In the photograph, it looked perfectly clean.
“Why were you with her 14 months ago?”
Evan glanced around.
Our guests were watching now.
My mother had stopped talking to the caterer.
His best man, Luke, was frozen beside the bar.
Even the photographer had lowered her camera.
“Brianna,” Evan said quietly, “not here.”
My name is Brianna.
Until that moment, I had never heard him say it like a warning.
I took a step back.
“No. You told me you hadn’t spoken to Vanessa in almost four years.”
“I hadn’t. Not really.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You were in my apartment.”
Evan snapped, “Shut up.”
The garden went silent.
I had seen Evan angry before.
Traffic.
Bad customer service.
A contractor who overcharged us.
But I had never seen that look on his face.
Cold.
Controlled.
Not embarrassed.
Threatened.
I looked at Vanessa.
“What happened 14 months ago?”
She opened her mouth.
