Chapter 3

When I woke the next morning, I went straight back to the hospital.

I completed the final paperwork for the donation of my body and signed every form they placed in front of me.

By the time I returned to the Moretti estate, it was already late.

The house was filled with laughter.

My parents, Nico, and Adrian were inside. Wedding schedules, guest lists, and seating charts covered the long table while the hotel manager confirmed arrangements for the next day.

My mother sat beside Bianca, choosing champagne glasses for the reception.

Her eyes moved over my bloodless face, then dropped to the hospital tape still wrapped around my wrist.

For one brief second, she looked unsettled.

Then her expression hardened into disgust.

“Elena, are you still pretending to be terminally ill?”

She still told the housekeeper to bring me something warm, then turned back to the wedding schedule. She cared enough to make sure I ate; she simply did not believe I could actually be dying.

I took one sip and set it aside.

My father closed the wedding schedule.

“Elena, I know this is unfair. Once Bianca gets through tomorrow, I’ll arrange another wedding in Westchester. You can choose the estate, and we’ll make it larger.”

“All right.”

“If you don’t want the townhouse after someone else has lived there, I’ll buy you another.”

“All right.”

I agreed so quickly that both my parents paused. Usually, whenever they asked me to give something up, I asked why.

Tonight, I asked nothing, and the room relaxed.

Nico pushed a property file toward me.

“The Tribeca apartment is empty. I can transfer it to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Still not enough compensation?”

“I won’t need it.”

His expression hardened.

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Talking like you’re dying because you’re angry about the wedding.” He pushed the file closer. “Enough, Elena. Tomorrow is already difficult for Bianca. Stop making everyone feel guilty.”

I did not explain.

My mother opened a dark red jewelry case. Inside lay an antique Madonna brooch that had belonged to my grandmother. Moretti women traditionally pinned it inside their bridal bouquets.

My mother had once promised to fasten it to mine.

Now she placed it in Bianca’s palm.

“Wear this tomorrow.”

Bianca looked at me.

“Isn’t this Elena’s?”

“Only for one day. Elena can use it when she marries later.”

Later.

Bianca offered it toward me.

“If you’re upset, I don’t have to wear it.”

My mother immediately pressed her hand down.

“Today, you can have whatever you want.”

“Elena has her biological parents to love her. She isn’t going to miss one little brooch.”

I looked down at my wrist.

The skin was covered in needle marks and darkening bruises from the IVs.

Then I smiled.

“It suits her.”

Adrian moved into the seat beside me and took my hand.

“Let this go just this once,” he said. “After the wedding, I’ll do whatever you want.”

His hand was warm.

It reminded me of the boy who used to sit outside my bedroom whenever I was sick because he was afraid I would wake up alone.

The boy who once promised that no matter who entered our lives, he would never make me feel replaceable.

For one foolish moment, I thought that boy had come back.

A little hope returned despite everything.

“What about tonight? Can you stay with me?”

Before he answered, Bianca gripped the edge of the table.

“I can’t breathe.”

My mother rose at once. Nico pulled out her chair, my father called the estate doctor, and Adrian released my hand.

Within seconds, everyone surrounded her.

No one remembered my question.

I waited, then stood.

“Mom. Can we take a family picture tonight?”

“There’ll be photographers tomorrow. Everyone’s tired.”

“Just us.”

“Tomorrow, Elena.”

But tomorrow, the woman in the wedding dress between them would not be me.

My parents, Nico, and Adrian were still listed as my emergency contacts.

I crossed out their names one by one.

Then I wrote:

None.

And signed beneath it.

Elena Moretti.