“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about an invitation,” I said.

“I don’t lie about logistics or people,” Edward said.

He picked up his manifests, squared them against his hip, and turned back toward his desk in the middle row.

A strange, heavy tightness formed in my stomach that had nothing to do with Max or his silver cards.

I couldn’t understand why Edward had agreed so quickly, without even asking where the wedding was being held.

By nine o’clock, the peeling yellow paint on my bedroom walls looked muted in the soft glow of the single table lamp.