“They’re so in love, it’s nauseating.” I glare at the couple smiling and kissing in the living room and then focus my scorn on the wine glass dangling between my fingertips. “Didn’t Amaya buy anything stronger?”

Diandra tosses her long black weave in annoyance. I ignore the attitude and just focus on her hair. I have to ask her where she got it because that’s some high quality extensions right there.

“Sorry. After Kent’s third proposal, Amaya wanted to keep these parties low key. This is all we got.”

“Awesome.”

Diandra stares at me, saying nothing. She’s got these big, brown eyes that fool people into thinking she’s some naïve Bambi who has no knowledge of the world. I know the truth. Diandra’s as savage as Amaya when she wants to be.

“What?” I lean back as she sticks her nose into my personal space.

“Something’s different about you.”

“I ditched my old lashes. In case you didn’t notice.” I scowl at her. Neither Amaya nor Diandra told me about my fake eyelashes and their propensity for drooping. I was walking around looking like a maniac for six months.

“It’s not that. It’s… I don’t know. You look different.”

“Different how?”

Diandra shrugs. “Maybe it’s the lighting in the kitchen.”

“Whatever.” I drain my glass and grab for the wine bottle.

Diandra slides it out of reach. Her plump red lips stretch across her face as she grins. “Try not to get drunk like you did the last time.”

“I wasn’t drunk!” I defend. “I was tipsy.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

I have and I will.

A month ago, Kent proposed to Amaya. It was a big deal. He had balloons, candles lined up in the shape of a heart, and a power point presentation of their life together.

He invited everyone—including me, for some strange reason.

That night, I watched two human beings find happiness in each other and it bothered me. Not because I’m jealous. Of course. It’s because… well, I just came off my period. Yeah, I always get emotional around that time.

Either way, I drank a little too much. Diandra and Amaya claim I made a total fool of myself. Wilson had to take me home. It’s something I’d really rather forget and I did forget some parts.

Others, not so much.

“Look, Wilson’s here.” Diandra jerks her chin in the direction of the living room where a burly guy with a thick beard escorts a gorgeous woman into the room. “Looks like he brought a date too.”

“Great. We’re the only single people here.”

“Speak for yourself, honey.” Diandra tosses her weave over her shoulder. “I’ve got a great guy on my radar.”

“Good for you.”

“Sorry.” She laughs and opens her mouth, probably to console me or—more likely—rub my singleness in my face.

Before she can, Amaya’s laptop bursts to life and a green icon with a telephone in the middle pops up.

“Looks like a video call,” I muse.

Diandra scrambles to answer and starts chatting it up with Katrina Barton, Amaya’s future aunt-in-law.

I’m not usually fond of older, white women—a wariness formed based on those I’ve met in the emergency room—but Mrs. Barton is genuinely kind.

Last year, after Kent and Amaya were reunited on the set of her ‘Every Tomorrow’ music video, Katrina flew to Belize to meet the woman Kent could never forget.

As the nurse who made sure her precious nephew could live long enough to fall in love, Katrina showered me with gratitude. She’s a lady with good taste, and we clicked immediately.

I scramble behind Diandra and wave at the laptop. “Kat!”

“Hello, Zora.” Katrina’s smile causes the wrinkles around her eyes to deepen. She’s got the cash to do plastic surgery, but she’s made the choice to age naturally, and I think it suits her.

“When are you coming back to Belize?” I ask.

“As soon as possible. I’m just waiting for Amaya to set a wedding date so I can fly back and help her plan. If she wants my help, of course.” Katrina’s brown eyes zip to the side. “Is she there?”

“I’ll get her.”

“Thank you, dear.”

I straighten and head into the living room where Amaya’s mother and her boyfriend along with Tyron and his girlfriend are chatting.

Reggae music plays softly in the background. I recognize ‘Every Tomorrow’ and smirk. It’s been a year already, but Kent is still obsessed with that song.

I guess I would be too if the love of my life wrote a nationally acclaimed song just for me.

Again. Not jealous.

As I search the room for Amaya, I find her cuddling Kent’s arm. She’s wearing a flowing champagne colored dress that accentuates her figure and compliments her pretty brown skin. Kent practically explodes with adoration.

Honestly, they sicken me.

Wilson and Violet stand in front of the newly (if the fifth time counts as ‘newly’) engaged couple.

My body stiffens when I notice Wilson, but I stuff my discomfort deep down and stride forward.

My red dress sways as I move. While I was getting ready for the party, I pulled the gown over my hips and was surprised when it got stuck. I’ve never been a curvy woman so I was ecstatic.

Since I was a teenager, I’ve wanted a fuller chest and butt. I’ve been strutting around tonight feeling like Beyoncé but, for some reason when Wilson notices me, I get self-conscious.

I clear my throat. “Amaya, Mrs. Barton is calling to congratulate you. Again. She says she’s sorry she couldn’t be here but she’d love to help plan the wedding. If you want.”

“I should get this.” Amaya sends Kent a loving smile. “Be right back.”

There’s a part of me that says I should follow her, but Wilson is still staring at me and I figure I’ll look rude if I just walk away and don’t address him.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” I say. The words are already out of my mouth when I realize there’s more heat on them than necessary.

“I’m sure you were hoping for that,” Wilson snaps.

His tone rubs me the wrong way. That right there is why I can’t stand the man. He just oozes condescension.

Sure, he’s handsome, more muscled than a fitness model, and has an app company raking in hundred-thousand-dollar deals, but beneath the surface he’s not all that.

It doesn’t help that we started off on the wrong foot. Last year, when I suggested Kent do the brain surgery that ultimately saved his life, Wilson was dead set against it.

He refused to see reason and even swore I’d pay if Kent died. Like I’m God and have any control over who lives or dies.

Jerk.

I side-eye him hard, reliving that moment all over again.

Violet glances between the two of us. She’s a stunning creature with raven hair, blue eyes and pink lips. It’s clear as day that Wilson worships her and I’m sure half the men who come into contact with her do too.

“What’s with you two?” Violet asks.

“Nothing.” I turn away. Wilson is annoying me, and I don’t want to ruin the party by getting into a stupid argument. “I need another drink.”

I disappear into the kitchen, which is—oddly—free of both Diandra and Amaya. They must have headed to Amaya’s bedroom to have privacy while they spoke with Katrina.

I shrug. More wine for me.

A moment later, footsteps thud behind me. I almost grab the bottle and hold it to my chest while screaming ‘mine’, but I manage to resist the childish impulse and spin. My lips part when I recognize Wilson.

I make a sound that’s part gargle and part scoff. “What do you want?”

“Why are you hogging up the wine?”

“I asked first.”

He grabs the bottle from me and his fingers brush my chest in the process. My heart skitters and falls flat on its face.

Coward.

Wilson pours himself a glass and says calmly, “Keep that up and everyone will know we slept together.”

“What?” All Wilson-inspired tingles disappear. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“Just play it cool, alright?”

My eyes widen. I glance toward the living room where we’re in full sight of the festivities and then crane my neck to check the hallway.

If Kent or Amaya overheard Wilson…

I stalk toward him and grab his hand.

Wilson resists me and since he’s about a hundred pounds heavier and several inches taller than me, I can’t move him on sheer will alone.

“Outside,” I growl. “Let’s discuss this outside.”

Wilson allows me to drag him through the kitchen door that leads to the back porch.

As soon as we’re standing on the verandah, I throw his hand down. “Listen here, you prick. The only one who keeps bringing up that night is you. It was a mistake. One I hardly remember. Get over it.”

That’s a lie. I remember every intimate detail of what he did to my body, but I’d rather die than give Wilson the satisfaction of knowing that.

Wilson laughs. “Did you just call me a prick?”

“I’m thinking of another word, but my mama raised me to be a lady.”

He steps closer. “You’re no lady, Zora.”

Heat flushes my chest. I push him back. “What do you care? You’re back with Violet, right? So everyone else doesn’t exist.”

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

I snort—a totally unladylike sound. “You know, for a man who claims to be in love with someone else, you sure pay a lot of attention to me.”

“I’m just making sure you haven’t forgotten your promise. We agreed to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“What gave you the impression I was violating that?”

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re always glaring and trying to start arguments.”

“Because I can’t stand you. It’s nothing more or less than that.”

“Look, I don’t care what you think about me or that night, but Violet and I are talking again. The last thing I need is you messing things up for us.”

“Oh. My bad. I’ll be sure to do a better job of hiding my obvious love for you. In the future, I’ll pretend you don’t exist. In fact, it would be my pleasure.”

“What is your problem? You came on to me that night, remember?”

“I don’t remember putting a gun to your head and forcing you to kiss me back.” I run a hand through my shoulder-length hair. “And do you know how much the hotel charged me for that broken bed?”

He has the presence of mind to look ashamed. “I told you I’d pay you back for that.”

“I don’t want your money,” I hiss. “And I don’t want you either. The farther you are from me, the happier I am.”

His eyes darken. “Fine. As soon as the wedding’s over, I’ll be out of your hair and you can be the happiest woman in the world.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Wilson’s nose flares. “I feel sorry for the man who ends up with you.”

“Well, I’d feel sorry for Violet, but it’s clear she doesn’t have good taste if she’d take you back.”

Wilson sneers and turns to head back inside. I sprint ahead and lock the door because I feel particularly childish after his dig about my future husband. It’s hurtful on its own, but—given I’m a little insecure about my relationship status—it deserves a punishment.

He yanks the knob. The door rattles beneath the force of his hand. His eyebrows slant over his deep brown eyes. “Zora, open the door.”

“What?” I cup my ear and lean toward the mesh. “Can’t hear you.”

“ZORA!”

I laugh and walk away, smug in my victory.