And Yet. . .

Chapter 1

Her heels were beginning to pinch.

Not that Rose Knight paid any attention to the squeezing of her feet, too entranced by the beauty of her surroundings, by the love that was so palpable in the air. As she stood by a tall round table, elbow resting on top as she nursed her flute of Champaign, Rose gazed over to Fiona Burke, the Editor-in-Chief of Regal Pages, one of the most prominent publishing firms in New York City—and Rose's boss—and admired the glow that brightened her. Fiona was one of those women who effortlessly caught everyone's attention when she walked into the room, knowing her worth and unafraid to let others see it as well, but tonight her aura was one of pure bridal happiness. People flocked around her and her fiancé, Victor, congratulating them on their engagement, admiring the diamond on her finger, trying to find out wedding details.

But Fiona's happiness was almost tangible, arm linked with Victor's, the two sharing loving glances that Rose looked away from, feeling as though she was intruding on a private moment. It was all so beautiful.

They were on a rooftop, decorated to the nines with balloons, fairy lights, a banner that announced their engagement. The colors were simple, gold and white, but the bartender was busy and there were tables filled with delicious desserts and gift bags set on a table for every guest. A string quartet continuously played, providing an elegant soundtrack for the night accompanying the chatter of guests socializing, and the sound of the music had Rose relaxing where she stood.

This wasn't her love story, but she remembered when her boss had met Victor when Rose was interning for the company, and now years later she got to watch them be engaged, get married. It warmed her, made her smile grow, reminded her of the several hundreds of manuscripts she's read over the years, and how watching two people's love flourish in front of her was only slightly better than getting to read about it.

"You're drooling."

Instantly, the magic of the party dulled at the sound of the smooth, deep voice speaking behind her, and Rose's back straightened as Elliott Maxwell stepped up to her left. Her smile dropped, adopting a glare that was only ever meant for him as she eyed him. Elliott towered over her even in her four-inch heels, and Rose pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek as she admired the suit he wore. The navy blue outfit hugged him in all of the right ways, his shaggy dirty blonde hair perpetually artfully messy as sharp brown eyes observed the party around them.

"I'm not drooling," Rose responded, the annoyance easily seeping into her voice. He so effortlessly brought it out.

He made a sound that told Rose he wasn't convinced. Despite herself, she watched him take in his surroundings, a grimace of distaste on his lips that he hid behind the glass of old fashioned he was sipping on. The muscle in Elliott's sharp jaw jumped as he clenched it. "I don't know why someone would do this to themselves."

She frowned, glancing away to maybe see what he was referring to. Finding nothing, she shifted her weight to her left foot and asked, "What?"

"This," Elliott scoffed, gesturing to nothing in particular with his glass. "Marriage. Fifty percent of them end in divorce, anyway. It's arrogant to think yours would be the one to last."

Rose wasn't sure whether to gape or glare at him. Wasn't it, like, bad karma to talk about divorce at someone else's engagement party? And, seriously, did he have no reasoning other than the basic marriage-divorce statistic to back up his cynicism?

With a roll of her eyes, Rose asked, "If you're so against marriage, why are you here celebrating an engagement, then?"

Elliott shot her a look as if she should know better than to ask that. The breeze had a stray lock of his blonde hair falling over his forehead and right into his left eye. Flatly, he answered, "Because the bride writes my paychecks."