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

Mara gave.

Graham appeared three minutes later.

Celeste followed him, holding my book against her chest.

The dust jacket was bent at one corner.

A wet stain from champagne darkened the lower edge.

I stared at it.

Celeste noticed.

For the first time that night, she looked less victorious.

“Evelyn,” Graham said.

His voice had the careful patience of a man speaking continue reading …