“Heres the truth about your fiancée,” Edward said flatly, handing his son a flash drive.
Oliver checked his watch again. Hed booked a table at The White Rose, Londons most exclusive restaurant. Charlotte was already ten minutes late, and punctuality mattered to himalways had. He sighed, flipping through the menu for the third time, though he already knew what hed order.
Fatigue and the lingering tension from his earlier conversation with his father clouded his thoughts. Just as he reached for his phone, the restaurant door swung open.
“Darling, Im so sorry!” Charlotte swept in like a whirlwind, her pale blue dress hugging her slim frame. She leaned down and kissed him lightly, her scentspring flowers and something uniquely herwashing away his irritation.
“You know I hate waiting,” he said, trying to sound stern, but his lips betrayed him with a smile. It was impossible to stay angry with her.
“But I,” she teased, flashing him a playful look, “love knowing a handsome man is waiting for me. The traffic was dreadfulsome elderly woman took forever to cross the road!”
Oliver laughed. “Admit it, you spent half an hour on your makeup.”
“Twenty-five minutes, max!” she protested, grinning.
He couldnt take his eyes off her. Chestnut waves framed her face, her blue eyes sparkled, and those dimples made her smile irresistible. Two years since theyd met, eighteen months together, a year engaged. And now
“To us?” he raised his champagne flute.
“To us,” she replied, but something flickered in her gaze, unsettling him.
They ordered and chatted easily. Charlotte, ever animated, recounted her day at the clinica funny incident with a young patient, the head doctor praising her as their “golden nurse.”
“Hows the project with your father coming along?” she asked between bites of salmon.
“On track, but deadlines are tight,” he shrugged.
She nodded, then casually added, “Speaking of deadlines when are we finally setting a wedding date?”
Oliver froze. Not this again.
“Charlotte, weve talked about this. Once the project wraps”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she waved impatiently. “But its been six months! I dont want to wait anymore. Weve been engaged a year. Whats the hold-up?”
“Im not holding back. Its just not the right time.”
“When will it be? When Im fifty? I want to be your wife, Olivernot your fiancée, not your girlfriend!”
“Im swamped with work”
“Oh, please! As if planning a wedding requires more than showing up!”
“Its not about that,” he snapped. “I want everything perfect.”
“So do I!” she shot back. “And you know whats perfect? A destination wedding! Maldives, Bali, the Seychellespick one! They handle everything. We just show up.”
“Again with the island wedding! Is it the glamour you want? Or just bragging rights?”
Charlotte pushed her plate away sharply. “So thats what you think? That Im with you for money? For some lavish party?”
“Isnt it?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “All you talk about is weddings, trips, what you want to see. Never that you just want to be with me.”
“Youre impossible!” Her eyes welled up. “I just want to be your wife! And you keep making excuses! If you dont want to marry me, say it!”
“Im not making excuses!” His voice rose, drawing glances. “Why do you keep pushing?”
“Because I love you, you idiot! But you dont get itor maybe you dont care!”
Oliver stood abruptly, tossing cash onto the table. “You know what? Im done with this. Call me when youve calmed down.”
He stormed out, ignoring the stares and Charlottes muffled sobs.
***
Oliver sped through London, music blasting, trying to drown his thoughts. Why had things gotten so complicated? He remembered their first meeting at his fathers clinic. Charlotte, unlike the socialites and gold-diggers hed known, was genuineworking since sixteen, paying her own way. His mother adored her. His father? Reserved.
“Heres the truth about your fiancée,” Edward said later, handing him the flash drive.
Olivers heart pounded as he scanned the medical files. Congenital heart defect. Progressive. Surgery critical. Prognosis: a year without intervention, five at best with it.
He raced to Charlottes flat. She opened the door, eyes red-rimmed.
“Why didnt you tell me?” he demanded, pulling her close.
“I didnt want pity. I didnt want to be a burden.”
“Marry me. Next week. On your island. Anywhere.”
She wept. “Ill die, Oliver. Sooner than you.”
“I dont care how much time we have. I want all of it with you.”
She nodded, smiling through tears. “Yes.”
They talked all nightabout her condition, their wedding, the future. She fell asleep on his shoulder. At dawn, he carried her to bed, then called his father to arrange her treatment.
When he returned, she was gone. A quiet smile lingered on her lips.
The paramedics confirmed it: her heart had stopped.
Oliver knelt beside her, numb. Theyd had only hours of honesty, of hope.
She never saw the ocean. But perhaps, wherever she was now, the waters stretched farther than any on earth.
Sometimes, love isnt about the time youre givenits about what you do with the moments you have.
