After all, Nick was a fine one to be mad. The seeds of resentment that had been festering for the past few months suddenly found fertile soil, replacing the abject terror and sense of doom. You know, he’s got some nerve, a small, evil part of my brain whispered. And last but not least…I was utterly terrified.Īnd if there was one feeling I hated more than any other, it was being scared. I was ridiculous in my shiny silver tank top and high heels, teetering after my furious husband. I followed, picking up his coat but feeling unworthy to wear it. And he started walking again, but he took off his coat and threw it on the ground behind him, and the gesture broke my heart. His eyes were black and hot and burned like a brand. He stopped, finally, and I immediately wished he hadn’t. “No…I-see, Nick, I…” Oh, God, what was I going to say? “Let’s go home and talk, okay?” “You were kissing that guy.” Voice still calm, feet still walking. My teeth wanted to chatter, but I clamped my jaw closed. I’d left my coat at the restaurant, and it was horribly cold. “Mention me.” The light changed, and he started across. “Go ahead,” he said, and his voice was oddly calm. He didn’t wait, so I ran after him, tripping on the cobblestones, and caught up to him at the next corner. At the corner, I looked both ways, and there he was, hands jammed in his pockets, walking fast, head down.

The bells on the door jangled with obscene good cheer as I ran out into the cold night air. “Yes, I do, asshole,” I hissed, yanking my hand free. “You don’t have to go after him,” he said. I shoved away from the table, but Dare caught my hand.

“You’re married?” Jocasta asked, incredulous. “What, are you in one of those religious sects or something? A sister-wife?” “I thought you were only, like, twenty-one, Harper,” Ryan slurred. Over the sound system, a jazz band was murdering “White Christmas.” But otherwise, our party had gone abruptly silent. Somewhere, a fire truck laid on the air horn.

My one and only by kristan higgins