Maya Chen was twenty-eight years old when she decided that love was a luxury she could no longer afford.
The decision hadn't come all at once. It had arrived in pieces over the two years since her mother's death each loss, each goodbye, each ending stacking like stones until the weight of it crushed something vital inside her chest.
Now, standing at her best friend's wedding watching couples slow dance to songs about forever, Maya understood the fundamental lie: nothing lasted. Everything ended. Everyone left. The only variable was how much it would hurt when they did.
"You look like you're at a funeral, not a wedding."
Maya turned sharply, champagne sloshing in her glass. The man behind her was tall and unfairly attractive sun-weathered skin, messy brown hair that looked like he'd forgotten to comb it, and eyes the impossible blue-green of the ocean in her mother's paintings. He wore his suit like an uncomfortable costume, the tie already loosened, top button undone.
"Maybe I am," Maya said before she could stop herself. "Weddings are just funerals for freedom."
His laugh was unexpected bright and genuine and somehow sad at the same time. "Jesus. That's the most cynical thing I've heard all night, and I've been avoiding my ex's table for three hours." He held out a champagne flute. "I'm Ethan. Friend of the bride. Professional third wheel."
"Maya." She accepted the glass, their fingers brushing.
An electric shock of awareness shot up her arm. "Friend of the bride. Professional wallflower."
"Wallflowers are underrated. They're the only honest people at these things." His gaze was too intense, too seeing. Like he could read the carefully constructed walls she'd built and found them fascinating rather than off-putting. "Want to escape this beautiful disaster? There's a terrace that's significantly less… matrimonial."
Every instinct Maya had cultivated over two years screamed at her to decline. To stay in the safe cocoon of her emotional distance. To go home alone like she always did.
But something about his crooked smile or maybe the champagne, or maybe the exhaustion of pretending to be fine for eight hours made her say, "Lead the way."
That single word would change everything.
The terrace was blissfully empty, overlooking the hotel gardens and the glittering city beyond. November wind cut through Maya's dress, but she welcomed it. Cold was clarifying. Cold kept you alert.
"So," Ethan said, leaning against the stone railing. "What's a wallflower doing at a wedding if she hates them so much?"
"I don't hate weddings. I just don't believe in them." Maya took a long sip of champagne for courage. "No offense to your friend."
"Our friend. And none taken." He pulled out his phone, showed her a photo of him with Sienna in college both younger, laughing, covered in paint. "She made me promise to come back from Iceland for this. Said it wouldn't be the same without her 'favorite cynic.'"
"Iceland?" Maya felt her guard slip slightly. "What were you doing there?"
"Running away." The honesty in his voice caught her off-guard. "I'm a photographer. I spend most of my life running away to beautiful places and pretending it's about art."
"That's…" Maya searched for the right word. "Depressingly self-aware."
"I try." His smile was crooked, self-deprecating. "What about you? What do you do when you're not philosophically opposed to matrimony?"
"I'm an art therapist. I help people process trauma through painting and drawing." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Mostly kids. They're more honest than adults."
"Because adults are better liars?"
"Because adults have more to lose by telling the truth."
Something shifted in Ethan's expression recognition, maybe. Like he'd found someone who spoke his language. "Dance with me."
Maya blinked. "What?"
"The music's still playing. We're both hiding from a party we don't want to be at. And I have a theory that honest conversations require movement." He held out his hand. "Unless you're scared."
The challenge in his voice made something dangerous spark in her chest. "I'm not scared of dancing."
"What are you scared of?"
Everything, Maya thought. Loss. Pain. You.
She took his hand.
They swayed to the muffled music drifting from inside barely dancing, more like standing close enough to feel each other's warmth. Ethan's hand was solid at her waist, and Maya felt the walls she'd built start to crack.
"Tell me something true," Ethan said quietly. "Something you don't usually say."
Maya should have deflected. Should have made a joke. Instead, champagne and exhaustion and his too-blue eyes made her honest. "My mother died two years ago. Brain aneurysm. She went to bed with a headache and never woke up." Her voice stayed steady through practice. "The last real conversation we had was a fight. She told me I was playing life too safe. I told her to mind her own business. Three days later, she was gone."
Ethan's hand tightened on her waist. "Maya"
"Your turn." She looked up at him, needing him to match her vulnerability. "Tell me something true."
He was quiet for a long moment, jaw working. Then: "I'm thirty years old and I've never stayed anywhere longer than six months. I tell people it's about my career, about capturing the world. Really? I watched my parents' marriage destroy them both, and I've been running from anything permanent ever since."
"That's not cynical at all," Maya said, and felt the corner of her mouth twitch.
"We're a matched set." His thumb traced small circles on her hip, sending heat spiraling through her. "Two professional avoiders pretending to dance at a wedding we both think is doomed."
"Not doomed," Maya corrected. "Just… temporary. Like everything else."
"You really believe that?"
"I have to. It's the only way to survive losing people."
Ethan stopped swaying, his hand coming up in to cup her face. The touch was gentle but electric. "What if you're wrong? What if protecting yourself from loss means missing out on living?"
"That's a risk I'm willing to take."