I swallow hard, absorbing the apparent implication of his question: If it was before, I could have saved him the embarrassment of standing at the altar and discovering his fate in front of their guests. How do I explain this so he’ll understand? Just be honest, Solange. “Before. I didn’t think it was my place to say anything, though. Figured it was possible you wouldn’t care.” His eyes go wide, but I forge ahead. “Then I heard your vows. You told her you wanted to do this only once, and her immediate reaction was to look past you. To someone who’s obviously still in her life. She wanted that man to stop the wedding. When it was clear he wouldn’t, she was willing to marry her second pick. You. Did I do the wrong thing? Should I have kept quiet?”

As soon as I ask those questions, I want to snatch them back. Dean isn’t obligated to absolve me of my guilt. I made what I thought was the right choice, and I need to live with it, no matter how he responds to the news.

“We’re in an open relationship,” he says flatly. “That explains why it wouldn’t have mattered.”

My stomach drops. Fuuuuuck. I should have kept my nosy mouth shut. Now I’ve made a mess of things, and it wasn’t even warranted. “Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry.” My eyes well with tears. “I owe you and Ella a million apologies, then.”

“Solange, relax. I’m just messing around.”

My knees buckle, and the tightness in my chest unfurls. I place my hands on Dean’s shoulders and lightly shove him away. “What is wrong with you? This isn’t funny.”

He pulls me within inches of his body and wipes a thumb under my eye just in time to catch a teardrop. “No, it isn’t, but you’re tying yourself in knots over this, and this is my time to be overly dramatic. Stop stealing my moment, dammit.”

I stare at him, unsure what to make of his reaction to the train wreck he’s just experienced. Is this a guy thing? Has he been conditioned to think men should appear unflappable even in situations as catastrophic as this one? “Wait. You’re not mad?”

“I’m disappointed, but I’ll survive. It’s complicated, okay? Now, before we get too far ahead of ourselves, tell me exactly what you heard.”

Oh God, why? Maybe if I pretend that I’m not here, he’ll go away. I squeeze my eyes shut and freeze in place. Failing to sense any movement around me, I open one eye and peek at my surroundings.

“Solange, I can see you.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can,” he says, a thread of humor in his tone.

Is this real? Is he really unbothered by everything that’s happened?