“The shit you do indeed. Like, oh, I don’t know, secretly telling all your dinner guests not to touch your wife’s turkey because it’s as pink as Barbie’s playhouse, then proceeding to eat half of it and ride out a bout of salmonella instead of just telling her to shove it back in the oven for another forty-five minutes.” I hold my hand on my heart, enjoying the way Angelo’s expression turns dangerous. “That’s true love right there.” Rory’s jaw drops open as she turns to her husband. “You told everyone not to eat my turkey?” Her eyes slide to mine. “Really? No one ate my turkey?” I smile at her
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