You Can't Save Me and Marry Him at the Same Time
The call comes on the eve of my wedding.
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror, lost in a sea of ivory silk and lace, the weight of a future I’ve desperately craved settling onto my shoulders.
A future with Owen.
A future away from… him.
My phone vibrates on the antique vanity, a harsh buzz against the quiet hum of my anticipation.
It’s a number I don’t recognize, but the dread is instantly familiar, coiling in my stomach like a cold snake.
I answer.
A frantic, slurred voice cuts through the static. “He’s losing it, Elodie. You need to come. Now.”
My heart stops.
The reflection in the mirror shows a bride, poised on the edge of everything.
But all I can feel is the pull of the past, threatening to drag me back under, right when I’m about to break the surface.
§01
It started, as it always did, with Finnegan Mercer making an entrance.
I’d brought Owen home for the first time, my hand clammy in his, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs.
For a month, our relationship had been a secret garden, a quiet, sunlit space just for us.
Tonight, I was finally opening the gate.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, a hopeful smile plastered on my face. “It’s a bit messy, but make yourself at home…”
The words died in my throat.
There, sprawled languidly on my gray velvet sofa, was Finn.
He was draped in a sheer silk robe that left little to the imagination, one slender leg propped up on a cushion.
He fluttered his eyelashes at me, a lazy, predatory smile playing on his lips.
“Darling,” he purred, his voice a low thrum that vibrated with manufactured intimacy. “I’ve been waiting for you. You took forever.”
Owen stood frozen in the entryway, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around mine. He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting from the spectacle on my sofa to my mortified face.
He didn't have to say a word. The question hung in the air, thick and suffocating: What the hell is this?
I dropped Owen’s hand, my cheeks burning with a familiar shame.
I strode across the room, snatched my trench coat from the hook by the door, and wrapped it firmly around Finn’s theatrically shivering frame.
I turned back to Owen, my voice tight. “This is a misunderstanding.”
§02
The atmosphere in the living room was thick enough to choke on.
I poured Owen a glass of water, my hands trembling slightly, then sat stiffly on the armchair opposite him.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to break the silence. “Okay. Let me introduce you two.” My voice sounded unnaturally high. “This is Finnegan Mercer, my… friend. Finn, this is Owen Carmichael. My boyfriend.”
Owen’s gaze was steady, unreadable.
I nudged Finn with my elbow, a silent, desperate command. You made this mess. You fix it.
Finn shot me a subtle eye-roll before extending a graceful hand. “Mr. Carmichael. A pleasure. I’m Finn.”
They shook hands briefly, Owen’s grip firm, his voice even. “Owen.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea, Owen,” Finn said, leaning over to rest his chin on my shoulder, his body a boneless weight against mine. “Elodie and I are just besties. Our preferences, shall we say, are perfectly aligned.”
Owen nodded slowly. “I know. She’s told me about you.”
The tension finally began to ease. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and gently shifted, trying to dislodge Finn from my personal space.
Finn was reed-thin, but he had a habit of melting against me like he had no bones, claiming my curvier frame was more comfortable.
I knew with absolute certainty that his physical closeness was entirely platonic.
He was, to his core, a man who loved men, as much a girlfriend to me as any of my female friends.
But I didn’t know if Owen could see that, if he could understand the strange, tangled history that made these boundaries so porous.
To his credit, not a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He stayed for another half an hour, making polite conversation, before rising to leave.
I walked him to the door, my heart sinking with every step.
While we waited for the elevator, Owen looked at me, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “He’s not what I expected.”
“Oh?” I asked, a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. “How so?”
He offered a small smile. “He’s… aggressive.”
I managed a weak laugh. “Finn likes to call himself a drama queen. But he’s all bark and no bite, really. You’ll get used to him.”
Owen just nodded as the elevator doors slid open.
I watched him go, then turned and walked back into my apartment.
Finn was back on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, my trench coat still wrapped around him.
He looked up as the door clicked shut.
“A boyfriend?” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “You never mentioned a boyfriend.”
“We’ve only been seeing each other for a month,” I sighed, slumping against the door. “And why didn’t you tell me you were back in the country?”
He sat up, his eyes narrowing. “What, so I wouldn’t interrupt your little love fest?”
I nodded, too tired to lie.
Friday night. It should have been perfect.
A good conversation, maybe a lingering kiss at the door. Tomorrow, a lazy morning tangled in sheets, a sweet good-morning kiss. I had the whole weekend planned out in my head.
Finn saw my admission and his face hardened. “You’d let him into your home after only a month? Elodie, have you lost your mind?”
He stood up, pacing. “And don’t think I didn’t see the way he looks at you. He’s bad news, I’m telling you. End it. Now.”
“No,” I said, my voice quiet but firm.
He stopped, staring at me as if I’d just spoken in another language. “What did you say?”
I met his gaze. “I said no. I’m not breaking up with him.”
“Have you been brainwashed? Did he slip something in your drink? Why won’t you break up with him?”
“Because I like him, Finn. I think… I think he’s a good person.”
Finn’s expression turned grave. He walked over and stood in front of me, waving his hands in a strange pattern, muttering under his breath.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You’ve obviously been cursed,” he declared. “I’m performing a cleansing ritual.”
I laughed, grabbing his hands to stop their frantic movements. “Stop it. I’m serious.”
His own smile vanished. “So am I. Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”
“I’m perfectly clear-headed,” I said, patting his cheek. “I know you have good instincts, and I know you’re just trying to protect me. But I really think Owen is different. Just give him a chance. For me.”
“This isn’t about prejudice,” he insisted, his voice tight. “He’s not good enough for you.”
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