The Public Reckoning
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw the jacket. I just found my sister and told her exactly what to do.
Minutes later, she had the microphone in hand. “Okay, folks—fun game! Who’s wearing wine-colored lipstick?”
The ballroom went silent. Guests exchanged looks.
And then—slowly—Serena stood.
My college roommate.
We met in the middle of the dance floor.
“No prize for you,” I said into the mic. “But maybe you’d like to tell everyone why you kissed my husband at my wedding.”
She stammered, then bolted.
