Stand-In Bride

Chapter One

I’ve barely been kissed, yet here I am, swathed in silk and lace, about to walk down the aisle as the stand-in bride at my twin sister’s wedding.

I look at my sketchbook, open, sketch half-done after Eloise got the call for an interview for her dream job. The only problem—it’s today.

So I did what any good twin sister would do and offered to stand in for her.

But now that I’m in her corset style dress and struggling to breathe, I’m having second thoughts. “How is this going to work? This dress clearly wasn’t designed for the twin that steals the last cookie.”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “Charlotte, we are the same size. You just don’t like to flaunt what you’ve got.”

She pointedly stares at my bust, which is practically spilling out of the dress.

My skin burns so bright I won’t need blush.

“I should be the one complaining.” Eloise pulls a face and plucks at my vintage style skirt. “It’s so heavy and scratchy.”

“At least you can breathe.”

Eloise drops the skirt with a dramatic sigh, picks up her lipstick, and paints my lips. “Slow, shallow breaths and you’ll be fine.”

Eloise turns me to face the mirror in the church dressing room. I’m shocked by the image. I look like Eloise with my lips this red. I’ve never worn a shade this bold. I’ve never tried to be an extrovert like Eloise. I’m shy, introverted, looking for the corner of a room to hide and sketch. How am I supposed to pull this off? “He’s going to know.”

“We’re twins. We’ve never met the groom. How will he know?”

I touch the small scar below my left ear. A consequence of my eight-year-old brain thinking training wheels meant it was possible to read and ride at the same time.

Eloise waves my hand away and twists a curl down around my ear, covering it. “It’s barely noticeable.”

She’s right, but it’s just one of the many differences between us. We may look alike, but where I prefer the quiet solitude of my sketchbook or a novel, Eloise’s exuberant personality makes her a social media celebrity millions of followers want to know.

And anonymous billionaires want to marry.

Anger makes my skin flush even hotter. “Who does this guy think he is?”

Eloise sighs as she picks up her bag. “The only one to take a chance on Dad.”

“Dad made a mistake. He’s probably some dirty old man who’s on his fifth marriage and wants to buy some hot, young social media starlet he’d never be able to get without money.”

That must be why he kept his identity a secret.

Eloise is a glamorous, sought-after social media influencer— unattainable for most men. But this guy is a cunning snake who preyed on a man still consumed by grief over his wife’s death and willing to do whatever it takes to hold on to the business they built together, even selling his daughter into marriage.

“He should just sell the business.”

“He thinks he’s saving out legacy.”

What legacy? This fancy hotel chain he’s trying to maintain is nothing like the warm and welcoming bed-and-breakfast our mother once created. Gardens filled with our mother’s laughter as she taught guests to paint and walls decorated with her artwork were replaced by cement parking lots and department-store poster prints.

Memories of our mother flood my mind as I stand in this wedding dress. I miss her even more now that we don’t have the bed-and-breakfast that held so much of her spirit.

Eloise squeezes my arms, then drops her head onto my shoulder and smiles at my reflection. “You don’t need to get upset for me. I agreed to it, remember. It’s only one year. Then I can have a spectacular divorce worthy of trending on every social media platform.”

The reality of the situation hits me. “Oh God, are you going to have to sleep with him?”

Eloise laughs as she loops her bag over her shoulder. “Sex wouldn’t sound so scary if you weren’t determined to spend your entire life as a virgin.”

“I’m not. I’m just picky.”

And shy.

And socially awkward.

“Or too caught up in trying to draw your perfect man.” Eloise picks up my sketchbook and wags her finger disapprovingly. “Today you are Eloise, not Charlotte, remember.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she slips the sketchbook into her bag. “Think of today as practice.”

“Practice for what?”

“Dating.”

“You want me to practice with your geriatric fiancé?” I gag.

Eloise laughs. “We don’t know how old he is.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s thirty or three hundred, he is a jerk who thinks he can buy whatever he wants.” I haven’t even met the guy and I dislike him more than anyone I’ve ever met. “And he is not buying my hymen.”

Eloise giggles. “Relax. Sex and kissing aren’t a condition of the contract. It is a purely platonic business deal.”

Eloise reaches for her buzzing phone. She unlocks it and reads the message, her face turning gray.

“What is it?”

“A flight itinerary.”

“For the honeymoon?”

“No, the job interview. It’s in Puerto Rico. They want me to spend time putting together some social media stuff to see what I can do. I can’t go.”

A wave of anxiety washes over me. I’ll have to be the stand-in bride for the honeymoon too. How’s that going to work? A little bit of lipstick doesn’t suddenly give us the same personality.

I close my eyes and count to ten. I hope this isn’t a mistake. “You’re going.”

She looks up at me, color returning to her cheeks, her eyes hopeful. “Really?”

I nod, trying to quell my panic. “You’re sacrificing a whole year of your life for our father; the least I can do is give up a week of mine.”

It’s fine.

Everything is fine. I just need to figure out how to pretend to be an outgoing extrovert. My fingers itch for a pencil and paper to quell my anxiety, but I can’t—Eloise doesn’t know how to draw.

And she took my sketchbook.

This is important. Eloise deserves to live whatever life she wants, not be bound by the demands of a jerk who thinks he has the right to buy a year of someone’s life.

And if I don’t pull this off, he will back out of the deal, and our father will lose his business. He was a mess when our mother died; focusing on the business was his coping mechanism. If he loses it, it will devastate him.

Eloise hugs me. “Thank you. Thank you.”

She’s kissing my cheek and out the door before I feel a panic attack starting.

I pace back and forth in the suddenly-too-small room and suck in slow, steady breaths like Eloise told me to, but this stupid dress is too tight.

After yanking the door open, I rush down the hall to the exit and stumble outside into the church garden.

People rush by, going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

I may be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about romance. Most of my spare time is spent swooning over the kissing scenes in romance novels and sketching my version of the perfect pair of lips, sharp jawline, and knee-wobble–inducing eyes—when I’m not trying to pass my business school classes for my dad.

And now I’m about to walk down the aisle pretending to be someone else, and I have to play that part for an entire week.

Oh God, the honeymoon. What is he expecting will happen?

“Trying to make a break for it, sweetheart?”

Tingles cascade down my spine at the endearment, setting my romance novel–loving heart aflutter.

The voice is velvet smooth, reminding me of oil paint smeared on a canvas, blending into a masterpiece that effortlessly draws me in.

I don’t want to turn around—because there’s no way reality can beat my vivid imagination—but if I stand like a frozen statue much longer, it’s going to get weird, and I already have enough social anxiety.

The tailored cut of his suit draws my attention first, fit to hint at the well-defined muscles beneath. A line of pearlescent buttons on his crisp white shirt draws my eyes upward to the sharp line of his jaw and smooth, slightly upturned lips.

My fingers itch to sketch him.

What romance novel did he walk out of?

My eyes lift to his, the blue so piercing and clear it’s like he’s standing right in front of me, not a few feet away with his phone in his hand watching me curiously.

He looks familiar, like I’ve seen him somewhere before. With those looks, probably on the cover of a magazine.

His eyes run down my body and back up, and his mouth curves up on one side.

My nerves flutter for a whole new reason.

“Cold feet?”

“No.” It’s impossible to have cold feet when I’m not even the real bride. “Just hoping the groom isn’t too wrinkled and old to get I up.”

I slap a hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I said all of that to a stranger.

A crooked grin curls one side of his mouth, transforming his already handsome face into something even more devastating.

A gust of wind whips my hair into my face and mouth, trying to choke me. Could this day get any more embarrassing?

Fingers smooth the flyaway strands out of my face, revealing my handsome stranger, now barely a breath away. He tucks my hair over my shoulder and lightly brushes his fingertips up my neck. His fingertips linger just below my ear, for only a second, and a strange expression passes on his face.

Can he tell how flustered I am?

A hot spark of desire burns where he touches and coils down low in my belly.

Of course my virgin ass would get a crush on a stranger on the day I’m playing fake bride.

I step back. “Um. Bye.”

I hurry back to the church, panic under control, annoyance at 100 percent.

The deal with my father is done. There’s nothing that says they have to get along, just work together on the marketing plan for Owen’s new hotel.

So what is the benefit of the marriage? It doesn’t do anything financial for either party.

Weird.

I let my father lead me into the church, empty per the groom’s weird request to keep this deal private.

My mouth drops open, and my heart beats so fast I can’t hear anything.

Standing at the end of the aisle is my handsome stranger, eyes fixed on me, smirking.