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Summary
Preventing a social apocalypse during her bachelorette weekend, Taylor turned to Conrad very slowly.
“You’re single.” She cursed the illegal word. “That must be a joke.”
Steven startled beside Taylor. “I thought your fiancée was coming to the wedding.”
“That would make no sense.” Conrad took an absent sip of his beer. “Nicole and I broke up.”
Nobody dared ask when or why that man had shown up single after ten years of exile following the disaster everyone still knew by heart. And yet, every face there found Belly stone-still beside Jeremiah—including her husband’s.
“Oh,” Belly gasped, a little corpse.
So Conrad looked at her then.
Only then.
Eyes dropping once to the gold on her wedding hand, then climbing back to her face, he let her feel the glare first.
Registered.
Then looking straight ahead, he took another sip, speaking low enough for lip-reading alone.
“Behave.”