Brunch was mimosas and a table that would not stop talking about last night.
I sat in a denim skirt and a borrowed blouse with nothing underneath and last night still slipping out of me every time I shifted. Declan carved ham. My mother held her new husband’s hand. Someone asked if I’d had fun at the wedding.
“It was a lot,” I said.
Declan’s shoe hooked my ankle under the table and stayed there.
After the plates cleared he stood, easy, host-polite.
“Paige needs a ride into town. The cleaner’s holding your mother’s jacket. We’ll be an hour.”
Mom waved us off. Kissed his cheek. Told me to take a sweater.
The truck smelled like leather and him. He didn’t start it right away. He reached over, shoved the skirt to my waist, and pushed two fingers into my cunt to check what the night had l
