Page 68 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

I sit down slowly, fingers clenched in my lap, and stare at the discarded envelope like it might offer a way out. I don’t know how to breathe in this room. Not when I can already see what’s coming.

Because she’s choosinghim.

And if I choose Cole, I know I’ll lose her.

A relationship with him wouldn’t just strain what we have—it would obliterate it. It would stain everything this wedding is pretending to be.

She’s building her whole future on him, stitching it into lace and satin, pinning it with gold-plated hair combs. And I’m the one standing here with scissors.

There is no version of this story where I get to keep them both.

24

COLE

Where are you?

We need to talk, Emily. Now.

Are you avoiding me?

Please, Emily. Come to my room…

She’s answering my messages hours later, in short staccato replies—“sorry. just saw this.” Or bullshit like, “Sorry, been writing.”

But I know she’s not writing. I know she can’t write, especially not with the weight of everything clouding her mind.

She hasn’t been on the balcony in days, and she’s spending nights in the guest suite downstairs—across from Matt instead of me.

She spends her free time with Taylor now—laughing, texting, tucked in close like I’m not right down the hall.

She's showing me better than she can tell me.

She’s pulling away and picking sides.

25

COLE

On the night of the wedding rehearsal, Emily steps into the restaurant wearing a white silk dress that reveals the curve of her breasts, her hair pulled up in large curls. Her skin catches the light, and for a second, the entire room stills.

“Jesus…” someone on my left mutters. “How can anyone ever focus when she’s around?”

You can’t.My jaw locks, breath tight.

She shakes hands with guests and smiles for photos. Other men in the wedding party take long, lingering stares, and no one bothers to hide it.

They look at her like she’s available. Like she isn’t mine—wasn’t mine—weeks ago, skin on skin, swearing it would always be us.

She glances at me once. Barely. Then takes a seat a few chairs down like it doesn’t cost her anything.

I can’t do this shit...

“Are you planning to give a toast to your father and the future Mrs. Dawson, Cole?” Frank, my father’s business manager, nudges me with a grin.

“A toast towhat?”

Everyone at the table laughs like I’ve made a joke.

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