Lara-Jean POV
The reception is a blur of champagne and smiles. Maya keeps refilling my glass.
"You're going to need this." She's not wrong.
We've posed for a hundred photos. We've accepted congratulations from strangers. We've danced—actually danced, Peter's hand warm on my back, his eyes never leaving mine.
Now we're seated at the head table, pretending to eat the perfect meal neither of us can stomach.
"Ten more minutes," Peter murmurs. "Then we escape."
I almost laugh. "Escape our own wedding?"
"Our wedding." He tastes the words. "I like how that sounds."
Before I can respond, the microphone crackles.
Victor is standing at the podium, smile wide, eyes hungry.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention. As the groom's uncle, I have the honor of offering the first toast
