“Cancel the meeting with the wedding planner tomorrow.”

I glanced at the elegant Smythson calendar on the table. Under tomorrow's date, I had written in my best cursive: "Finalize wedding menu and floral design."

I didn’t know why he wanted to cancel, but I wasn’t planning on having this wedding anyway. Even if he hadn’t said anything, I would have made an excuse. This just saved me the trouble.

I nodded.

“Okay, I’ll call them.”

The moment the words left my mouth, Vincent’s heart sank. He hadn’t expected me to agree so easily.

He thought I would demand to know why. After all, I had spent months meticulously planning every detail of the wedding. I had even pulled strings to get Chicago's top chef to create a custom menu for us. All of it was to create the perfect day.

But I just accepted it, calmly.

Vincent looked at me, a complex expression on his face.

"You don't have to cancel the appointment," he said.

“Serafina said she’ll never get the chance to have a wedding of her own. She wants me to take her to the Amalfi Coast... think of it as her own little wedding. That way, she can die without regrets.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow. As for the menu and flowers, we can deal with that when we get back. There’s still time.”

Vincent’s tone was as casual as if he were discussing a business deal, just like it was a month ago when he told me he was doing IVF with Serafina.

It sounded like a discussion, but every word made it clear: he had already decided. This was just him informing me.

I lowered my eyes to hide the sarcasm in them.

Deal with it when he gets back?

Vincent had no idea that I only had thirteen days left in Chicago.

There was no "later" for us.

I quietly said, "Okay," and turned to go to the bedroom.

Since the wedding was never going to happen, it didn't matter to me who he went on a "romantic getaway" with.

Vincent watched me walk away, a strange sense of unease creeping into his mind.

I was too calm. I hadn't asked a single question, which made all the arguments he had prepared to shut me down completely useless.

Just then, Serafina’s call came in. He immediately pushed the strange feeling aside, walked out onto the terrace, and started speaking in his usual low, gentle Italian.

I woke up the next morning just as Vincent was about to leave.

He was fastening his Patek Philippe watch as he spoke.

“We might be in the Amalfi Coast for about a week. She’s always wanted to see it.”

“Let’s just keep the wedding simple. I don’t have time for rehearsals. You can make all the decisions, don’t bother asking me.”

I swallowed a bite of toast. “Okay.”

Keep it simple.

This wedding would have no finalized menu, no elaborate floral arrangements, and no guests.

And, of course, no bride.

Vincent noticed I was just quietly eating my breakfast, abnormally calm. That strange feeling returned. He thought for a moment, then added:

“After the wedding, let’s go to Greece for our honeymoon. I remember you’ve always wanted to go to Santorini.”

If he had suggested a honeymoon before, I would have been ecstatic, immediately starting to plan every detail.

After all, every time I had asked him to travel with me, he refused, saying he didn't like it and it was a waste of time.

Now, I just focused on my toast and said nothing.

There wouldn’t be a wedding, so how could there be a honeymoon?

Vincent gave me a puzzled look and was about to say something else, but a glance at the clock made him hurry out the door, leaving behind a quick, "We'll talk when I get back."

I picked up the calendar and drew a thick, heavy X through the line that said, "Finalize wedding menu and floral design."

Twelve days left.

After breakfast, I started packing my things and clearing out the unnecessary items from the penthouse.

The silver picture frame that held less than five photos of us together. The home theater system that was collecting dust. The two matching Loro Piana cashmere robes I had custom-made that we never wore once…

In five years, I had hand-picked every single item in this apartment, slowly turning a cold, empty space into something that looked like a warm home.

But if you looked closely, you’d see Vincent had never used most of it.

He said that even though he was with me, he was still Vincent Moretti, an individual. He hated couple's items. They made him feel tied down, like a normal person.

I pushed the thoughts away and continued cleaning.

After I was gone, these things would just be an eyesore for him anyway. Better to get rid of them myself.

And destroy every memory between us along with them.