The champagne tasted flat.
Not the actual beverage, of course. The bubbles still danced merrily in Miranda's crystal flute, but something sour lingered on her tongue with each sip. Bitterness coated her throat no matter how expensive the vintage. It matched perfectly with the atmosphere of this engagement party—glittering on the surface but hollow underneath.
Everything about this celebration was fraudulent.
Did any of these smiling guests know that Suzanne was nothing but a backstabbing homewrecker? That she was carrying Ryan's child? That the groom-to-be was a cheating bastard with disappointing equipment and even more disappointing skills? Miranda had spent years believing she was the problem, that something was fundamentally wrong with her.
Until Nolan showed her otherwise.
Miranda's eyes swept across the immaculate garden, taking in the perfectly trimmed hedges and the plastic smiles. Why had she even bothered coming? She had nothing to prove, nothing to gain.
