The last of the guests were trickling out when the tension snapped. Brace had just handed Sabrina a flute of sparkling cider near the dessert table when a commotion stirred near the bar. Raised voices. The unmistakable weight of hostility. Brace stiffened. Then came Andy.
He crashed into the party in his drunken state, eyes glassy but sharp with anger. His words slurred just enough to signal trouble.
“Well, isn’t this just sweet?” he sneered, stepping forward. “The fake couple, dancing like they mean it.” Sabrina instinctively stepped closer to Brace.
“Andy,” Brace warned, voice low and taut. “Not here. Not tonight.”
Andy scoffed, loud enough for a few heads to turn. “Why not? Afraid the people here might find out your engagement was a hoax?”
“Andy, go home,” Sabrina said, trying to
