Chapter 2

The engagement party was at the Hillcrest Hotel, which told you just how much the hosts cared about getting it right.

The place was full of roses flown in from Ecuador. The smell was a little too much for me, so I picked the seat farthest into the corner and sat down.

I bent over the menu on the table, pretending to read it very carefully, telling myself that all these rich and important people wouldn't notice me.

But before I could even work out the tongue-twister of a dish name, a hand landed on my shoulder.

"You're Miss Henson, right?"

A short-haired woman was smiling down at me. Friendly as she looked, I knew she hadn't come over with good intentions.

"Why are you sitting all the way back here? Come on, we saved you a seat up front."

Before I could get a word out, she had already hooked her arm through mine and was half pulling, half dragging me to the first row.

The first row faced the head table directly. Best view in the room, and the most exposed.

A whole table of people looked up at me, their eyes doing that knowing kind of appraisal, and I finally understood exactly what the short-haired woman was after.

She leaned in and dropped her voice.

"Georgia, you don't mind if I call you that, do you? This is the first time we've met, but I know all about your situation."

Then she gave a little smile and tipped her chin toward the head table.

"Mr. Gilbert and our Layla grew up together. The two families know each other inside and out. In family and in looks, they're the perfect match."

"You being invited to the engagement party means Mr. Gilbert has some feeling for you. But you need to know your place. Don't go entertaining ideas you shouldn't have."

I didn't say anything. I just smiled and started eating the little cake on my plate.

After all, the ones who'd done this before me always said the most important thing about being a secret mistress was having thick skin.

Neal Gilbert and his fiancée, Layla Whitney, sat side by side at the head table, the very picture of a golden couple.

When the ceremony was over, they went table to table with their glasses. When they reached ours, he clinked glasses with everyone in turn, his smile warm and gracious.

Only when it was my turn, his gaze slid right past my face, and he held his glass out to the short-haired woman beside me instead.

"Bernice Dickerson, thank you for all your work today."

The old me, if Neal Gilbert had dared to ignore me, I'd have torn the whole place apart and made him buy me ten designer bags to say he was sorry.

But now I just tucked myself off to the side, and once they'd moved on I sat back down and went on studying that French dish whose name I couldn't pronounce.

"Hey, who's that woman? How'd she get a seat in the front row?"

"You don't know? I think she's the one Mr. Gilbert keeps on the side… tsk, some nerve, showing up to the real wife's engagement party."

"I heard they met at that club. What kind of shame could a woman out of a place like that have?"

"…"

The talk around me wasn't loud, wasn't quiet, just enough to reach my ears.

Everyone in the room today knew who I was.

Neal Gilbert had brought me here for exactly this, so that everyone could see just how low his shameful mistress really was.

Once he'd finished the round of toasts and circled back toward the head table, his steps paused behind me.

He bent down, pretending to pick up a napkin that had fallen to the floor, and murmured quietly at my ear.

"Georgia Henson, this is what you owe me."

Eight years ago I was the one who called it off. Neal Gilbert wouldn't accept it, and chased me all the way to my dorm to ask why.

My roommate was throwing a party right then, and in front of a dozen people I threw my cruel words in his face.

"Because I don't love you anymore, Neal Gilbert. That's why."

"If you come looking for me again, I'll let everyone see just how low you really are."

The reckless things you do when you're young always come back to collect, one day or another.