"She’s not who you think she is, Alex."
The wine glass in my hand was inches from my lips when I froze. I carefully turned to face Marcus, who is my oldest buddy and the one who never holds back when expressing his thoughts.
"What is the intended meaning of that?" Despite a slight knot of uneasiness in my chest, I asked in a low, even voice.
His arms were crossed and his face was unreadable as he leaned on the kitchen counter. "Jemma," he murmured, as though her name was sufficient justification. "What you've convinced yourself she is, she isn't."
The glass sloshed a little from the force as I put it down. Marcus, you've never been fond of her. Don't assume I'm unaware of it.
"That isn't the point," he retorted. It's not that I don't like her. It has to do with your inability to notic
