The room has gone very still.
Everyone seems to be holding their breath and staring at me.
Damon’s mother breaks the silence first. “Honey,” she says, her eyes fixed on her husband. “That can’t possibly be true. She’s not… she’s not the wife. Right?”
She looks at me, pleading for a different answer.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I am,” I say.
“Oh, God,” Aunt Imogen whispers, clutching her chest as if the confession physically struck her.
“Well, congratulations, Dad,” says Damon. “Dinner is officially ruined. I brought a guest, and you couldn’t help yourself. You had to remind her about a husband who died not even two months ago. That’s very welcoming of you.”
His father narrows his eyes. “Welcoming? What the hell are you doing with the man’s wife, Damon?”
“I haven’t been home i
