Accidentally Married As The Wrong Bride
I sat in the driveway with my hands on the wheel and watched the light come up over the canyon, and I heard her voice in my head, over and over, low and slurred and absolutely certain.
I'm not the one she chose.
My grandmother had chosen someone. That much was true. Six months ago, in her sitting room in Geneva, she had put a photograph on the table in front of me of a young woman called Coralie Fitch, the daughter of old family friends, and told me she wanted to see me married before her heart gave out. I had agreed, because she was old and frightened and I owed her everything. The courthouse was meant to be a formality. Then the wrong woman had walked through the door in a white dress, and