constructing elaborate fictions…”
He shook his head.
“It makes me question everything.”
“Including whether you want to marry her,” I suggested gently.
He looked up, troubled.
“Is it wrong that I’m asking myself that question after four years together… on what was supposed to be our wedding day?”
“Better today than tomorrow,” I said. “Or next year, when children might be involved.”
Blake nodded slowly.
“My parents have taken a suite at the Grand Hotel downtown,” he told me. “They’ve offered to let us stay there while we figure things
