Twenty years ago, Colm Brady broke her heart. Tonight she expected to see his handsome face again.
The reunion was crowded, but he materialised at her side.
“It’s been too long, Finnoula.”
She gave him her serene smile.
His black eyes took in the maiden name on her tag, and the narrow platinum band on her finger.
He looked puzzled.
“Are you single then, or what?”
“Or what.”
He snorted. “What sort of a husband allows his wife to keep her maiden name and come to a shindig like this unaccompanied?”
“I don’t have a husband. I have a wife.”
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