Page 5

“I’ll check on her after I change.”

“That’s sweet of you, dear.”

I grabbed the garment bags with my dress and Garrett’s fresh tux and headed for the elevator. The hotel had given us a suite for the night, the honeymoon suite, with a massive bed covered in rose petals that someone was going to have to clean up.

The elevator climbed slowly. Fourth floor. Fifth. Sixth. I stepped out into a hallway that smelled like expensive carpet cleaner and old money. Our suite was at the end, but I realized I needed the bathroom first. Too much champagne, too many toasts.

I was heading for the ladies’ room when I heard it.

A sound that made me freeze mid-step.

It was coming from one of the rooms. 618. A rhythmic thumping against the wall and the unmistakable soundtrack of two people who’d forgotten that hotel walls were thin.

I should have kept walking. It was a hotel. People had sex in hotels. That was practically what hotels were for.

But then I heard a voice. A man’s voice, muffled but familiar.

“Fuck, Sophie.”

The garment bags slipped from my hands.

No. No, I was mishearing. It was some other Sophie. Some other man who sounded like my husband. Some other explanation that didn’t involve my pregnant sister and my new husband in room 618 while our reception continued three floors below.

I didn’t have a keycard. But a maid was pushing her cart down the hallway, humming something under her breath. I caught her arm before I could think about what I was doing.

“I’m so sorry, I locked myself out.” My voice sounded normal, calm. The voice of a woman whose wedding dress cost more than this woman’s monthly salary. “Room 618. My keycard isn’t working.”

She looked at me. At the dress. At my face, which was probably doing things I couldn’t control.

“Of course, ma’am.”

She swiped her master key. The lock beeped green. I pushed the door open before my brain could catch up and tell me to stop.

The room was dim, curtains drawn. It took my eyes a second to adjust. And then my brain processed what I was seeing and my entire body went cold.

Sophie. My twin sister. My pregnant, married twin sister. On top of my fucking husband, riding him with her head thrown back and her hands planted on his chest. Her bridesmaid dress was bunched around her waist, bra gone, breasts and belly bouncing with every thrust. Garrett’s hands gripped her hips, his wedding ring catching a sliver of light from the cracked bathroom door. The same ring I’d placed on his finger three hours ago.

They hadn’t noticed me. They were too far gone, wrapped up in each other. The bed creaked with their rhythm and Sophie was moaning in a voice that sounded exactly, horrifyingly, identically like mine.

“She’ll never fuck you like I do, Garrett.” Sophie rolled her hips and he groaned, pulling her down harder. “She’ll never be me.”

“I’m already regretting marrying her,” he said, voice wrecked. “You’re so much fucking better, Soph. God, you feel incredible.”

“Tell me.” She grabbed his face, forced him to look at her while she ground against him. “Tell me I’m better than her.”

“You’re everything she’s not. Wild. Sexy.” He sat up, wrapping his arms around her, mouth on her neck. “The things you do to me. She doesn’t even come close.”

“She doesn’t deserve you.”

“Never did. It’s always been you. Even that first night, I was thinking about you.”

First night? Our first night, years ago? He’d-

He’d been thinking about Sophie while he was inside me?

I felt my stomach lurch with nausea, my heart beating too fast inside my chest. My breathing had already turned into small pants.

No.