Damen looked like he might lunge for her arm again, but Jackson shifted slightly between them and whatever was left of Damen’s courage retreated into posture.
“Tell them,” Carissa said. “Tell them why I’m wrong.”
Damen looked around the room and discovered something men like him often discover too late—that charm requires momentum, and once momentum breaks, explanation starts to sound like confession.
“It was just a misunderstanding that got out of hand,” he said.
Carissa laughed softly. “Ten years is not misunderstanding. It’s branding.”
Nikki’s eyes were wet now. For anyone who did not know her, she might have looked pitiful. Carissa knew better. These were not grief tears. These were collapse tears. Tears for a story failing to hold.
“We weren’t trying to hurt you,” Nikki whispered.
Carissa turned fully toward her. “You rehearsed my memories in my living room.”
Nikki flinched.
Carissa kept going.
“You repeated the story of my proposal. My first anniversary dinner. My first trip with him. You took pieces of my life and tried them on like dresses. So forgive me if I don’t believe this was accidental.”
No one in the circle said a word.