“Stop acting hysterical,” he snapped. “She was my first love.”
That sentence should have broken me.
Maybe it did.
But not loudly.
The best fractures are sometimes silent.
I pressed two fingers to the cut near my temple, looked at the faint red line on my skin, then looked past him to Chloe.
My best friend since college.
My maid of honor.
The woman who had toasted me at my wedding and said, “No one deserves devotion more than Eleanor.”
She would not meet my eyes.
Her dark-brown hair fell over one cheek, and she pulled my robe tighter around herself as if modesty had arrived late to the crime scene.
I looked at Harrison’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist.