“To Sharon and Russell.”
The guests echoed, a scattered chorus. A man near the front clapped too hard, cheeks ruddy with drink. Sharon’s smile twitched wider, a fraction too bright, while Dad’s jaw locked tight, his eyes cold as steel on Asher.
“Wait. I’m not done.” Asher let out a jagged laugh. “To Sharon and Russell—who destroyed other people’s happiness to have their own. Ask me how I fucking know.”
Gasps burst across the tent. A woman dropped her fork with a clatter. Sharon shot to her feet, her face the color of my dress. “Asher!”
Dad’s hand closed around her arm, not gentle, his expression thunderous. The mask he’d worn all day cracked, fury burning through. A vein pulsed in his temple as whispers swelled around us, guests leaning in, wide-eyed, as though they’d just been handed front-row seats to a scandal.
“Sorry, Mom.” He left his untouched drink on the table and took a step back. “Go back to celebrating. Hope the second time’s the charm.”
Our gazes tangled for a brief, painful moment, then he stormed out of the tent.
***
Sharon and my father recovered from Asher’s words quickly, basking in congratulations and kissing as if nothing had happened. Guests followed their lead, but not without sneaking looks my way—curious, wary, some edged with pity. Nobody asked me to speak, probably afraid I’d deliver a toast like Asher’s.
Better that way. I was a terrible liar, and I despised fakeness too much to pretend.
When the celebration shifted to dancing, I thought about leaving. Dad swayed with Sharon on the floor, happier than I’d ever seen him.
He’d found his true love. Mine had walked out of this tent—and my life—hours ago.
Leaning against the wall, I pulled my phone from my clutch.
A text from Alba glowed on the screen.
Alba:How’s it going?
Me:The happy couple is dancing. I might bail soon. I don’t think my fatherwill notice.
Alba:We’re at the mall in Stetbourg. Text me, and we’ll pick you up.
I thanked her and snagged a fruity red cocktail from a passing tray. The moment I did, a figure stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the floor.
Ethan.
My pulse spiked with fury. How could my father invite him after what he’d done to Asher? My hands shook around the glass.
“Having fun?” he asked. “Your big brother’s dramatic. Guess losing a team broke the champ.”
I clenched my jaw. Jealous, petty asshole.
“Ash has a team,” I said, though I had no idea who he’d race for in Spain. “But I get it. Must sting knowing he’s gone and you’ll still never be as good as him.”
His face twisted in a grimace. I’d hit a nerve, but I wasn’t finished.
I lifted my chin, met his eyes. “Two things,champ. One—you didn’t destroy him. He’ll thrive because he’s Asher Williams. And he’snotmy brother. And two…”
I raised my cocktail like a toast. Then tipped it over. Red liquid splashed across his face and beige suit, sharp with alcohol and berries. He sputtered, gasping. “You b—”
“You don’t really want to call me that,” I cut in, ignoring the small crowd that had stopped dancing to watch. “What would your team owner say?”
I set the empty glass on the nearest table and slipped through the guests. Outside the tent, my breath rushed out in a long exhale.
Drenching Ethan had been satisfying. I should’ve done it months ago, but it didn’t matter.
It was never too late to defend him.
