**Diary Entry**
*”Heres the truth about your fiancée,”* my father said flatly, handing me a flash drive.
I kept glancing at my watch. Id reserved a table at *The White Rose*Londons most exclusive restaurant. Alice was already ten minutes late, and that always soured my mood. Punctuality was one of the virtues I valued most.
Sighing, I flipped through the menu again, though I already knew what Id order. The exhaustion and my earlier conversation with Dad had my thoughts tangled. Just as I reached for my phone, the restaurant door swung open.
*”Darling! Forgive me!”* Alice rushed to the table like a whirlwind in a pale blue dress that hugged her slender frame. She leaned in, kissing me lightly. The scent of spring flowers and something achingly familiar washed over me, dissolving my irritation.
*”You know how I hate waiting,”* I tried to sound stern, but my lips curved into a smile. It was impossible to stay mad at her.
*”But I,”* she flashed me a playful look, *”love knowing a handsome man is waiting for me. Traffic was dreadfulsome elderly woman took ages to cross!”*
I laughed. *”I bet you spent half an hour on your makeup.”*
*”Please!”* She pretended to scowl. *”Only twenty-five minutes!”*
I couldnt look away. Her chestnut hair tumbled in soft waves, her blue eyes sparkled, and the dimples in her cheeks made her smile utterly disarming. Every time I looked at her, I still couldnt believe my luck. Two years since we met, eighteen months together, a year engagedand now
*”To us?”* I raised my champagne flute.
*”To us,”* she smiled, but something flickered in her eyes that twisted my gut.
We ordered and chatted easilyher animatedly recounting her day at the clinic, a funny moment with a young patient, how the head doctor praised her as *”the golden nurse.”*
*”And you? Hows the project with your father?”* she asked, spearing a bite of salmon.
*”Fine,”* I shrugged. *”On track, but deadlines are tight.”*
Alice nodded, then casually added, *”Speaking of deadlines When are we setting a wedding date?”*
I froze. Again.
*”Alice, weve talked. Once the project wraps”*
*”Yes, yes, I remember,”* she waved impatiently. *”But its been six months! I dont want to wait anymore. Weve been engaged a year. Whats the holdup?”*
*”Im not stalling. Its just not the right time.”*
*”When *will* it be? When Im fifty? I want to be your *wife*, Oliver. Not your fiancéeyour wife!”*
*”Alice, Im swamped”*
*”Oh, come off it! As if youll need to do more than show up!”*
*”Its not about that,”* I snapped. *”I want it perfect.”*
*”So do I!”* she shot back. *”And you know whatd be perfect? A destination wedding! Maldives, Bali, Seychellespick one! They handle everything, we just arrive.”*
*”This again? Is it the glamour you wantor just bragging rights?”*
She shoved her plate away. *”So thats what you think? That Im with you for money? That I only want a lavish wedding?”*
*”Isnt it?”* The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Tears welled in her eyes. *”Youre unbearable! I just want to marry you! If you dont want to, *say so!*”*
*”Im *not* making excuses!”* My raised voice drew stares. *”Why do you keep pushing?”*
*”Because I love you, you idiot! But you dont get itor maybe *you* dont care!”*
I threw down a wad of cash and stood. *”Im not doing this here. Call me when youve calmed down.”*
—
I sped through London, music blaring to drown my thoughts.
Why had things with Alice gotten so complicated? When we first met, it was different. Id gone to Dads clinic for documentsSir Richard Whitmore, renowned cardiologist and owner of private hospitals, never mixed family and business. *”Keep it in the family,”* he always said.
As his only son and heir, Id grown up under scrutinyschool, university, work. Everyone treated me differently. By twenty-five, I was weary of women who saw only my wallet. Models, socialites, career climbersall wearing the same calculated smiles.
Then I met Alice.
That day, shed been at reception, filling forms. Simple white nurses uniform, hair in a ponytailnothing extra. When she looked up and smiled, something inside me shifted. Her warmth was genuine, her eyes alight with sincerity.
I found excuses to talk to hercoffee, then dinner. She was unlike anyone Id known. Grew up working-class, paid her own way through school. Her authenticity hooked meno pretense, just *her*.
Mum adored her instantly. *”Shes real, Oliver. Hold onto her.”* She called Alice *”my girl”* even when wed just started dating.
But Dad He never criticized her, even praised her work. Yet whenever I mentioned marriage, his expression darkened. *”Shes a good girl but not for you.”*
Now, those doubts resurfaced. Her wedding demands, the urgencywas she like the others? Just better at hiding it?
—
I found Dad in the study at midnight, whisky in hand.
*”Waited up,”* he said. *”Mum called Alice. She was in tears. What happened?”*
*”Just a row.”*
*”About?”*
*”Not now.”* I rubbed my temples. *”Heads splitting.”*
He slid me a glass. *”Drink.”*
I gulped the burning liquid.
*”When I met your mother,”* he said suddenly, *”my parents disapproved. Thought a nurse from Leeds wasnt good enough for a Whitmore.”*
*”Whatd you do?”*
*”Ignored them. Best decision I ever made.”*
Silence. Then: *”You fought about the wedding?”*
I exhaled. *”She keeps pressing. The island nonsenselike she just wants a show.”*
*”Are you sure?”*
*”No,”* I admitted. *”But youve always acted odd about us. Like youre hiding something.”*
Dad studied me, then stood. *”Wait here.”*
He returned with a flash drive. *”The truth about your fiancée.”*
My hands shook as I plugged it in. Medical filesECGs, bloodwork, diagnoses.
*”Congenital heart defect. Progressive deterioration. Surgery required.”*
*”Alice?”* My voice cracked.
Dad nodded. *”My patient for five years. She works at the clinic to stay monitored.”*
*”Why didnt she tell me? Why didnt *you?*”*
*”Doctor-patient confidentiality. She begged me not to. Didnt want your pity.”*
*”Pity?”* I shot up. *”I love her!”*
I grabbed my keys.
*”Where are you going?”*
*”To her. And cancel Sunday dinnerwell be planning a wedding.”*
—
Alices flat was lit. She opened the doorpuffy-eyed, in an oversized shirt.
*”Oliver? What”*
I pulled her into a crushing embrace. *”Why didnt you tell me?”*
*”About what?”*
*”Your heart.”* I cupped her face. *”Dad showed me your records.”*
She stiffened. *”He had no right”*
*”He did. As my father, he couldnt let me lose you over silence.”*
*”I didnt want your pity.”*
*”Look at me,”* I whispered. *”I love *you*. Not your health*you*. Nothing changes that.”*
*”But Ill die, Oliver,”* she said softly. *”A year, maybe five after surgery. I cant ask you to”*
*”Youre not asking. *I* am. Marry me. Next week. On your bloody island.”*
Tears spilled. *”You dont understand”*
*”No, *you* dont. I dont care how long we haveI want every second with you.”*
She smiled through tears. *”Yes. As your wifehowever long that is.”*
I kissed her, warmth flooding my chest. Whatever came, wed face
