Eden.

“There you are. I was calling you.”

My mother’s voice hits me the second I step back through the terrace doors. She looks glowing and a little flushed from champagne, still in her ivory gown, still wearing the smile of a woman who just married the man whose cum is cooling on her daughter’s thigh.

I keep my legs together when I walk toward her.

“I needed air,” I say. “The zipper. It caught.”

Her eyes drop to my dress, then to my mouth. I know the lipstick is smeared. I can feel where it dragged across his collar. I did not have a chance to fix it in...