From Best Friend To Fiancé novel You’re Marrying My Ex?

Chapter 1: You're Marrying My Ex?

“I'm getting married!”

I blinked. “Huh? You were dating?”

“Of course I was, dummy. You know I love being in love.” My sister, Chloe laughed.

She was glowing. That was the first red flag.

“Is it to the guy named Zane with a silent G? The one you met at the three-month yoga retreat in LA?”

“Ew no. Zane was an asshole.” She snapped.

“Umm, congrats I guess… but who's the lucky guy?” Unlucky, if I was free to be honest.

Chloe held out a crisp, green and cream-colored envelope with silver calligraphy.

I took the wedding invitation and unfolded it, dread already settling in at the back of my head.

“You are cordially invited to the wedding of Chloe Hart and Dean Archer.”

My heart didn’t just sink, it free-fell through my stomach and straight out my body.

“Dean Archer,” I said slowly. “My Dean?”

Chloe swiftly snatched her wedding invite from my trembling fingers. “MY Dean,” Chloe chirped. “Isn’t it crazy? It all just… clicked. He came back to New Hope last Christmas, we reconnected, and—boom. Instant.”

I stared at my sister like she was speaking in tongues.

Dean Archer was my college ex. The one who left me without a real explanation. Dumped me via text on my birthday.

The ex I never got over.

The one who knew all the right buttons to push and disappeared just when I’d started to believe in him.

“You're marrying my ex?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Your ex? Was that actually a relationship? That old fling? C'mon sis.”

My mouth went dry.

Chloe rose from the couch and stepped forward as if to greet me, then stopped abruptly, her nose wrinkled in delicate horror.

"Oh. No, I don’t think I can hug you. You’ve got ink on your hands, and I just had this sweater dry-cleaned."

She wore a pastel-pink cable-knit sweater over a white satin tank top, paired with pressed cream linen pants and ballet flats that had never seen a scuff. Her blonde hair was tucked into a perfect low bun. Every part of her screamed effortless grace.

Me, in contrast, stood in the doorway in a rumpled button-down, a charcoal skirt that barely grazed my thighs, one heel hanging on for dear life, and black ink smudged across my three fingers.

I stared at her, stunned into silence.

Chloe sipped her wine. "You okay? You look a little pale. Is it the vertigo again? Maybe skip the champagne toast at the wedding. I’d hate for you to go down during the vows. That'd be embarrassing, Sav. Anyway, you’re gonna be my maid of honor. Fingers crossed, you catch the bouquet. My fiancé has good looking friends you could manage to impress.”

I stared at her.

“I left the office in a hurry, broke my freaking stiletto, ran three red-lights, fought with drunk drivers and nearly crashed my Audi, just to get home to you, Chloe. You said it was an emergency!”

She paused mid-sip.

“Oh… I'm sorry I had no idea. I just thought you were late because you got distracted by a Zara window again.” She giggled.

“Nope.”

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