The Bride Asked for My Taste. I Gave Her a Wedding Gift She Couldn’t Return.

Grant had finally given me what every betrayed woman needs.

Intent.

The next morning, I attended Sloane’s bridal luncheon at Le Jardin Bleu, a private club on the Upper East Side where the walls were hand-painted with birds and the women looked taxidermied by Pilates.

Sloane had invited forty guests.

She seated me at the head table.

Not beside her.

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