Tristan caught sight of the word Husband and scoffed, turning away. “You promised to stay with me. Don’t let him distract you—and don’t distract me. Otherwise, we’re no longer best friends.”
Cassandra smiled, lifted her phone, and let it drop into a glass of water. Raising a brow, she teased,
“Your Majesty, satisfied now?”
Tristan finally nodded. Cassandra leaned in, fingers darting to his side until his laughter filled the sea breeze.
By the time I lowered my phone—the one I had been using to record—my tears had already soaked my mask.
Six years of love. And this is what it came to.
Cassandra… I hope you’re ready for hell.
Later, after they tired of their games, the group sat down. Tristan’s voice drifted toward me with the wind:
“On the night of Cassie’s wedding, I got drunk and joked about marrying whoever came first. She panicked—showed up in her wedding dress and Gareth’s tux.”
Laughter rippled around him.
I froze. That tux—my custom suit. She’d told me it was stained and lost at the cleaners.
Tristan smirked. “We played house, bowing to heaven and earth like when we were kids. I teased that after that, I couldn’t remarry—but I wanted a child. Guess what this fool did?”