Anna doesn’t even say anything when she opens the door; a single, once-over glance is enough to tell her everything. Or at least for her to go get the vodka and the ice cream. It’s always been this way with us, we know what the other needs.

It takes half a drink, half a pint of ice cream, and half a chick flick for me to be ready to say anything, but I do tell her. Everything about how I really am falling for him and how he used me for his money. It sucks.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I ask her. “Is there some beacon over my head that only attracts men that are going to massively screw me over?”

Anna steals a spoonful of ice cream. “It has nothing to do with you. Some men are just assholes.”

“Yeah.” I stab the ice cream with my spoon. “Well, the amount I’ve run into that are assholes seems to be a lot.”

She makes a face. “I can’t exactly argue with that. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Me too.”

We watch the rest of the movie in silence, and at the end, when the couple kiss and seem like the happiest couple alive I can’t even pretend that I’m not a mess. Anna hands me a box of tissues. I feel like there’s a hole blown through my chest. Just a ragged space where grief and anger are swirling, and now that I’ve started crying, I don’t feel like it’ll ever stop. “Sorry,” I say to Anna.

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you apologizing? I’m amazed you haven’t had a breakdown before this.”

This is what I love about Anna. She’s not afraid to let you feel, and so I lean into the pain. I take the tissues and curl up on the couch next to her and let myself cry while she turns on another movie and strokes soothing circles on my back.

We’re halfway through movie number two when Anna clears her throat. “Okay, I’ve got to tell you something, and I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“Okay…” I say.

“When Wyatt disappeared,” she says, “you were pissed, and you had every right to be. I still think if I saw him again I’d chop his balls off.”

That makes me smile a little, even though I’m sniffling and can barely breathe.

“But even though you were angry, you weren’t this,” she says, gesturing to me, “you weren’t heartbroken.”

My stomach drops. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t think I need to spell it out for you, but you weren’t sobbing on my couch over Wyatt the fuckwad.”

I sigh. “You may be right. But that doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

We finish watching the movie, and I drift off to sleep wondering if I really am heartbroken.

* * *

The loud knocking on the door is what wakes me up. I almost fall off the couch because it startles me.

“Morning, sunshine,” Anna says from the kitchen.

The loud knocking sounds again and I wince. “Who in their right mind is knocking like this so early?”

She snorts, heading for the door. “It’s not that early, and I’m guessing that would be your estranged husband.” I cover my face with a pillow and flop back onto the couch. “Do you want to see him?”

“Not really,” I say, “but we got interrupted last night, and if I hear him out then maybe we’ll be done with it.”

She nods. “Get it out of the way.”

The knocking sounds again and Anna answers it. Will is standing outside, looking harried and less put together than his normal self. Like me, he’s still in the clothes that he was wearing last night, though they’re wrinkled now and there are a couple of places that look like they’re smudged with ash.

Anna waves him inside, and the minute he steps into the room his eyes are on me, looking me up and down. I see him register my face and what is likely the remnants of a night spent crying.

“Did the house survive?” I ask.

Anna whips her head around to me. “You didn’t tell me you set his house on fire!”

“She didn’t,” Will says, voice rough. “But it did survive.”

We’re staring at each other now, and I don’t want to be drawn to him. I hate him. I hate him and his stupid perfect face and perfect body and the way he played me like a fool. I look away because I think I might start crying again, and I desperately don’t want to.

Will clears his throat. “I’d like to speak to my wife alone, Anna.”

She doesn’t respond to him, and instead directs her question to me. “You okay?” I nod. “I’ll be close by if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

We both wait until she’s left, and the closing of her bedroom door behind her leaves a gaping silence.

Will takes a few steps closer toward the couch. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

Anger flies up and out, warm and familiar. “Why should I do that? I’m not particularly interested in the blow-by-blow of how you singled me out to manipulate.”

“That is not what happened?”

“And why should I believe anything you say when our whole relationship is a lie?”

“Because, Sandy, I love you.”

My body locks into place, like those words shut it down. The words I’ve wanted him to say, that I’ve wanted to say to him. How can he possibly use them now? I fight against the tears that rise to my eyes. “I love you,” he says again, his voice closer.

“Yes, I fucked up. I didn’t know that my father had bound my inheritance with a timed marriage clause until I was about to sign it. It was his way of making sure the “family name” lived on. So yes, I needed to marry someone. I didn’t go to Vegas looking to get married. I was fucking pissed off and I wanted to get drunk. I wanted it to go away. And then I saw you, and I wasn’t even thinking about the contract, I just wanted you. And then you,” his voice cracks off and he takes a breath, “you were amazing. We just worked, and when you told me about what happened with Wyatt and how you felt so betrayed I knew how you felt, because my own father had just stabbed me in the back.

“And when you cried, and said that you were just looking forward to being married, and that you were worried that no one would ever want you again, I was so angry. I wanted to kill the man that had hurt you and made you feel that way. And when you suggested it, I knew I could give you what you wanted by marrying you, and I could escape the contract.”

He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back. “And then at the engagement party, I saw you and Wyatt, and I saw how brave you were, and how happy you were to have someone stand with you, and I realized that I didn’t want to be married to you just because of a stupid fucking contract. It could have been anyone, but god, Sandy, I don’t want it to be anyone else.”

My breath feels shallow in my chest, it’s too much information to process. “How can I believe you?”

“You don’t have to,” he says, “but I never sent that letter. I wanted to tell you about everything first. I wanted to give you the chance to leave before knowing what I would gain from being married to you. I was going to tell you last night. The rest of the papers on that table were the contract.”

I can’t fight the tears this time. “You lied to me.”

“I know,” he steps closer, “and I can’t ever expect you to forgive me, but I hope you will.”

“You love me?” I’m really crying now, my voice hiccupping.

His hands land on my shoulders. “I do.”

Fingers under my chin tilt my face up, and he kisses me, softly, tenderly, and the hole in my chest closes just a little, hurts a bit less. I love him, more than I ever thought. I do.

“I’ll give it up,” he says. “I won’t send the letter. It doesn’t matter to me anymore, because nothing matters if I don’t have you.”

I lean my head against his chest, completely aware that my tears are soaking into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Will says. “I know we did this backwards. But I love you. I really, fucking love you. So much, I can’t even tell you.”

It’s hard to find my voice, and when I do find it, it’s rough from the tears. “I love you too.”

Will arms tighten around me, and he tilts my head back so that I can see him. He kisses me, and it’s not like any kiss that we’ve shared before. This one is the first one that’s truly real on both sides, and we both know it. It’s all passion and fire and suddenly I feel like the whole world could be burning down around us and I’d still let him take me right here.

From elsewhere in the apartment, I hear Anna’s voice. “I’m happy for you both, but I swear to god if you have sex on my couch I will kick both your asses.”

We laugh, and even though I know that this isn’t perfect yet, and we’ll still have things to talk about, it’s no longer broken. “There’s one thing,” I say, pushing him back far enough so that I can see his face.

“Anything.”

“I want a wedding,” I say. “One that I can actually remember.”

He grins. “So we’re staying married?”

“You think I’d let you go after we just managed to find each other?”

Suddenly I’m swept into his arms and out Anna’s front door. “In that case, Mrs. Herrington, allow me to carry you across a threshold. And straight back to our house.”

“Our house,” I say, playing with the way the phrase rolls on my tongue. “I like it.”

“I love it,” he says.

I laugh as the elevator door close behind us, and we’re finally, truly, together.