The realization that Nash doesn’t have a ring box in his hand snaps me from my reverie. Instead, he presents me with an envelope. And not just any old plain white Staples envelope, but a sparkly gold one, made of real fancy paper. My brows pull together in confusion as I look back up at him, meeting his eyes once again.

“What is this?” I ask, tentatively taking it from him. But he doesn’t answer. He just takes a step back, letting go of my other hand and scratching at his lightly stubbled jaw as he watches me, waiting. He’s nervous. So am I. And, right now, I almost wish something was wrong with him, because I have a terrible sinking feeling in my belly that whatever this is, I am not going to like it one bit.

I lift the tab with my index finger and pull out a single piece of card. Looking closer, I push my glasses up my nose, and it takes my eyes a while to adjust to the dim light of the shadows cast by the overhead trees. But then I manage to read the words embossed into the card in my hand, and in that moment, it feels as if my whole world comes crashing down around me.

Mr. and Mrs. Howard E. Hutchins request the pleasure of your company …

I stare at it—the invitation—reading the words over and over again as a painful ball of emotion wedges itself into the back of my throat. Suddenly I find it difficult to breathe. “W-what is this?” I finally ask, trying so hard to keep my voice from quavering. I glance up with a tight smile I know doesn’t even come close to reaching my eyes. “You … You’re getting m-married?”

Nash nods slowly, the ghost of an uncertain smile playing on his lips.

A flush heats my cheeks, and I know tears are imminent, but I try to keep what little composure I have, looking down at the invitation in my trembling hands in an attempt to avoid his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” Nash says. His words are soft and gentle, as if he knows what they’re capable of doing to me.

“Wow.” I try so hard to sound excited and happy, but I know I’m not even close to pulling it off. My heart is breaking. Actually, no. It’s already broken. And then I do a double take, looking closer at the invitation, and I actually can’t even believe my own eyes. “Next week?” I shriek, finally forced to meet his gaze.

“Yeah.” Nash tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, shrugging a little sheepishly. “I know it’s sudden. But with my final year of med school coming up, and Anna studying for the bar, if we don’t do it now, we’ll probably be waiting another whole year, and we really don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Anna?” I ask, looking down at her name embossed in shiny black lettering on the invitation. Annabelle Victoria Hutchins. I can only imagine what she looks like. Her name is elegant enough. I bet she’s tall and beautiful. Thin and probably blonde. Nothing like me, Alice Murphy. I once thought Alice was a beautiful name. Beautiful like Alice in Wonderland. But Murphy? Bleh. When all the guys started calling me Murph, I just went with it. Because, let’s face it, I’m certainly no Annabelle Victoria Hutchins.