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The next morning, I woke just as Dante was getting ready to leave.

He pulled on his shoes, talking over his shoulder. "After the shoot, Isobel and I are taking a trip. She's always wanted to see the Amalfi Coast. I'm going with her."

"Keep the wedding simple. I don't have time for the rehearsal or the setup. Just make all the calls yourself. You don't need to run any of it past me."

I chewed my toast slowly. "Sure."

Keep it simple.

No photos. No guests. No officiant. And no bride.

Dante watched me eat in silence. He thought for a second, then added, "After the wedding, let's take a honeymoon in Europe. I remember you always wanted to go."

Any other time, hearing Dante suggest a honeymoon would have sent me scrambling for travel guides. I'd begged him for years to take a trip with me. Every time, he'd refused. Said he didn't like leaving the city. Said travel exhausted him.

Now I just kept eating my toast. Didn't react at all.

He opened his mouth to say something else, glanced at the wall clock, and rushed for the door instead. "We'll talk when I get back."

I picked up the calendar. Drew a fat black X through Engagement Photos.

Twelve days left.

After breakfast, I started cleaning out the apartment. Sorting through what I wanted to take and what I didn't.

A photo album with fewer than five pictures in it. A projector in the corner under a layer of dust. A set of matching pajamas I'd bought hoping we'd wear them together, never once taken out of the packaging.

Five years in this apartment, and every warm detail had been mine. I'd added them one by one, slowly turning a cold unit into something that felt like home.

Look closely, though, and you'd notice: almost nothing in here had ever actually been used by Dante.

He'd said it once. He loved me, sure, but he was still his own person. He didn't do matching couple things. They made him feel caged.

So. Better to throw it all out now. Let the memories go with it.