The sound of wedding bells should have felt beautiful. It should have felt like a celebration. But sitting there among rows of white flowers and smiling faces, it felt like a blade sliding slowly between my ribs.
I sat in the second row, wearing a pastel dress that matched the carefully curated color scheme. My hair was neat. My smile was polite. My skin still smelled faintly like him.
He stood at the altar in a black suit that made every woman in the room stare. His jaw was clean-shaven, his hair carefully styled, but I knew exactly what his hands had felt like this morning. I’d felt them on my skin while the sun was still rising.
I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs, trying to ignore the soft throb between my thighs that had nothing to do with the ceremony. Every time his gaze flick
