The music swirled softly in the air as I walked back into the reception hall, heels clicking against the marble floor, the chaos in my head louder than the chatter around me.
I spotted them instantly—my mom in the middle of the dance floor, her face flushed with laughter as she twirled with some family friend, her dress flowing like a whisper around her legs. And Greg—he stood near the back, alone, one hand lazily holding a glass of champagne while the other rested in his pocket. But he wasn’t watching the dancers. His eyes were fixed on her, soft and completely enthralled, like she was the only thing in this room.
For a second, I froze. I don’t know why. Maybe because that look on his face didn’t feel like a lie.
But lies were all I’d gotten from him.
I started walking toward him,
