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My father? He went straight to the bar.

Of course he did.

I was ready to leave too. I had already crossed half the room—past wilting decorations and untouched champagne—when I heard his voice.

“Leaving so soon?”

His hand clamped onto my arm.

“I’ve seen enough,” I said coldly. “You’ve both had your fun.”

He leaned closer, his breath heavy with alcohol. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

I frowned. “Get what?”

“What she did for you.”

I tried to pull away. “You’re drunk.”