Chapter 3: Her Sister’s Dress

The car smelled faintly of leather and the white roses someone had placed in the small compartment between the seats. I sat in the back with my veil folded across my lap, watching the city pass through the tinted window as we moved toward the church. People crossed busy streets with shopping bags in their hands, buses pushed through traffic, and roadside vendors called out to drivers who barely looked in their direction. Everything outside continued exactly as it always did, which felt almost insulting considering that my entire life had changed before breakfast.

Across from me, Mother sat with both hands folded over her purse. She had barely spoken since we left the house.

The Moretti man beside the driver had introduced himself as Cassian DeLuca. He had not said much after that. His dark suit was perfectly pressed, and the small earpiece tucked behind his right ear made it obvious that he was not there as a wedding guest. He was there to watch me.

I noticed the way he checked the side mirror every few minutes.

Not the traffic.

Me.

“You keep looking at me,” I said.

His eyes met mine through the mirror.

“I am making sure you are comfortable.”

“I am.”

“You do not look comfortable.”

“That is because I am going to marry a man I have never met.”

Mother shifted in her seat.

Cassian remained quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “You have met Mr. Moretti before.”

I looked at him.

“When?”

He did not answer immediately.

“Perhaps you simply do not remember.”

That caught my attention.

I leaned back against the seat and studied his reflection. His expression gave nothing away, but his fingers moved once against his knee before becoming still again.

Interesting.

I filed the comment away.

The church appeared at the end of the road several minutes later.

It was larger than I expected.

Tall stone walls rose behind iron gates, and black cars lined the road outside. Security stood at almost every entrance, some pretending to be wedding staff while others made no effort to hide what they were doing. Men with earpieces stood near the gates. Another pair watched the parking area.

This was not a normal wedding.

I had attended enough family events to know the difference between wealthy people being cautious and powerful people expecting trouble.

This was the second one.

The car stopped.

Cassian stepped out first.

He opened my door and moved aside.

I placed one foot on the pavement.

The moment I stepped outside, conversations around the entrance became quieter.

People looked at me.

Some smiled.

Others whispered.

A woman in a pale blue dress turned toward another guest and said something behind her hand. The second woman glanced at me, then quickly looked away.

They were expecting Sophia.

I could feel the difference.

Sophia was loved by people who knew her. She made friends easily, remembered birthdays, and asked questions about other people's lives. She could enter a room full of strangers and leave with three new friends.

I had never understood how she did it.

I preferred knowing where the exits were.

Cassian offered his arm.

I looked at it.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you offering?”

“Because everyone inside expects the bride to arrive with someone.”

I took his arm.

Not because I needed help.

Because I wanted to know what kind of man he was.

His posture changed the moment my fingers rested against his sleeve. Not much. Just enough to tell me he had expected me to behave differently.

Sophia probably would have smiled.

I did not.

We walked toward the entrance.

The doors opened before we reached them.

A woman in a black dress stepped forward.

“Mrs. Veyra.”

She looked at me carefully.

Not warmly.

Carefully.

“Everything is ready.”

“I am not Mrs. Veyra yet.”

Her mouth curved into a polite smile.

“Of course.”

She stepped aside.

I entered.

The church was beautiful in the way expensive things often were. Tall windows threw colored light across the polished floor, and white flowers lined the aisle from the entrance to the altar. The scent of roses was strong enough to cover the faint smell of candle wax.

At the front stood the groom.

I saw him before he saw me.

Lucien Moretti.

He was taller than I expected, dressed in a black suit that looked almost severe against the white flowers behind him. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his expression was unreadable as he spoke quietly to an older man standing beside him.

Then his eyes moved toward the entrance.

Toward me.

He stopped speaking.

I felt Cassian's arm become still beneath my hand.

Lucien did not move.

Neither did I.

There was something unsettling about the way he looked at me.

Not surprising.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

My first thought was that Father had shown him photographs of Sophia.

My second was that he had seen one of mine by accident.

Neither explanation accounted for his expression.

He looked at me as if he had been waiting for me.

I lowered my eyes and continued walking.

The orchestra began playing.

Every step toward the altar seemed to take longer than the last.

I could hear the soft whisper of my dress against the floor. I could feel dozens of eyes following me. Somewhere behind me, Mother was probably crying.

I kept my face calm.

Inside, questions were piling up.

Why did Lucien look at me like that?

Why had Cassian said I had met him before?

And why did Sophia's warning suddenly feel much more serious than it had in her bedroom?

I reached the altar.

Lucien extended his hand.

I placed mine in it.

His fingers closed around mine.

Warm.

Steady.

He looked directly into my eyes.

Then he leaned closer.

His voice was low enough that nobody else could hear.

“You look different.”

My heart gave one hard beat.

I forced myself to smile.

“I suppose weddings do that to people.”

His eyes remained on mine.

“No.”

His thumb moved once against the side of my hand.

“Something else does.”

I kept my expression pleasant.

“You must be mistaken.”

“I rarely am.”

The priest began speaking.

I turned toward him.

For the next several minutes, I concentrated on every word that came from his mouth while trying not to think about the man standing beside me.

The vows came.

Then the rings.

Cassian approached with a small black box.

Lucien opened it.

A diamond ring rested inside.

He took it out and held my hand.

His fingers brushed the ring finger of my left hand.

I noticed a small scar across his knuckle.

Old.

Not accidental.

I wondered where it came from.

Then he slid the ring onto my finger.

It fit perfectly.

I looked at it.

Sophia's ring.

Or perhaps it had always been intended for me.

That thought disturbed me more than it should have.

The priest continued.

“Do you, Lucien Moretti, take Sophia Veyra—”

Lucien looked at me.

I held my breath.

“Yes.”

The word was quiet.

Certain.

The priest turned toward me.

“And do you, Sophia Veyra, take Lucien Moretti—”

I opened my mouth.

Before I could answer, Lucien spoke again.

“She will.”

I looked at him.

He was still watching me.

Something cold moved through me.

He knew.

The realization came without warning.

Not enough to understand everything.

Just enough to make me question every second since I entered the church.

If Lucien believed I was Sophia, why had he answered for me?

And if he did not believe I was Sophia...

Why was he standing there?

I forced a small smile.

“I do.”

The ceremony continued.

When the priest finally pronounced us husband and wife, applause filled the church.

People stood.

Cameras flashed.

Music rose around us.

Lucien leaned toward me.

I expected him to kiss me.

Instead, his mouth stopped near my ear.

“You should stop looking for your sister.”

My smile remained in place.

Every muscle in my body went still.

He pulled back.

To everyone watching, he looked like a newlywed husband admiring his bride.

I looked up at him.

His face gave nothing away.

“You know where she is,” I whispered.

“No.”

“Then how do you know I am looking for her?”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“That is the first question you should be asking yourself.”

He turned toward the guests.

I remained beside him, smiling for the cameras while my mind raced.

Sophia had warned me not to trust him.

My father had threatened me to take her place.

Cassian had hinted that Lucien knew me.

And now Lucien had just told me that he knew I was looking for my sister.

There was only one explanation that made sense.

He knew I was not Sophia.

The thought should have frightened me.

Instead, something else took its place.

Curiosity.

Because if Lucien Moretti knew exactly who had walked down that aisle...

then he had allowed the wrong woman to marry him.

And I needed to know why.