I caught the slightest movement—his fingers tipping something into my champagne just as the music swelled. My smile didn’t falter. I simply switched our glasses and raised mine for the toast. He drank. Then I leaned in, close enough for only him to hear, “Wrong glass, darling.” His throat bobbed. His face went paper-white. And that’s when I realized… this wasn’t his first time trying.
I noticed it because I’d spent three months planning every detail of the night—and because Evan had never been good at hiding his impatience. The band was warming up, the ballroom at the Harborview Hotel glittered with candles, and my mother was crying happy tears into her napkin. I was supposed to be floating. Instead,…