CHRISTIAN
“Alex?” I heard her call out to the guy, as I turned slowly.
The man seated across the table lifted his gaze, just as stunned.
“Penelope?”
I stared at him. Hard, and everything froze. The room, the air, my thoughts—nothing moved.
It was him. The man from the photos. The stranger in the arcade, the one who had his arm around my wife, whispering into her ear, making her laugh like the world was perfect and uncomplicated.
And now, here he was. Sitting at my father’s table. In a navy suit. Wearing the Hilton jawline like a badge.
The back of my neck prickled.
No one said a word. Not my father, not my mother, not even Penelope.
He was sitting across from me. “Do you two know each other?” My father asked.
The Alex guy was about to answer when Penelope butted in, “Yes, we do.
