Three days rush by in a blur of hectic chaos.

Amanda is a pain in the ass. Savannah has tried her best to have the wedding planner in check to keep things moving on smoothly. Everything is going on according to Amanda's and William's wishes.

The only times I actually get breaks are at nights, while heading to bed, and the nearly nine hours' long flight from New York to Ravello, Italy, my wedding destination.

Because anywhere except the Belmond hotel Caruso in Ravello, Italy, was not prestigious enough for William and Amanda Wright's only son, Kristian's wedding.

The hotel was a palace, apparently built back in the 11th century, and is nestled on a cliff overlooking the Amalfi coast. Quaint gardens and an old church surround the castle.

The Duomo of Ravello—a 900-year-old church—is where the wedding ceremony will take place. The entire setup is fit for a princess.

I'm supposed to feel special, but I feel especially miserable.

Perhaps it is a very princess-like situation. I'm getting married to someone I don't want and can't afford to get out of the deal.

The suits of the hotel are Neapolitan-style, with long ceiling to floor windows opening to huge balconies and overlooking the shore. Though one side of my spacious room, where the blue antique loveseat and armchair are placed, is overflowing with dresses, accessories, and everything imaginable, I still like it. At least it offers momentary peace while hiding inside its walls.

It takes us the entire first day to settle in and look around the place. The wedding planner and her crew arrive and immediately get to work.

The following day, the guests start arriving. Receiving them, and carrying on small talks, ensuring each and everyone one of them is happy and satisfied is no easy task. Especially since Amanda went overboard and invited almost 500 people.

I have no idea how she has managed to find that many people to drag over here.

One of the reasons why the wedding's cost is turning into a whopping two million dollars.

Money and glamour used to make me happy. This life, is what I was born into and I enjoyed every damn second of it, taking full advantage of its every privilege.

However, for the first time, this two million dollar bill is resting on my chest like a damn stone weighing over a ton, crushing me underneath it.

The exquisite grandeur is not bringing me joy, and it's not making me feel special, nor am I enjoying my time. I simply feel suffocated.

Late at night, when I'm alone in the safety of my room, enjoying the view of the clear night sky, my mind recalls the good times I had with Spencer. How even though I was broke, everything seemed perfect with him. Somehow, everything appeared great, even things as small as sitting on the floor of his study and working on that solution, or grabbing a bite from my favorite pastry shop.

For my entire life, I'd been convinced people are wrong about money when they claim the more money you have, the more miserable you become.

For the first time, I'm starting to see, it's not about the money, the luxury, and the glory. No, it's about the people I'm with.

Just like no amount of money can ever bring back the safety and security I felt when Dad used to promise he'll fix the problem I had gotten into.

Nothing's like spending a weekend at Mom's place. Or chilling with the people I like.

Sure, being able to buy whatever the hell I want without worrying about the price tag, living in mansions, and having the latest, fastest car are all great... but fleeting.

Money is not the sole thing that makes someone happy in their life.

As I lay in the absurdly huge king-sized bed, my gaze darts to the sofa on the other side of the room, knowing tomorrow my wedding dress will arrive. Atop the daunting feeling, regret fills me up.

I realized it all too late. Now I'm too deep in, and if I pull out, Mom and Mason have to pay the price too.

I sigh and turn to my side, sliding my hand under my pillow as I watch the starless, moonless night.

It's my second night in this hotel, less than five days away from my wedding, regardless of the shit I've been through, my mind wanders back to Spencer.

I was hoping he'd show up. A small voice in me says he will. But the second day has ended and still no sign of Spencer.

At this point, I don't even know if I want him to show up or not.

The next morning, marking three days until the dreadful wedding ceremony, my dress arrives. Along with the veils, because Amanda didn't like the one I chose and we couldn't reach a common ground. So here we are, with seventy-two hours away from the big event and a vital part of the show still undecided.

The guests are still arriving, but it's probably the last batch. Tonight, we're going to have a grand party with everyone present. Tomorrow night will be the bachelor and bachelorette parties and the day after that will be the wedding.

Most of the young women, all around my age, some of them are old money rich, some not, while a small portion of them have joined our group by marrying a rich dude, have gathered around the colossal pool, like a mini party.

If I stand a few feet away from the pool, in the right vantage point, it'll appear like the pool is connected to the clear blue sea, joining the equally bright sky on the far horizon. The warm sun splays its rays on us and the pool, glinting off the clear water. The weather is nice, not too hot to be uncomfortable, but enough to not be chilly.

William booked the entire hotel, so no one except our guests would be residing.

Mom, Amanda, Savannah, and a whole lot of other women who I'm barely acquainted with, are inside, in the Cocktail & Piano salon. While Mason, William, and most of the other notorious businessmen are in the Bubbles Bar, located down the corridor of the Cocktail & Piano salon, near the gardens, enjoying and drinking their time away.

The white cushioned loungers dotted around all three sides of the pool are all occupied by the girls, as the serving staff hurry from one person to the other, giving them the drink they ordered.

A woman, dressed in a black jacket and pencil skirt, wheels a steel clothing rack, with the veils Amanda has approved displayed on it. She stops before me, a few paces away from the pool, on the narrow pathway.

The girls' attention immediately latches to it as I page through them. The oohs and aahs coming from three sides of me make me uncomfortable. I push my sunglasses up my nose and focus on the woman instead.

"Which one did she prefer the most?" I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest, as the warm afternoon sun beats down on me.

"This one, ma'am," she timidly says, sliding aside the other veils to showcase the largest, most dramatic one.

I blow an annoyed air through my lips, rolling my eyes. Shaking my head, I comb through them, until finding one that's not too long, not too fluffy and layered. "Help me put this one on," I tell her.

One of the girl's jumps off her lounger, giving her spot to me. I nod at her with smile as I sit and the woman gets to work, pinning down the veil. After she's done, she pushes aside the veils on the rack to the sides to present the full-length mirror she has placed on the bottom of the clothing rack.

I stand up, forcing a smile as the girls shower me with compliments. I take off my sunglasses and survey my reflection in the mirror. The pure white center gathered two-layered veil is what the designers and professionals call fingertip length, which cascades down, a few inches past my rear.

I tilt my head to the side, the few strands of hair falling on either side of my side face from my messy bun gently sway from the soft breeze.

A lump forms in my throat, and it grows larger the longer I stare at myself. The voices around me, all raving and complimenting me turn to background noise.

The white short sleeved shirt I opted with for today is not helping either.

Everything seems too final.

Five years! For five fucking years I'll be a Wright and I have to live with Kristian, the man I cannot even stand to be in the same room with, and become family with a bunch of pain in the asses.

Not to mention, my mother-in-law truly is a devil in law.

Dread claws my insides and I bite my bottom lip.

"Mrs. Wright insisted on the cathedral length, ma'am," the woman on my right says, snapping me out of my depressing thoughts.

I drag my gaze away from the mirror, and turn to answer her, but over her shoulder, at the other end of the pathway down near the entrance leading to the pool I spy a tall, lean figure standing.

My heart leaps and in a flash, everything disappears for me. Not giving a damn about what others might think, I walk past the woman, who turns along with me but doesn't follow me.

I sprint down the pathway, careful not to trip, not believing my eyes.

For first time ever since I got back from London excitement flickers in me. I feel alive.

As I near him, I slow down my pace and rapidly blink away the moisture gathered in my eyes from the overwhelming rush of emotions.

I halt five feet away from him. My heart thrashes in my chest as I gaze at him, too scared to utter a word in case it might not be real.

Standing before me, holding a duffle bag in one hand and watching me with his trademark intense gaze, is no one other than Spencer.

Truly and wholly it's Spencer.

His eyes scrutinize the veil still hanging around me. "You look beautiful," he quietly says, his Adam's apple bobbing.

His voice almost brings me to my knees and tears me up. God, three months is not that long! How is possible to feel his absence from my life so deeply? I control myself and draw in a sharp breath. "I knew you would come," I quaver.

A sad smile twitches the corner of his mouth and he pushes his glasses up, refusing to meet my eyes.

"But you're late, most arrived yesterday."

A half-hearted breathy chuckle tumbles out of his mouth. "Traffic," he replies, a ghost of a smile appearing on his features.

The longer I look at him, the more I notice how unlike himself he looks. Dark circles under his eyes, face sunken and ashen, lacking the sternness I had been accustomed to. His stance is no longer the upright, confident man, instead, his shoulders are hunching and I note how drastically he has lost weight.

"Even in the air?" I reply. My heart clenches as I recall my excuse five years ago whenever I used to be late to meet him.

"You never know, the starting point was from New York after all."

My bottom lip trembles and I swallow my lump.

I want to shout that I'm mad at him, that I want to be mad at him for leaving me, again. That it's not fair he left me both times. That I want to hate him but I can't. I want to yell at him for hurting me, and for not being able to stay mad at him and hate him.

But most of all, I just want to melt into his arms and forget this mess I've gotten myself into.

No words leave me, I stand, quietly watching him, hoping he'd break the silence, offer some kind of explanation for disappearing.

"I can leave if you don't want me here," he says, instead of all the things he could've said.

My brows knit together and I fist my hands glaring at him. "Is that all you've got to say?" I snap.

His gaze jumps to me with surprise before he quickly looks away. "No."

"Then say something, anything," I plead.

"What's the point? It's too late." He lifts his head, swiftly scanning my face before watching the flowers on his right.

"Don't leave again," I mumble. His fingers tighten around the strap of his duffle bag, pained expression passes his handsome face.

I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear and stand taller. "Thank you for everything you did. I-it was-"

"The right thing to do and the least I could've done," he says without looking at me.

"I disagree. You could've done nothing; you were under no obligatio-"

He expels a sharp blow of air and shakes his head. "No, Gracie. I was. I had to do that. Aside from being the right thing do, it was the only way left for me to try to make up for an insignificant part-"

"I didn't want you to go against your dad for me," I interject.

"We can both live through it." He shrugs.

"Spencer you didn't have to do all those things just to show me you didn't mean what you said that night, and you regretted your actions."

"What do you suggest I should've done? That was all I knew." He pushes his glasses up again with a twitching finger. "Is there anything else I can-"

"No!" I cut him and stare at him exasperatedly. "The letter was enough. And what was that? That you'd get out of my life before I know it? You're not allowed to do that! You're not allowed to decide those things on yourself, because I too will get effected, I have a right to have a say in that decision."

I shake my head and shift my weight from one foot to another. "But you never take me into account. You never do. You decide what's right and wrong and go along with your decision, never caring how it'll affect me, never giving a damn about my emotions."

"Gracie," he softly says, finally meeting my gaze.

"What? Have you ever asked? No! We never talk about anything! And on the rare occasions we do, it's for hurting each other. Why didn't ask what I wanted? Why did you leave?"

He cocks his head to the side, pain glimmering in his eyes.

"Do you know what I wanted? I didn't want you to leave. I didn't want that stupid letter you sent me. I didn't want you to go against your dad for me and get kicked out of your own company. I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to talk to me, to tell me why you said those things that night. I wanted you to call me. Every day I waited for you to change your mind and just pick up your goddamn phone and call me, but no. I wanted you to look me in the eyes and say you regret whatever you said. But you left, not even looking back once-"

"I-I thought I'm doing the right thing."

Incredulous I stare at him. "Well maybe if you had bothered to ask me-"

"Kathryn didn't want me around you. And who can blame her after what I did? I couldn't look you in the eyes, I-"

I cut him, "You're still a coward."

He clenches his jaw and looks away.

"You chose the easiest path. By labeling it as the right thing to do, you can't change the truth of it. You didn't have the dare to face me, and you didn't even bother to try." I hug myself and look away.

"You're right," he mumbles.

"Why don't you ever ask what I want? Why don't we ever talk like two functioning adults?" I push my shoulders back and watch him.

"Would you have forgiven me?"

"I would've if you had just told me why you said those things to me that night."

"We both know I don't deserve it though."

"Let me be the decider of that," I snap. "Don't make decisions for me, instead of me, and act on them." I wrap my arms tighter around my form and scrutinize one of the many roses on my left. "I hate you for hurting me, and I hate you for leaving again. And I hate you're always so obsessed with doing the right thing that end up doing the worst. But most of all, I hate you for making it so hard to hate you and stay mad at you."

My chin quivers and tears burn my eyes. "I just wish you'd stick around and talk things through with me. You do crazy things for me when I don't even want you to, making me think like there's nothing you won't do for me, that you'll fight for me till the end. Yet you never do anything when I'm right in front of you, waiting for you to just simply tell me how to make it work, to talk it through."

He nods, scratching his forehead, hanging his head down.

"Are you planning on leaving again?"

"I-I shouldn't stay... I didn't want to come, but I couldn't stay away either," he admits quietly. "I'm not brave, Gracie... the way I've been towards you... I-I'm so ashamed of my actions, I don't have the right to ask for your forgiveness, let alone hope you'd forgive me. I'm not daring enough to look you in the eyes and say I'm sorry. I- Nothing will ever make up for it... y-you almost lo-lost your life... because of me." His voice cracks and tears glisten in his eyes.

"I started the fight... I didn't trust you."

"Because I hadn't given you a reason to trust me."

"Would you stay if I tell you I've forgiven you?" I tilt my head to the side, giving up on blinking away my tears. "Would you stay if I ask you to?"

He nods.

"And what if I ask you to stop blaming yourself, would you still listen? If I ask you to forgive yourself and don't leave me, can you do that for me too?"

His gaze bores into me, and his lips part as though pondering his final answer.

Before he can utter a word, someone calls from behind him, "Spencer, I didn't think you'd come." William climbs the remaining steps and stops next to him.

He gives me a once-over, and his features twist with displeasure.

"I hope that's not the only bag you've come with," William disdainfully says to him. "You can't wear that to Kris's wedding."

"You don't have to worry about it," Spencer mutters, pulling himself to his full height and donning his mask of cold indifference.

But I can see the cracks he's trying to hide as he holds his ground against his father.

"Get yourself a suitable thing to wear," William snaps.

Spencer clicks his tongue. "I don't think that'd be possible. Someone fired me, unfortunately, I'm not as... rich as I was."

Anger flashes across William's face, and his gaze strays to me. The reason for their turbulence. Great!

"I'll send someone to guid you to your room," he mutters.

Spencer quirks a brow. "So I'll be staying alongside you posh, elite people. I thought I'm not-"

"Don't you think that's enough?" William barks.

Nonchalant, Spencer shakes his head and pushes his glasses up. "No, not really. I haven't even started yet."

Fisting his hands, William turns to me. "And what's that you're wearing? I thought Amanda made it clear to do whatever we tell you to do. And that's not what she settled with, get that thing off your head and try the one we finalized."

I begin to argue, "But-"

William harshly interrupts me, "One word and I'll-"

"I wonder what makes you think you can talk to her in that tone?" Spencer snarls.

Taken aback, my head whirls to him, but he continues to stare William down.

William's knuckles turn white as he glowers at Spencer, a vein popping out on his corded neck and forehead. "The guests have already seen you, settle in your room, don't cause more trouble. We're not done," he growls and shoots a furious glare at me before marching away.

Spencer's focus latches behind me and I glance over my shoulder. Everyone is staring at us.

With a sigh, I turn back to him. "I should go."

He nods and changes his duffel bag from one hand to the other.

Without another word, I turn around and walk away from him, even though that's the last thing I want to do. It takes everything in me not to glance back at him.

❦ ♥︎ ❦

Spencer showed up! =)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, comment your thoughts on the stuff Gracie said to Spencer, do you guys think she's handling it right or not? I'd love to hear(read) your thoughts on it.

Vote if you enjoyed, thanks for reading this chapter ^.^

Stay safe, lots of love, happy reading ♡