Chapter 1
"Congratulations," my stepmother said. "You're getting married tomorrow."
I laughed.
"That's a terrible joke."
I reached for the butter anyway, already thinking about the presentation I had to survive at university in less than twenty-four hours. If I left ten minutes early, I could print my notes before class. If the bus behaved for once, I might even have time to grab the cheap coffee from the campus café instead of the machine that tasted vaguely of burnt cardboard.
My stepmother didn't laugh.
Neither did my father.
The knife paused halfway through spreading butter across the toast.
"...Wait."
The word slipped out before I knew I was saying it.
I looked from one face to the other, expecting someone-anyone-to crack.
Dad's hands stayed wrapped around his teacup. He hadn't taken a sip. My stepmother stood beside the dining table with her usual immaculate posture, the kind that always made the room feel as though it belonged to her and the rest of us were merely borrowing space.
"You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious."
There it was.
No smile.
No punchline.
Just a sentence that settled over breakfast like bad weather.
I put the knife down.
"What happened?"
"Maya left."
I frowned.
"Left for where?"
"We don't know."
"Then why are we sitting here?" I pushed my chair back. "Have you called her? Her friends? She wouldn't just disappear."
"Sit down, Elena."
"I'll call her myself."
"You won't."
My stepmother's voice wasn't loud.
It didn't have to be.
She had spent years discovering exactly how much force was needed to make people stop arguing.
I looked at my father instead.
"Dad?"
He finally raised his eyes.
There was apology in them.
It would have meant something if it hadn't arrived so late.
"Maya left this morning," he said. "She isn't coming back."
I waited for the rest.
There had to be more.
People didn't announce disasters one sentence at a time unless they were trying to soften the blow.
Instead, my stepmother opened a cream-colored envelope and placed it on the table between us.
A name was written across the front in elegant black lettering.
Adrian Hayes.
"The wedding will take place tomorrow," she said. "The groom's family has already made every arrangement."
I looked at the envelope.
Then back at her.
"I still don't understand what that has to do with me."
She held my gaze without blinking.
"You're going in Maya's place."
For a second, I honestly thought I'd misheard her.
Then I laughed again.
It sounded strange this time.
Thin.
Uncertain.
"No."
No one corrected me.
No one reassured me.
The silence stretching across the dining room was answer enough.
"I'm not marrying someone I've never met."
"It isn't a question."
"It is for me."
"It stopped being your decision the moment your sister disappeared."
I stared at her.
"You planned this?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You already have the paperwork ready."
"The paperwork was always ready."
She spoke with the calm certainty of someone discussing tomorrow's weather.
"The bride changed."
I looked at my father so quickly my neck hurt.
"You knew?"
He rubbed a hand over his face.
"We found out early this morning."
"And your first thought was..."
My voice failed me for a moment.
"...me?"
His silence told me everything.
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
It wasn't amused.
It wasn't angry.
It was the sound a person made when reality became too absurd to fit inside their head.
"I have university tomorrow."
Neither of them responded.
"I have an attendance requirement."
Nothing.
"My economics presentation counts toward my final grade."
My stepmother adjusted the cuff of her sleeve.
"If your husband agrees, you may continue your studies."
The sentence landed so gently it almost disguised what it meant.
I stared at her.
"...If he agrees?"
"Naturally."
"So everything I've worked for depends on a man I've never met."
"Once you're married, your priorities will change."
"They're changing because you're changing them."
She smiled.
"You've always been the sensible daughter."
Those words had followed me for years.
Whenever Maya wanted something, I was expected to understand.
Whenever money was tight, I was expected to wait.
Whenever there was only enough love for one daughter...
I was expected to be sensible.
Dad used to tell me things would be different one day.
He stopped saying that a long time ago.
I hadn't noticed when hope quietly packed its bags and left the house.
Maybe it happened little by little.
Maybe it happened every time I pretended a stitched backpack was as good as a new one because asking for another would only start an argument.
Maybe it happened when I learned to buy used textbooks before I learned that some daughters didn't have to.
Or maybe...
Maybe it was happening now.
I looked around the dining room.
The chandelier above us cost more than my university tuition.
Fresh flowers stood in a crystal vase.
The marble floor reflected the morning sunlight.
Everything in this house looked expensive.
Except the girl who lived in it.
My stepmother folded the invitation and slid it back into the envelope.
"There's a fitting this afternoon."
I looked at the envelope.
Then at my father.
I waited.
Not for permission.
For him.
For the man who had taught me to ride a bicycle, who used to clap the loudest at my school performances, who once promised that no matter what happened, I'd always have him.
He never spoke.
That was the answer.
Not because he agreed with her.
Because disagreeing would have required courage, and somewhere along the years, he had traded it for peace.
My throat tightened.
"I understand."
The words surprised all three of us.
I picked up my bag.
One of the straps had split again.
I'd have to sew it tonight.
I wondered, absurdly, whether brides were allowed to carry backpacks with crooked stitching.
No one stopped me as I walked upstairs.
No one called my name.
The only thing waiting for me in my room was tomorrow's presentation, spread neatly across my desk.
Tomorrow.
The word suddenly belonged to someone else.
