Page 6

This… This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be fucking real.

But I could clearly see my sister’s pregnant belly pressing against his abs as she moved. Seven months. Seven months of carrying his baby while smiling at me over brunch, helping me pick centerpieces, holding my hand while I cried over wedding stress. And the whole time, she’d been fucking my fiancé.

“When’s the baby due again?” Garrett asked, and he was smiling. His hand moved to her belly, rubbing it while she rode him.

“Three months.” She gasped, moaning loud enough to be heard from fucking Mars.

He kissed her and it was the tenderness that broke me. It was the way he used to kiss me before bed. Before all of this became a lie.

Though maybe it had always been a lie? Since our very first night together.

Did he imagine my sister when he fucked me? Did he wish I was her when he was inside me?

“I should get back,” he said against her mouth as my heart broke into a million pieces, over and over again. “Sam will notice.”

“Let her notice.” Sophie laughed, my laugh, coming from my face on a body that was wrapped around my husband. “What’s she going to do? She’s too much of a good girl to make a scene.”

They laughed together. At me. At the good girl in her wedding dress. How had I been so fucking stupid?

I stepped back. The door hadn’t made a sound when I’d pushed it open. It didn’t make a sound when I pulled it closed. They never knew I was there. Never saw my face in the gap. Never heard the breath I’d been holding for what felt like my entire life finally leave my chest in a silent, shattered exhale.

The maid was still in the hallway, arranging towels on her cart. She looked up and whatever she saw on my face made her stop.

“Ma’am? Are you alright?”

I opened my mouth to say yes. What came out instead was a sound I’d never made before, not a word, not a cry, just the noise a person makes when something inside them snaps clean through.

Then I turned, stumbled to the bathroom, and threw up everything I’d eaten that day. The wedding breakfast, the champagne, the cake I’d tasted three bites of. All of it came up while the maid stood in the doorway making sympathetic noises and rubbing my back.

When I was done, she handed me a glass of water. Her eyes were soft.

“That’s not your room, is it.”

It wasn’t a question.

“It’s my sister’s room.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “And my husband is in there with her.”

The words came out flat. Matter-of-fact. I didn’t even have to explain exactly what they were doing for her to understand. Hell, I was sure she had also heard them. The maid’s face went through several expressions before landing on something that looked like rage.

“That bastard. On your wedding day?”

“On my wedding day.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” She squeezed my arm. Then she paused, studying my face. “You don’t look like a woman who’s about to cry and have a breakdown.”

“I’m not.” I straightened up, caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Mascara smudged for blinking too hard, cheeks blotchy, but my eyes were dry. Bone dry. “This is going to sound crazy, but do you have any itching powder?”

She blinked. “Itching powder?”

“Or anything that would make someone very uncomfortable?”

The maid looked at me for a long moment. At my shaking hands. At the fury that was replacing the shock.

“My ex cheated with my cousin,” she said slowly. “I know that look.” She glanced down the hall, then back at me. “The hotel has a renovation supply closet on this floor. Fiberglass insulation particles. Won’t cause permanent damage, but it’ll itch for days.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Wait here.”