Less than a minute later, a little girl ran through the ballroom and threw herself into my arms.
The moment Daniel saw her, all the color disappeared from his face.
Until then, I had been doing a perfectly good job pretending Daniel Mercer didn’t exist.
The wedding reception shimmered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers at the Grand Harrington Hotel outside Boston.
I had just finished congratulating my cousin when I heard a laugh behind me.
A laugh I hadn’t heard in years.
Daniel.
I turned slowly.
He looked almost exactly as I remembered him.
Perfectly tailored tuxedo.
Expensive watch.
That same effortless confidence that always seemed one step away from arrogance.
And standing beside him with one hand wrapped possessively around his arm was Vanessa Cole.
The woman I had found barefoot in my kitchen five years earlier wearing one of Daniel’s shirts.
Vanessa recognized me immediately.
Her lips curled into a smile.
