My name is Lily. I'm twenty-two, fresh out of college, and temporarily living back home while I figure out my life. When Mom introduced me to Marcus a year ago, I thought he was perfect for her. Successful, charming, fifteen years younger than her previous boyfriends. She deserved happiness after Dad left.

"He's wonderful, isn't he?" Mom asked me after their third date.

"He seems great," I said. And I meant it.

What I didn't say was that when he shook my hand for the first time, he held it a second too long. That his eyes dropped to my lips before meeting my gaze. That something dark flickered behind his perfect smile.

I told myself I imagined it.

The wedding was small and elegant. Mom was glowing. Marcus stood at the altar looking like he stepped out of a magazine — tall, dark hair with streaks of gray, jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

During the reception, he asked me to dance.

"Welcome to the family," he said, his hand resting on my lower back. Just a little too low.