“By napping, I meant kissing,” she says. “Only kissing. And don’t get me wrong, the waiting is hot, but I might combust before our wedding night.”

I laugh. I was so down after getting that text, so down all through dinner, but it’s so easy to be happy around her. “I think you can make it a few more days.”

“Easy for you to say. You have Carter in your bed.” She grins. “Maybe the special moment will happen while you’re in the suite!”

A thrill races through me at the thought, and I realize I want to make it a plan. I shouldn’t, but . . . “Maybe.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

I want to tell her the truth about our relationship. Honestly, I assumed I would at some point, but . . . what a tangled web we weave. “I could see it happening,” I admit.

“Then let’s get you another drink!”

After a trip to the bar, my little sister and I dance until I’m breathless and my feet are aching. These shoes are hot but not very forgiving. When a favorite eighties song ends, I put a hand on her arm. “I’m going to the table. I need a drink.”

She grins and waggles her fingers in a little wave, already moving her hips to the beat of the next tune.

I swing by the bar to get a bottle of water before heading to our booth on the back side of the dance floor. I’m so focused on rehydrating that I don’t even notice I’m not alone until I settle into the booth and Rich swoops in to take the spot next to me.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs. He slides in so close his thigh presses against mine.

I scoot in farther, and he follows. “Back off.” The words are low, breathless, and probably impossible to hear over the thumping house music.

He holds up both hands. “I’m here as a friend. I just needed to tell you something.”

“What?” I snap. I hate the way I feel when he’s close. Powerless. Trapped. Dirty.

He tilts his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “Why do you look at me like that? I came here because I care about you, but you’re looking at me like I’m a monster.”

“Where did you get that picture?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Did he give it to you, or did you take it off his phone after he died?”

“It? You think that’s the only one I have?”

The knots in my stomach are folding in on themselves. Again and again. Tighter and tighter. Pictures. Plural. “If you ever cared about me at all, you’ll delete them.”

His eyes flash. “No.”

“Then you are a monster. And there’s nothing you have to say that I want to hear.”

“Really? Not even if I know something about your boyfriend?”

I still. Shit. He knows. And if he knows, he’ll tell my parents. And if my parents know, they’ll flip out, and it’ll ruin Saanvi’s whole wedding weekend. I won’t let that happen.