"I know. Thanks."
He leaves me there, and I tell myself I'm not going to look. That I'm going to finish this drink, congratulate Ollie one more time, and then leave early without making this weird.
I last about thirty seconds.
Then I look.
And immediately wish I hadn't. She's standing by the bar near the terrace doors, backlit by the setting sun streaming through the windows. The light catches in her hair, turns her dress into something that shimmers when she moves.
My hands grip the glass harder when I realise she isn't alone.
A man stands beside her. Tall, clean-cut, posture easy, smile relaxed. He looks like he belongs in this setting—polished, confident, the kind of man who fits into a wedding without trying. Hishand rests on the small of her back. Casually, possessively, comfortably.
Like he has every right to touch her that way. Like she wants him to.
My stomach drops.
The name comes to me through fragments of conversation I've overheard throughout the day: Liam.
The guy she works with in London. I mean it makes perfect sense that they ended up together.
And it fucking burns.
She turns, laughing at something he said, and our eyes meet across the room. The noise of the reception fades into something distant and dull. Her expression shifts before she can stop it—surprise first, then something sharper, something older.
Hurt. Recognition. Longing, maybe. Or just memory dressed up as something it's not. She hesitates, like she's deciding whether to walk away or walk toward me.
Then she chooses forward.
Each step she takes feels heavier than the last, not because of tension or anger, but because of the weight of everything that's not been said between us.
My heart doesn't race, it just sinks. As if it knows what's coming. As if it's been preparing for this moment for two years.
"Nate."
My name still sounds like home in her voice. Still carries all the summers we spent together, all the almosts and maybes that never became anything real.
"Nora." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"You look—" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "Well."
"You look beautiful."
Red flushes across her cheeks. She glances back at the man beside her, then gestures toward me with something that looks like reluctance.
"This is Liam."
He steps forward, offers his hand. It’s a firm grip and friendlyin that effortless way that comes from never having to fight for anything.
"Nice to meet you," he says in a well-toned East London accent. "Nora's told me a lot about this place."
I shake his hand, force something resembling a smile.
"Hope it lived up to expectations."
"It has." He looks at Nora with genuine affection, and something in my chest twists. "She wasn't exaggerating. This place is beautiful."
"It has its moments."
