Chapter 2He Proposed to Me With Her Name

I was about to put my phone away when another message came through from Dominic.

"Clara, let us just go with it for now. Bianca already said yes in front of everyone. I am the family heir, and backing out now would make De Luca look bad. It would damage Bianca's reputation too. Later I will tell them it was all a misunderstanding, that I always meant to propose to you."

I read the lines several times. It did not surprise me. The moment Dominic called out the wrong name, I knew exactly how this would go.

It was the same as last Christmas, when he sent a scarf to my apartment but it ended up at Bianca's address by mistake. When I tried to get it back, he held my hand and said: "Sorry, Clara, I must have filled in the wrong address. Just let her keep it. She has already opened it."

A message came through from the estate manager: "Mr. De Luca asked me to let you know that the reception after the dinner will be held in the main hall. The main course has been changed to lobster pasta with white truffle. The chef has confirmed the ingredients. We look forward to seeing you there."

It was part of the proposal plan. Since he had proposed to the wrong person, everything would go to Bianca instead. That was how Dominic always handled things.

I saw a guest's Instagram post of the dinner table. White linen, silver candlesticks, floral arrangements. The main course was lobster pasta with white truffle. I was allergic to truffle. Dominic never remembered. But it was Bianca's favorite.

I went back to my Manhattan apartment alone. I pushed the door open. On the console table by the entrance sat a small record player and a record sleeve beside it. It was from our first date, a jazz show he had taken me to. He had bought a signed copy later and placed it here. He said the first record you play in a new place gives it a voice.

Dominic had never cared much for rituals. I was the one who taught him. I remembered the day I put that record on the console table. He leaned against the doorframe and said, "It is just a record. Does it matter where it goes?"

I turned and shook my head. "It matters. I want everyone who walks in to see it first and know this is a home."

That was the first time he did not argue with me. I thought that meant he was beginning to believe me.

I picked up the record sleeve and ran my finger along the crease on the cover. Images from the dinner flashed through my mind. In every photo, he stood next to Bianca, relaxed, his mouth slightly lifted in a smile I had not seen on his face in a long time. I realized I had been the only one who thought we were happy.

I turned the sleeve over and put it in a box with the record. My phone buzzed once. Bianca had put up a story. A photo from the dinner, with one line: "Some things are decided for you."

She did not name anyone. She did not need to.

I closed my phone and booked a flight. The morning flights were full. The only one left was the earliest flight the day after tomorrow. Six forty in the morning. Arriving in London that night. I confirmed the booking.

[Booking confirmed. There were thirty-four hours left before takeoff.]