Several things happened at once. Sydney’s head shot up and she locked eyes with Hunter John. Eliza Beaufort, who was standing at the next table, swiveled on her heel. And Claire stopped what she was doing to watch, her dark eyes sharply on them like a schoolteacher’s.

“I’ve always said it, Emma,” Eliza said as she sauntered over. “You throw the best parties. Carrie, come over here,” Eliza called. “You have to see this.”

Carrie Hartman, one of the old gang from high school, came forward. “Sydney Waverley,” she said in a singsongy voice. Carrie had been the only girl in school who could even come close to Sydney’s beauty.

Sydney looked cornered. Emma felt a hot rush of embarrassment for her.

“We all heard you were back in town,” Eliza said. “You were away awhile. Where did you go?”

Sydney wiped her hands on her apron, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “I went everywhere,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.

“Did you go to New York?” Hunter John asked. “You always talked of going to New York.”

“I lived there a year.” Sydney’s eyes darted around. “Um, where are your parents?”

“They moved to Florida two years ago. I took over the business.”

“So you live here?”

“We live here,” Emma said, hooking her arm in Hunter John’s and leaning in to press her cleavage against him.

“Emma? You and Hunter John are…married?” Sydney said, and her shock was unsettling to Emma. How dare she be shocked that Hunter John chose her?

“We married the year we graduated. Right after you left. Sydney,” she said, “I see two empty trays here.” Emma tried to tell herself that Sydney had set herself up for this, that her humiliation was all her own doing. But it didn’t make Emma feel any better. She didn’t like making Sydney feel bad. Emma had won, after all. Right? But this is what Emma’s mother would do, would say. And look how long she’d kept Emma’s father.

Hunter John looked from Emma to Sydney and back. “I need to speak with you in private,” he said, and led Emma through the crowd of guests into the house, Sydney’s eyes following them.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Emma asked when Hunter John led her into his study and closed the door. Emma had decorated this room for him, the butter-and-cocoa-colored walls, the framed photos of Hunter John’s glory days on the high-school football field, the potted plants, and the huge walnut leather-top desk. She went to the desk and leaned against it provocatively. The reason she’d picked this particular desk was because it made a soft bed for when she surprised him with a quickie when he was working at home. She thought that’s what he wanted now. Her mother was right again. Hunter John had seen Sydney and Emma together and known he’d made the right choice.

But Hunter John stood by the door, his glare as dark as charcoal. “You did this on purpose. You’re humiliating Sydney on purpose.”