“You’re not going to believe this,” Emily says, her voice tense with the kind of urgency that makes your stomach drop before your brain can even catch up.
“He’s engaged.”
I blink. “Who’s engaged?”
She exhales like it should be obvious. “Axton Rowe, Charlotte. Not Monty. God, no.”
I freeze in the tub.
The phone slips an inch from my wet hand and I stare at it like it just cursed me. Warm water clings to my skin. The bubbles have started to fade. My jaw is hanging open like I’m catching flies.
“Charlotte?” Emily’s voice crackles from the speaker. “You still there?”
“I—what do you mean, engaged?” I whisper, dragging the phone closer again like it’s some kind of bomb. “Engaged to who?”
“I don’t know the girl,” Emily says quickly. “But I overheard it at the gallery. We were planning for
