Julie pointed at her. “You try living with Mitchell and not picking up words like that.”

“Calm down, Jules,” Grace said. “We’ve got you covered. If Mitchell’s parents start to drag the mood down with their monologue, Riley will pretend to be drunk and make a grab for the microphone.”

Riley nodded. “Did I mention I brought a flask? Might as well be a prop, since Sinclair here claims to have no use for it.”

Julie and Grace both glanced at Emma, and Julie’s hand reached for hers. “How are you doing?”

Emma groaned. “I’m fine. I’ll hate myself if you spend even one second worrying about me.”

“I’m not worried,” Julie said. “It’s just…this is when it happened, right? Whatever went down between you two was at the rehearsal dinner?”

“A long time ago,” Emma said, squeezing Julie’s hand. “Cassidy and I have both moved on.”

Julie started to bite her fingernail before realizing she didn’t want to ruin her new manicure. “So you’re not suffering from relationship PTSD?”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing,” Emma said, keeping her voice light.

Riley was watching her with narrow eyes. “Uh-huh. What is it with you two lately?”

“What do you mean?” Emma took a sip of her wine.

Riley snorted. “You think we’re not aware every time there’s a tiny shift between you two?”

“Actually, we’re all the more aware of it because the changes are tiny,” Grace added. “It would actually be less suspicious if you two alternated between blowup fights and playing nice. But instead you both try too damn hard to ignore each other.”

“Yep. And it’s very damning,” Julie said with a nod.

Emma glanced around the group. “Can one of you translate all that? Because it sounded like some sort of nonsense assessment I should have been lying on a couch for.”

The three of them exchanged glances. Then Grace spoke up. “It’s like this: For a long time, we thought you and Cassidy avoided each other because of some horrific breakup that left you hating each other.”

“And now?” Emma prompted, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear it.

“Now we think you two avoid each other for a much more dangerous reason,” Grace said quietly. “It’s because you have the power to hurt each other.”

Emma looked away. Yep, she definitely did not want to hear this.

“He watches you, you know,” Riley said. “When he thinks you’re not looking.”

Emma hated that her heart did some sort of flippy thing.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” Julie asked. “Nobody would blame you if having him close by recently has stirred up some long-buried emotion.”

Emma opened her mouth to deny it. To deny everything. She couldn’t force out the lie.

But neither could she muster the energy to tell the truth, because the truth was that she didn’t know what she felt. Or what he felt.

She just knew that the only thing more painful than living with Cassidy would be living without him.

And then she was saved from having to respond at all, because Julie’s worst nightmare was coming true.

Mitchell’s father had found himself a microphone.

Before she could stop herself, she searched for and found Cassidy. He was watching her with those ever unreadable eyes.

And when Mitchell’s father started talking, Emma found herself in for a very unpleasant surprise. Relationship PTSD was a thing.

And Emma had just discovered her trigger.

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

“Your smile is looking a little pinched,” Daisy said in Emma’s ear as she drew her away from one of their more annoying aunts.

“That’s because my face hurts,” Emma said, massaging her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve had to smile and small talk this much…ever.”

Her twin gave her a sympathetic look. “You’ll get used to it. Although…it may take a couple years.”

“No way,” Emma said, taking her sister’s champagne and stealing a sip. She’d barely had time to grab one of the bacon-wrapped scallops, much less find herself a drink. “The whole charming southern belle thing is your deal.”

“Well, until tomorrow evening it’s also your deal,” Daisy said, rearranging one of Emma’s hair-sprayed curls. “You know people expect their southern brides to be beaming and bubbly.”

“And simpering,” Emma said, batting Daisy’s hand away. “Don’t forget simpering.”

Daisy was too busy scrutinizing Emma to respond. “Your lipstick’s worn off. Time to reapply.”

Emma rolled her eyes as her sister dug around in her small beaded clutch and came up with a lipstick tube. She pulled off the cap, twisted the bottom, and offered Emma the light pink color.

Emma obediently put on a fresh layer. She was no stranger to makeup—her mother had taught both twins the art of “subtle sophistication” the second they’d needed a training bra. She didn’t mind makeup; she liked looking her best. But she wasn’t as diligent about it as her sister. Emma’s routine was generally limited to eyeliner, mascara, and a swipe of ChapStick before a night out with friends, but Daisy didn’t so much as go to the grocery store without her face on.

Most of the time, Daisy let Emma be. But then Emma had gotten engaged, and Daisy had taken it upon herself to stock Emma’s bathroom. Hair spray, curling irons, lipsticks, nail polishes, highlighter, bronzer, blush…everything a southern bride needed to get through an endless parade of engagement parties, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and now her rehearsal dinner.