over the rush in my ears. My fingers went numb, the champagne bottle slipping just enough to clink against the doorframe. I turned and walked out before the tears could fall, holding myself together by sheer will until I was in the elevator.
The next week, an envelope arrived in the mail.
I thought maybe it was a letter, an apology, some pathetic attempt at explanation. Instead, it was an invitation thick, expensive cardstock, my name written in perfect calligraphy.
Their names printed in gold.
Same date. Same venue. Same guest list.
And the photo on the back my dress. The one I had chosen, custom designed, with the lace detail I had obsessed over for weeks. She was wearing my dress.
Vanessa had been there when I opened it. She'd ripped the envelope in half before I could, then sat me down and poured two shots of tequila.
"We're not letting them win," she'd said.
At the time, I didn't know what she meant. Now, with her plan still buzzing in my head, I was starting to think I did.
And maybe that was why Robert Montgomery's face kept coming to mind.