Not Your Bride Anymore

Chapter 12: The Rose Above the River

Avery did not enjoy seafood enough to justify what she endured at dinner.

The restaurant was cheerful, crowded, and expensive in a way that made everyone feel they had celebrated properly. Her coworkers loved it. Platters of oysters, crab legs, shrimp, and grilled fish disappeared faster than the server could replace them. Someone ordered champagne. Someone else made Evan give a short speech about surviving capitalism’s most romantic evening.

Avery ate what she could.

Then pushed things around her plate.

She did not dislike seafood. A little was fine. An entire table of it made the smell cling to the back of her throat until she wanted bread, fries, soup—anything warm and simple that did not taste like the ocean had personally arrived to challenge her.

By the time dinner ended, it was nearly eight.

Everyone spilled out of the restaurant in bright, laughing clusters.

Evan fell into step beside Avery. “Did you drive?”

“I did.”

Technically, her car was at the office garage, which was only a short walk away.

“I can give you a ride if you’re tired.”

His offer was gentle. Reasonable. Exactly the kind of offer a good colleague made.

Avery smiled. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

Evan looked as if he wanted to say something more, then only nodded. “Get home safe.”

“You too.”

She watched him join two other coworkers near the rideshare lane.

Then her phone rang.

Avery took it out, saw Callum’s name, and for no logical reason straightened her back.

She answered. “Hello?”

“Have you eaten?” Callum asked.

Avery looked at the restaurant behind her.

“Yes.”

The answer left her mouth automatically.

Then her stomach chose that precise moment to make a small, miserable sound.

Avery pressed a hand to her middle and closed her eyes.

The pause on the other end was very slight.

Then Callum laughed.

Not loudly. Not long.

Just enough to make her ears warm.

“Try again,” he said.

Avery sighed. “I ate. I’m not sure it counts.”

“Where are you?”

“Aurora Plaza. Near South Finch.” She hesitated, then added, “By the Dawnlight building.”

“I know where it is.”

Of course he did.

“I have a friend who opened a Cantonese-style hotpot restaurant,” Callum said. “The beef is good. Do you want to try it?”

Avery’s fingers tightened around her phone.

Last week, she had posted a complaint on her private feed about a disappointing hotpot place Ruby had dragged her to. Too bland, bad broth, tragic beef. She had forgotten Callum could see her posts.

Or maybe he had not seen it.

Maybe he simply knew good restaurants.

Maybe she was becoming absurd.

“Mr. Rhodes,” she began.

“I’m nearby,” he said. “Stay where you are.”

The call ended before she could form a useful refusal.

Avery stared at the dark screen.

Nearby.

That word seemed to do a lot of work for a man whose version of nearby might mean anything within fifteen miles.

The plaza was bright with Love Day decorations. Heart-shaped installations glowed near the fountain. Couples took photos under strings of white lights. A man with a guitar sang a love song badly but sincerely near the entrance to a dessert shop.

Avery stood among all that manufactured romance and realized something.

Today was exactly the kind of day she would have once expected Jason to forget.

Or remember late.

Or ruin by showing up with perfume on his collar and a gift chosen by someone else.

She tucked her phone into her coat pocket.

No.

She was not going to think about Jason.

Not tonight.

Callum’s car pulled up less than ten minutes later.

Not the Rolls-Royce.

A black sedan, understated and sleek. Callum himself sat behind the wheel.

That was new.

Avery opened the passenger door and slid in, suddenly more aware of him than she wanted to be.

He wore a white shirt without a tie, the sleeves still buttoned but the fabric softer than his usual severe business armor. It made him look less like the man who made executives stop breathing and more like someone who might actually eat dinner after work.

“Seat belt,” he said.

Avery clicked it in. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes flicked toward her.

She pretended not to notice.

He pulled into traffic. “The restaurant is about thirty-five minutes away.”

“That’s fine.”

Her stomach made a second, quieter complaint.

Callum glanced at her.

Avery stared very hard at the road.

A few minutes later, he changed lanes and pulled toward the curb.

Avery blinked. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

He parked near a side street lined with late-night food stalls and casual restaurants. Steam rose from windows. Neon signs glowed in rain-washed puddles. People moved in loose crowds, holding skewers, fried things, paper cups, each other’s hands.

Callum turned off the engine. “You’re hungry now. We’ll eat here.”

Avery looked at him.

For a second, she had thought he was canceling because something urgent came up.

But he had stopped because she was hungry.

The realization struck with embarrassing force.

“This is fine,” she said quickly. “Really. We don’t have to—”

“Avery.”

She stopped.

His voice had not changed much.

Maybe that was why she listened.

“We’ll eat here,” he said again.

She got out of the car with him.

The food strip was packed because of Love Day. Every proper restaurant had a waitlist long enough to require commitment and spiritual strength. Avery led Callum past two bistros, a ramen place, and a tapas bar before giving up.

“There’s a fried chicken chain over there,” she said, pointing. “It’s clean. No seating, but the food is decent.”

Callum looked where she pointed.

Avery immediately regretted her own words.

A man like Callum Rhodes probably did not eat fried chicken from a paper box while standing near a crowded street.

“We can find something else,” she said.

“Do you want fried chicken?”

“I mean… yes, but—”

“Then fried chicken.”

That was how, twenty minutes later, Avery found herself walking beside Callum Rhodes with two boxes of fried chicken and two sodas in a paper bag.

It felt unreal.

Not because of the food.

Because Callum carried the bag like this was a perfectly normal use of his evening.

He drove them toward the riverfront.

“There’s a drone show tonight,” he said. “One of our subsidiaries handled part of the display system. I need to see the final effect.”

“So this is a work inspection?”

“Yes.”

Avery relaxed slightly.

Work inspection made sense.

Work inspection was safe.

Then Callum added, “With dinner.”

That made it less safe.

The riverfront was chaos when they arrived.

Crowds packed the lower viewing platform. Couples leaned against railings. Children shouted. Vendors sold glow sticks and cotton candy. Somewhere, someone was loudly proposing to someone else and being encouraged by strangers who had no idea if the answer would be yes.

Avery looked at the crowd and felt her energy leave her body.

Callum did not lead her there.

He made one phone call, spoke briefly, and took her through a side entrance near the pier. A staff member opened a locked gate and guided them up a narrow service stairway to a private upper deck.

The noise dropped behind them.

Wind swept across the open concrete platform. Cool, clean, and faintly wet from the river.

No one else was there.

Avery looked around, stunned. Below them, the city gathered shoulder to shoulder. Up here, the river stretched wide and black, reflecting towers, lights, and the first flickers of the show about to begin.

Callum thanked the staff member, who disappeared back down the stairs.

Avery sat on the long concrete ledge and opened the fried chicken box.

The smell hit first.

Hot oil, pepper, salt, crisp skin.

Her stomach surrendered.

Callum sat beside her with a measured distance between them.

For a man who had likely eaten in private dining rooms across half the world, he adapted to a paper box and disposable fork with unfair elegance. He pierced a piece of chicken with the small wooden skewer, took a bite, and somehow managed not to get a single crumb on his shirt.

Avery looked at her own gloved fingers, already dusted with seasoning.

She nearly laughed.

Callum turned his head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You looked amused.”

“I was thinking life is unfair.”

“How so?”

“You make fried chicken look formal.”

His gaze dropped to the box in his hand.

Then back to her.

“Should I make it look less formal?”

“Can you?”

“No.”

Avery did laugh this time.

It came easily, and that surprised her.

Below them, the crowd began counting down.

The digital billboards across the river shifted from advertisements to a bright proposal video. A young couple appeared on screen, laughing under a shower of rose petals. People below screamed and cheered.

Avery’s smile faded before she could stop it.

The city was full of people loving loudly tonight.

She had spent years imagining herself as one of them.

A perfect dress.

A sunny wedding day.

Jason standing at the end of an aisle, finally choosing her in front of everyone.

She had not even realized until now how much she had wanted to be chosen publicly. Not tolerated. Not assumed. Chosen.

The wind rose.

It cut across the platform and lifted her hair from her shoulders, sending dark strands across her face. The river lights fractured behind them. For a moment, the world became only wind, hair, distant applause, and the memory of a wedding dress hanging unworn in a bag.

Avery lifted her hand to push her hair back.

Callum moved first.

“Turn this way,” he said.

She froze.

Then, because his voice was low and close and not unkind, she turned.

Callum was facing her now, one knee angled toward the ledge. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark navy pocket square with thin silver stripes.

Avery recognized it from his suit jackets. The kind of detail she had never expected to be close enough to notice.

“You don’t have to—”

“Your hair is in your eyes.”

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

The first drones rose over the river, tiny lights gathering in the darkness.

Callum lifted both hands.

Avery stopped breathing properly.

He did not rush. He gathered her hair carefully from where the wind had thrown it across her cheek and shoulder. A few strands clung to her lips. His fingertips brushed her skin as he freed them, so lightly that the touch might have been accidental.

It did not feel accidental to Avery’s pulse.

His fingers were warm.

The wind was cold.

Her whole body seemed to notice the difference.

Callum’s gaze remained on her hair, his expression serious, almost stern, as if tying a woman’s hair with a pocket square required the same concentration as closing an acquisition.

The thought might have made her laugh if she had remembered how.

He drew the length of her hair together at the nape of her neck. The movement brought his arms around her, not touching her body, not holding her, but close enough that the space between them changed.

Close enough that his scent surrounded her.

Cedar. Clean fabric. The faint, dark warmth she had begun to recognize before she wanted to.

Avery stared at the line of his jaw.

Then lower, at the open collar of his shirt.

Then quickly at the river because apparently she had lost all discipline.

Callum tied the pocket square once.

It slipped.

His mouth tightened.

He tried again.

This time the knot held.

“There,” he said.

His voice was slightly lower than before.

Avery should have thanked him immediately.

She should have moved away.

Instead, she remained still for one dangerous second, caught between his arms, the city lights, and the strange certainty that something invisible had shifted.

Below, the crowd exploded into cheers.

Above the river, thousands of drones bloomed into a rose made of light.

Callum’s hands fell away.

Avery finally turned her face toward the show.

“Thank you,” she said.

Her voice sounded almost normal.

Almost.

But the skin beside her ear still burned where his fingers had touched.

And as the drones changed shape over the river, Avery realized she was no longer thinking about Jason at all.