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

book.

She hesitated.

Then she handed it to me.

The damp cover was cold under my fingertips.

I wiped a bead of champagne from my own title.

“You may keep the seat,” I said.

Celeste’s eyes lifted.

I held the book against my heart.

“But not the story.”

Graham’s face hardened.

“There is no need to posture,” he said.

“I have protected you from the worst parts of this continue reading …