She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

slid from my black dress to Celeste Vale’s champagne satin gown.

They lingered on Graham’s hand on her chair.

They dropped to the hardcover book in Celeste’s lap.

The Glass Orchard.

My book.

My secret.

My blood in black ink and silver foil.

Celeste crossed her legs slowly, as if the movement had been rehearsed in a mirror.

The slit of her dress opened just continue reading …