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His were closed, but they weren’t peaceful. They were squeezed shut, the way you close your eyes when you’re trying not to think about something else. Or someone else.

We turned to face our guests as husband and wife. The applause was deafening. Cameras flashed despite the no-phone rule. My mom was sobbing. And Sophie…

Sophie was watching Garrett again. Only him.

We walked back down the aisle together, married, while everyone threw rose petals and cheered. I smiled and waved and played the part of the happy bride. The church doors closed behind us, and we were alone in the vestibule for exactly thirty seconds before the wedding party joined us. Garrett was already pulling out his phone.

“Just need to check something for work,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

I watched him unlock it, watched his thumb swipe through messages.

And I made myself a promise: Before this reception was over, I was going to find out exactly who “2” was.

Even if it killed us.

2

— • —

Sam

The champagne tasted wrong.

Not bad, exactly, but wrong in the way that everything felt wrong since I’d seen that text. Too sweet and bubbly. Too much like celebrating when all I wanted to do was interrogate every person in this ballroom until someone confessed to being saved in my husband’s phone as “2.”

“You look beautiful,” my Aunt Pat said for the fourth time, clutching my arm with her papery hands. “Just beautiful. And Garrett is so handsome. You two will make such beautiful babies.”

I smiled and nodded and let her pinch my cheek because that was what brides do. They smile. They nod. They pretend they’re not dying inside while their new husband keeps checking his phone every ten minutes.

“Thank you, Aunt Pat. That’s so sweet.”

She wandered off to harass another relative, and I took the opportunity to scan the room. Two hundred guests, and I was cataloging every single one of them like a detective at a crime scene.

My mother sat at the family table, smiling that fragile smile she’d been wearing since the cancer diagnosis. Still beautiful at fifty-eight, still pretending everything was fine when we all knew she’d be lucky to see next Christmas. Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted her water glass. No champagne for her. Too many medications.

Garrett’s family occupied their own corner of the universe, looking like they’d rather be at a board meeting. His mother kept checking her watch. His father was already on his third scotch. The kind of people who sent gift cards for birthdays and thought emotional distance was a personality trait.

And Sophie.

My glowing pregnant twin was making the rounds, playing perfect maid of honor. She worked the room like she was running for office, one hand on her six-month bump, the other gesturing as she told what was probably the story of how Garrett and I met. I’d heard her tell it a dozen times. She always made it funnier than it actually was.

“He was covered in coffee,” I heard her say to Garrett’s boss. “Head to toe. And Sam just looked at him and said ‘I guess you’re having a rough morning.’ And that was it. He was done for.”

Everyone laughed. Sophie had that effect on people. Where I was careful with my words, she threw them around like confetti. Where I observed, she performed. And she was performing beautifully tonight, the devoted sister, the perfect bridesmaid, the expectant mother who’d driven two hours despite her morning sickness just to be here for me.

Everything was exactly as it should be.

So why did I feel like I was losing my mind?

Garrett appeared at my elbow, sliding his arm around my waist. “How’s my wife doing?”

“Your wife is wondering where you keep disappearing to,” I said, keeping my voice light. Joking. Just a bride teasing her groom.

“Just needed some air. Jim from accounting cornered me about the Henderson account.” He kissed my temple. “I’m all yours now.”

Except he wasn’t. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and I felt him tense. Watched his jaw tighten as he ignored it.

“You can check it,” I said. “I don’t mind.”