Mrs. Fonseka was a planner. Not officially, of course. A woman of her disposition from her generation would never seek employment of any sort. And so instead she planned parties, and galas, and charity events. She planned school fairs, and concerts, and her daughters’ lives. She’d even taken a shot at planning things out for me. And while her parties were known to be the best in Colombo, she’d definitely upped her game tonight in honor of her daughter.

Speaking of Mrs. Fonseka, she was marching around barking orders at various waitstaff, who looked petrified every time she went near them. Even though her peacock-blue evening dress sparkled like a Christmas ornament, her expression was strictly no-nonsense. She wore a necklace adorned with blue sapphires that glistened in the flickering low lights. I wonder what it might be like to pull it tight. Not too tight—just enough to make her face turn blue. Blue to match her ostentatious necklace and her gaudy dress.

Not wanting to draw any attention from her, I tried to back away as discreetly as possible into the main house, where it would be quieter.

Smiling politely at an old couple, I waited for them to pass me by before turning around and almost tripping over someone.

Maybe I was about to apologize, but my voice never found the words.

I knew, of course, from the moment I decided to come here, from the moment that I decided to sabotage this wedding, that I’d have to see him. I’d spent so long dreaming of this moment. What I’d do, what I’d say when I finally came face-to-face with Spencer after all these years. I was crying, the last time he saw me. Sobbing. Broken. I was a shell before. Not even half the woman I am now. I wondered if he had changed too. How different can someone be after five years? Do we really change? Does what’s deep within us, in that place that makes us innately who we are, shift and move and evolve with time? Or are our lives like the window dressing of department stores—changed and updated with the seasons, leaving what’s inside in the same chaotic mess?

“Amaya,” he exclaimed, and I practically disintegrated at the way my name sounded coming from his lips. He was carrying a bouquet of lilies, and the smell of it laced with his aftershave made it hard to breathe.

“Um, hi, Spence. How are you?” I tried to go for nonchalant, but my voice came out high and squeaky. I put my hands on my hips to stop them from shaking and took a deep breath. I can’t look like a wreck now. He has to see that I’m not a wreck. I am strong. I am confident. I have my own life and my own business and my own brunch friends. I’m fine.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he said. He was smiling. His voice was warm. My breath was shallow. I was going to throw up.