The moment I turn, my eyes land on Marcus first. He stands with his hands folded carefully, as if even he is afraid to breathe too loud. Then my gaze drifts to Santino. He’s still standing by the decorated table, the soft candlelight brushing over his tuxedo like he walked out of a magazine.

But all I feel is heat rising in my cheeks not the nice kind. The stupid kind.

Because it hits me all at once.

There is no event.

No party.

This man… this man actually made me dress up like a clown just ...