Page 60 of Everything But Mine

Amanda snorts into her water, then leans in to add, “He made me wear a hoodie in ninety-degree weather because he thought one might land on my neck.”

“And did you die?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “No. You’re welcome.”

The whole table laughs. I savor a rare hum in my chest. I’m not an outsider tonight. I’m not a mistake or a stand-in. I’m Eric, and for the night, I’m Amanda’s date. These people are the tapestry of my childhood.

Then metal clinks against glass, and all eyes land on the bridal table. Daray stands proud in his pompous gray striped suit, matching the other groomsmen. Except for the bright yellow shirt he’s sporting, as if he’s trying to remind everyone he’s there, more important than the groom. Cassie is next to him, her hand wrapped around his chair. You can’t miss how her pregnant belly is showing, but the yellow dress isn’t doing her any favors.

Daray waits until he’s satisfied that he has everyone’s undivided attention. He glances casually around the room until his eyes land on us, and then he smirks, drunk on power. And so he begins, people clap and laugh halfway through the second sentence. He’s one of those guys who always knows how to spin charm when he wants it. He and Keith are cut from the same cloth. When he asks for “the childhood crew from the cabin days,” The Bennetts and the rest of our friends at the other table make loud noises. Diego taps his knuckles on the table, but doesn’t smile. Amanda does that pretend clap she saves for stuffy conferences.

Daray smirks and continues. “Keith and I go way back… We actually started lifting together that first semester of college. That was back before he had any meat on those bones. Chicken arms, I liked to call them. And that’s something Cece should be thanking me for. I’m responsible for that glow up, and I’m not too shy to claim the credit.” There’s polite laughter, and Daray smiles. He’s basking in the attention, soaking it up like his due, and I grit my teeth. God, he’s so fucking dumb.

“Anyway, it didn’t take long before Keith and I were as close as brothers. The ones we never had.” His eyes slide to mine, locking unflinchingly. There’s a wealth of meaning in that stare. And Amanda would never have said a word. I glance at Keith, but he’s staring up at his best man, a cocky smile on his face as Daray speaks again. “And Keith was kind enough to bring me into the fold of his family. I can never be grateful enough for that, especially when it meant he shared his parents with me, too. In fact, Robert has been the man giving me advice, becoming like a second father to me.”

I clench my fingers around the backrest of Amanda’s chair until my nails press against my palm. Her hand lands on my thigh, and she squeezes until I break my gaze away from Keith.

Daray keeps going, his smirk dangerously attuned to it all. “So when Keith, who’s always made room in his life for me, met Cece, he brought her in the same way. And everyone loved her, and who wouldn’t? She’s much lovelier than I am.”

I scoff so loud that Amanda sends me a chastising look.

Still, Daray presses on, smiling as if this is all lighthearted. “Because that’s the kind of love Keith offers. And, over time, the kind of love I’ve learned to give. Even when it’s not… well, appreciated sometimes.”

This time, his eyes land on Amanda. Some people follow Daray’s gaze and stare at us warily, clocking the way we’re leaning on each other. Val’s eyes narrow as she takes in the scene. Diego exhales beside me. Not loud, but enough that I know he’s picked up on it too. Amanda’s expression doesn’t change, but her jaw’s too still when she curls her fingers tighter around the fabric of her dress.

Daray continues as if he didn’t just try to rewrite the whole fucking story. “Life has a way of nudging you toward the right person.” He reaches for Cassie, pulling her up from her seat with one hand, and with the other, wraps his arm around her waist, resting his palm low across her stomach. The gesture makes her swollen belly even more apparent. It may seem protective and proud, but it’s a performance.

“And these two,” Daray says, nodding toward the bride and groom, “are lucky that life nudged them into each other. And we’re even luckier that we get to share this moment with them today.” He lifts his glass high. “To Keith and Cece!”

The crowd erupts. Applause, cheers, glasses clinking. Everyone loves his polished bullshit.

Liars will fucking lie.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AMANDA

Everyone’s clapping. Well, Eric isn’t. His hands are wrapped around mine. Diego’s not clapping either, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mouth set in a familiar unimpressed line. I try to break away from his grasp and join in the applause. That’s what you do, right? Smile and pretend a five-minute ego monologue didn’t just cast you as the villain in front of a hundred people.

Eric, though, has never played by the rules, and rather than clapping, he’s holding Daray’s gaze because we have nothing to be ashamed of. He presses his thigh against mine beneath the table.

“Wow,” I murmur, under the resumed conversations. “That almost convinced me I was the one who cheated.” A brittle and bitter chuckle joins words I didn’t realize I was saying outloud.

That was Daray at his most charming—convincing and measured, the way he is when he’s practiced a hundred times over. For a moment, the thought simmers. Was I the one who wrecked it? Was I selfish? Unstable?

“Don’t,” Val says, her voice cutting through the noise. “He’s a narcissist, Amanda. He needs control of the narrative, and this is how he gets it.”

Her ability to outline a personality study within seconds helps the thought retreat, but it doesn’t disappear. It lingers at the edge, leaving a sour taste in the back of my throat.

“You want the truth out?” she adds, her gaze flicking downward to my belly. “Just play your cards.”

My barely swollen stomach speaks for itself, and so does Cassie’s.

Before I can respond, Diego cuts in, his voice effortlessly comforting in a way only he can manage. “Enough of this.” He glances toward the Bennetts, who are too quiet. “Come help me set up. There’s supposed to be some dancing before the cake.”

I blink at him. “I’m fine. You don’t need to babysit.”

“Too bad,” he replies with a shrug, already offering his hand. “I feel like flaunting my moves, and Val sure as hell isn’t gonna break the ice.”

Sighing, I follow him toward the DJ booth. Within a few clicks, a familiar beat kicks in, low and heavy. Without hesitation, he pulls me toward the center of the dance floor. This is a message, I realize snickering. I’ve done nothing wrong.