The Heartbeat That Betrayed Him

At our rehearsal dinner, someone produced a biometric lie detector—one of those novelty party gadgets with pulse clips and galvanic skin sensors. If your heart rate spikes past a baseline threshold while answering, the little dome flashes crimson and emits an obnoxious, warbling buzz.

They hauled me up first.

Becca, my maid of honor, leaned across the table with a grin. "If Ethan hadn't proposed this spring, would you really have waited around for year eight?"

I didn't even have to look inward. "Yes."

The light stayed a calm, emerald green.