Chapter 1 - THE KISS AT THE DOOR
The first person Sarah Bennett hugged at her parents’ thirtieth-anniversary party was not her mother.
Not her father.
Not one of the relatives who had driven three hours to celebrate them.
It was Emma’s fiancé.
The front door had barely opened when Sarah gasped.
“John!”
She pushed straight past Emma, wrapped both arms around John Mercer’s shoulders, and kissed his cheek.
Emma stopped breathing.
For half a second, nobody else seemed to understand why.
Sarah was twenty-four, blonde, beautiful in the effortless way that had irritated Emma since childhood. White floral dress. Perfect hair. Champagne already in one hand.
John stood rigid in the doorway.
His face had gone pale.
He immediately pulled Sarah’s arms away.
“Sarah.”
Not warm.
Not surprised.
Warning.
Emma heard it.
So did Sarah.
But Sarah smiled anyway.
“You actually came.”
Emma slowly turned toward John.
They had been engaged for three months.
Together almost two years.
John had met her parents.
He had met cousins, grandparents, college friends.
He had never met Sarah.
At least that was what Emma believed.
Her hand closed around his wrist before he could step away.
“Why does my sister know my fiancé?”
John looked at her.
“Emma—”
Sarah answered first.
“Because he spent five weeks with me in London.”
The room changed.
Emma’s mother, Diane, stopped beside the dining-room flowers.
Her father, Robert, went completely still.
That registered somewhere in Emma’s mind.
Later.
At that moment, all she heard was:
Five weeks.
London.
John had been in London from February through March for a temporary assignment with his financial-compliance firm.
Emma knew that.
They had called every night.
He sent photographs of rainy streets, terrible hotel breakfasts, and one ridiculous picture of himself beside a guard at Buckingham Palace.
Sarah had also been in London around then.
Supposedly for a five-week luxury-brand internship.
Emma had never connected the dates.
Why would she?
Her sister and fiancé had never met.
Except apparently they had.
For five weeks.
Emma released John’s wrist as if his skin suddenly disgusted her.
He reached toward her.
“Please.”
She recoiled.
“Don’t.”
Sarah lifted her chin.
There was something almost triumphant in her expression.
Not heartbreak.
Not embarrassment.
Victory.
Emma’s stomach turned.
“You were with my sister?”
John’s voice cracked.
“Not the way she’s making it sound.”
Sarah laughed.
“Oh, come on.”
Emma stared at him.
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than denial would have.
John swallowed.
“I kept something from you.”
Emma pulled off her engagement ring.
Several relatives gasped softly.
“Emma, wait.”
“No.”
She closed the ring inside her fist.
John stepped between the sisters.
He looked at Sarah.
And whatever panic had been in his face disappeared.
“Fine.”
Sarah’s smile weakened.
John locked eyes with her.
“Sarah… tell her what really happened in London.”
The color disappeared from Sarah’s face.
Emma noticed.
So did their parents.
And for the first time since the door opened, Emma realized something strange.
Her mother wasn’t looking at John.
May you like
She was looking at Sarah.
Terrified.
