At 10 a.m. the next day, just as people were getting to work, a news story exploded online.
I sat in my bathrobe in front of the mirror, carefully brushing red eyeshadow around the outer corners of my eyes. I looked as though I'd just been crying, fragile enough to make anyone feel sorry for me.
I'd barely put down the brush when my father burst in and slapped me hard across the face without a word of warning.
"Look at the disgrace you've brought on us!"
He flung his phone onto the table.
The news report showed a picture of Dylan holding me aboard the ship that night. The woman's face was blurred, but her silk dress showed off every curve.
'Well, after all those years of workouts and Pilates, I deserve to show off the results.'
Dylan's face and body, on the other hand, were perfectl
