Page 145 of On Edge

My father’s eye twitches, and then the two men glare at each other like wolves ready to rip each other to bloody pieces.

“Mr. Severin?” A hotel staff member appears, saving us from a dog fight. “Your other guests have arrived.”

Troy leaves to greet them, and the wedding planner, a woman named Gwen, with an earpiece and a penchant for sighing and holding her hand to her chest at every hallmark moment, swoops in with her tablet and saves me, too. “Sage. I hope you don’t mind. I need to finalize the processional music before dinner. Your mother mentioned you wanted something traditional?”

I didn’t. I haven’t mentioned anything to my mother. But I hear myself say, “Traditional is fine.” It’s not like I’m getting married anyway.

Wait.

No. Iamgetting married.

The realization sinks into my bones like winter.

I’m not killing Troy because he didn’t kill Nell. Which means I’m actually marrying him. And I don’t know how I feel aboutthat. Because the one thing I’ve been pushing down and ignoring is that letter I found from Nell.

It has to be addressed to Troy…

Sweeny is etched on his mother’s ring. Sweeny and Swanley are very similar, maybe too similar to be a coincidence. And it just feels like Troy should be the recipient of my sister’s affections, somehow, even though I still don’t know what happened between them. I type a quick text asking Laine to look at the Swanley family’s Irish heritage, because if I’m right, it changes everything.

And he’s probably still not over her.

Dinner is announced,and I’m seated beside Troy at the head of the table, with my parents across from us, and Mr. Mundel sitting at the far end. The rest of Troy’s guests—business partners, I assume—scatter across the other place settings.

Kathy oversees the service, and the first course arrives: chestnut soup that tastes like absolutely nothing to me. My eyes keep darting nervously between Troy and my father, when every comment seems razored, and every response is cutting. I feel like I’m in the middle of a controlled bloodbath.

When my father is being himself, so obnoxious beyond reason, a blond man with piercing blue eyes, who looks like Lucifer incarnate, locks eyes with Troy. There’s an exchange between them that no one else sees but me, unless I’m imagining it. The blond inclines his head, and Troy returns the gesture, as though giving the okay.

Okay, to what? I don’t know who the blond man is. I don’t know who anyone is. I haven’t been paying attention to any of the small talk around me.

My mind is in turmoil, and my heart feels like it’s been squeezed through a meat grinder. Everything I know and don’t know, and don’t understand, all of it pulls at me like a riptide. Every time someone tries to start a conversation with me, other thoughts twist in, taking anything they have to say right out of my head.

But then, under the table, Troy takes my hand. He’s close enough that I can feel his warmth, and as soon as I do, everything else falls away. The memory of him pinning me down, his mouth on mine, and fingers inside me, is all I can focus on.

“So, Troy.” My mother dabs her mouth with her napkin. “How are you finding married life? Or soon-to-be married life, I should say.” She actually winks at him.

Troy brings my hand up to rest it on top of the table. Then he reaches back under, lifts the hem of my dress, and lightly grips the lace of my knickers.

I grip the tablecloth, gnawing my lip.

“Your daughter is full of surprises,” he says smoothly, as his knuckles graze my thigh.

“Really?” My mother’s voice is cool. “Sage has always been so... vanilla, though. Haven’t you, darling?”

He eases one side of the lace over my hip and then the other. And then slowly tugs the flimsy material down.

I nearly choke on my soup.

“Vanilla? You mean obedient,” my father butts in.

Troy’s hand moves up my leg. I try to squeeze my legs closed, but he gently pushes them apart. “Oh, she’s a good girl, alright.”

Now I do choke.

Troy is stroking his fingers over my soaking wet slit, pleasure spikes through me in waves.

Good girl.That’s me, the Sage who does what everybody wants. The daughter who does what she’s told and doesn’t makea fuss. The one who lets her fiancé bring her off at dinner with her parents.

My cheeks burn as I stare at my soup. Troy keeps on caressing me, destroying me one delve at a time.