My sister gripped my elbow, her fingernails biting into my skin in a silent plea for restraint.

I did not move a single muscle.

Evan’s gaze drifted lazily over the crowd until it locked onto mine.

He detached himself from Celeste just long enough to stride to the front, sliding on a mask of solemnity so quickly it made my stomach pitch.

“Margaret,” he said warmly, his voice dripping with the casual affection of a man greeting a distant aunt at a holiday cocktail party.

“Terrible day.”

Celeste glided up beside him, tilting her chin. Her lips, painted a dark, bruised red, curved upward.