The Wedding Was My Funeral

The bridal suite was a hurricane of hairspray, half-empty champagne flutes, and the shrill, joyful chatter of my bridesmaids.

Through the chaos, my foster sister, Molly, suddenly stepped forward. She pulled a small foil packet of condoms from her clutch, a teasing, wicked smile playing on her lips as she looked at Colin.

"So, Colin," she purred, drawing out the syllables. "When was the last time you got lucky?"

I opened my mouth, about to shoot her a warning look to dial back the raunchy jokes.

But Colin didn't even blink. "Last night," he answered smoothly.