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

” Celeste said.

Her tone was light, but her fingers had gone rigid around the book.

“Graham told me you hated literary functions.”

Graham turned to her.

“Not now, Celeste.”

That was the first time he sounded careless.

Not cruel.

Not polished.

Careless.

Celeste heard it too.

A small red mark appeared at her throat, just above the collarbone.

I reached for the continue reading …