The Stand-In Bride Refusal novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Wrong Sister

At the reception the groom's cousin toasts the wrong sister, and Willa answers him in front of everyone.

"Explain the check," I said.

The car turned onto Michigan Avenue and the city lights slid across his face.

"Your stepmother holds a trust," Rowan said. "Thirty percent of the voting shares in my company sit inside it."

"I know nothing about a trust."

"Constance says it's hers to vote. She sold me that vote."

"For a wedding."

"For a wedding with her daughter."

I laughed, and it came out ugly.

"You bought my stepsister."

"I agreed to marry her. I paid a deposit."

"You didn't love her."

"I didn't know her," Rowan said. "That was the point."

His mouth moved, almost a smile.

"I'm told I wasn't supposed to say that out loud."

I looked at the white lace spread across my knees.

"So now she'll say the deal is void," I said. "Because the bride was me."

"Yes."

"And you lose your thirty percent."

"Yes."

"Then why did you say my name at the altar?"

He took his time answering.

"Because you said no to the whole church," he said. "I wanted to see what you'd say yes to."

The car stopped in front of the Verran Grand.

Doormen opened both doors at once.

The reception was already full.

Three hundred guests drank champagne under crystal chandeliers, and every one of them turned to look when we came in.

I heard the whispers move across the ballroom.

"The maid," someone whispered. "She married the maid."

Rowan kept my hand in his the entire time.

He guided me to the long head table, pulled out my chair, and waited until I sat.

The room settled slowly.

A man came to the microphone with a glass in his hand.

He was lean and sandy-haired, and his grey suit fit him.

I had seen him at the engagement dinner.

He had handed me his coat without looking at my face.

"Friends," he said. "I'm Tobias Verran, Rowan's cousin. Allow me a toast."

Rowan's hand tightened on mine.

"To my cousin," said Tobias, "who has always loved a bargain. Today he found a very good one."

A few people laughed.

"To the wrong sister," Tobias said, and lifted his glass. "May the right one still turn up."

Nobody drank.

The room had gone so quiet I could hear the ice settle in somebody's glass.

Rowan started to rise.

I pressed my hand on his arm.

"Let me," I said.

I stood, and my dress rustled in the silence.

I walked to the microphone.

Tobias stepped aside with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

I took the microphone out of its stand.

"Thank you, Tobias," I said.

My voice sounded much calmer than I felt.

"I'm Willa Larkin. As of this afternoon, I'm your cousin's wife."

A small sound ran through the room.

"We met once before. At the engagement dinner, you handed me your coat and said, 'Take care of that.'"

I looked at him.

"You didn't ask my name. You didn't look up."

Tobias's smile thinned.

"I carried your coat to the closet," I said.

"I carried your plate to the kitchen."

"I want you to know I did both of those jobs very well."

Somebody near the back made a noise.

"I'm not the wrong sister," I said. "I'm the one who showed up."

I held out the microphone, handle first.

"Your glass is empty, Mr. Verran. Mine is full."

I picked up the champagne a waiter had left on the stand and drank half of it.

The ballroom exploded.

Not in laughter, exactly.

In applause.

It started at the head table with a single pair of old hands.

Mrs. Verran was clapping, with her cane hooked over her arm.

Then the whole room joined her.

Tobias stood frozen with his empty glass.

His ears had turned red.

I walked back to my chair.

Rowan was already on his feet.

He took my elbow, and he was looking at me in a way I had never been looked at.

Like I had surprised him, and he liked it.

"Where did you learn that?" he said quietly.

"Six years of Christmas parties."

"Tobias will not forget it."

"I hope not."

He bent down until his mouth was beside my ear.

His breath was warm against my neck.

"I'd like to go upstairs," he said. "Now."

My skin prickled from my collarbone to my knees.

"Is that part of the three weeks?" I said.

"It's not part of anything."

His thumb pressed into the inside of my wrist.

"Tell me to stop," he said, "and I'll walk you to a different room."

I looked at the doors.

I looked at my mother's deed on the table, safe under my clutch.

Then I looked up at my husband.

"Don't walk me anywhere," I said. "Take me up."

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