Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
SOPHIE
“Dinner, miss,” a voice called softly through the door.
“I’ll—” Skip, I wanted to say. Staying in my room and having a late-night snack when others would be asleep seemed a much better option.
Yet Mamma wouldn’t agree. She’d surely panic over my sudden mood change, pressure everyone with questions, and Papa would eventually crack and tell the whole family about the morning incident.
Then they’d argue, and my brother—even my sister—would chime in.
Chaos. And once again, the cycle of walking on eggshells around me would start.
Ugh. I pressed my lips together. “—join in five minutes.”
I looked at my desk, at the papers my private finance tutor had given me. While they served their purpose well, keeping my mind away from dark thoughts, they were getting much easier.
Papa had hired one for me to help pull me out of depression a few years ago. The other reason went unspoken: at some point I’d need to know how to run things myself. I might be wrong, though. He’d never tried to involve me in any of the businesses.
This afternoon I’d finally gathered the courage to ask him about it. Rehearsed my words for several weeks, if not months. Only to have it all vanish the moment I realized who was in my father’s office.
He wouldn’t have agreed anyway, I told myself as I changed my clothes before leaving my room.
Papa was in his customary place—at the head of the dining table; Mamma at the other end. Rafael and his wife Anne were to Papa’s left, while Catherine and her fiancé were across from them.
“Good evening,” I said, approaching my seat between Catherine and Mamma.
“You seem pale. Everything all right?” Mamma’s voice was soft, low, meant only for me.
I looked at her, forcing the corners of my lips up, and gave a slight nod. “Everything’s fine.”
“For today I asked for chicken risotto, your favorite,” Mamma said.
I straightened as the plates were set down. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of saffron and butter—warm, familiar. It stirred nothing.
Lifting my fork, I let my gaze drift to the clock on the mantelpiece, and when the minute hand ticked, I took a bite. Creamy. Well-seasoned. Good, objectively. I swallowed.
When Mamma’s attention moved away from me, I felt Papa’s gaze settle on me. I looked up and gave him a small, reassuring smile.
A question from Rafael distracted him, and I glanced at the clock. Another tick—another bite.
Sometimes I reached for my glass instead, letting the rhythm continue without eating. For variety.
Then dessert.
“I hope the weather won’t be rainy!” Catherine was chattering about her upcoming wedding.
“There’s over a year to go, but what’s good about early September—it’s usually still warm.” Anne smiled.
“Yes, but you never know. Weddings happen once in a lifetime. I want it to be special.” My sister’s eyes lit up when she looked at her fiancé.
Wedding.
I returned my attention to my plate.
I used to dream of one too—planning my dress, my hair, what shoes I’d wear, what music would play, and how big my cake would be. How Edmond and I would bind ourselves together, have children, and live happily ever after.
Happily ever after.
I blinked a few times, making sure no one would notice the moisture gathering in my eyes. It was I, after all, who’d broken the engagement.
But how could I not? How could I live knowing everyone would mock Edmond for tying himself to me?
He was good. Too good to have his life derailed for me. He deserved to be happy. To marry someone who hadn’t been publicly marked as damaged goods.
Don’t think. Don’t think.
The clock hand ticked, and I forced myself to take another bite, but the meat lodged halfway down. A small sound escaped—half cough, half gag. And I pressed my fingers to my throat, swallowing hard, then reached for my glass.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Mamma’s fingers nearly touched me when I pulled away.
No touching! Why couldn’t she learn that after five years?
I gestured to the food, then to my neck, hoping that would be enough. Mamma nodded, but Papa’s gaze remained on me.
When the following tick came, I finally sipped from my drink.
Everything is fine. Everything is good.
“Fifi,” my sister’s voice jolted me from my thoughts.
I looked at Catherine, waiting for her next words. “I was thinking about my… maid of honor.”
My eyes widened. No. No. No! Please, no.
Catherine couldn’t possibly be thinking of that.
Not after the disaster at our brother’s wedding a year ago.
My first and last public appearance in the past five years.
I still had nightmares full of everyone’s whispers about my cruel fate.
How not a single self-respecting man in his right mind would marry me.
How I was condemned to watch from the margins while others lived.
I rubbed the emerald ring in circles, unable to steady my breathing. I wasn’t even sure about attending Catherine’s wedding, let alone being asked to be the maid of honor.
“You know how a maid of honor should be single, and all my close friends are already married.”
“Why would you think of your friends over your own sister?” Mamma said. “It’s tradition!”
“Isn’t that outdated?” My voice trembled.
“We are Moreaus. We respect tradition.” Mamma’s tone left no room for argument.
I flinched, lowering my gaze.
Breathe in, breathe out, I repeated to myself.
“Mamma,” Catherine said reproachfully, but when she turned to me, her voice gentled. “Fifi, I’m not insisting, but think about it. It would mean so much to me. And to Mark as well.” She gestured toward her fiancé.
I doubted the last. Not when I’d never had a chance to speak to the man. Considering he was studying abroad and visiting Montvarra a few times a year, I also doubted Catherine even knew the man she was engaged to. Though that, I admitted, might have been jealousy speaking.
“Would you excuse me if I left?” The words nearly tangled on my tongue.
I should’ve probably sucked it up and not ruined the mood. But the day had been more stressful than usual. And all I wanted was to be in my room.
“My dear, you’ve only eaten so little.”
I wasn’t hungry and doubted I could manage another bite, so I rose from my seat. “I’m tired. I want to rest. Have a nice evening.”
“But—”
“Leave her alone,” Papa said, gesturing for me to do as I pleased.
The midnight sky was dark but peaceful as I sat on the windowsill, rubbing my ring. A soft breeze whispered through the slightly open window, carrying my thoughts along.
The last time I’d seen Edmond was over a month ago, when he came to discuss details about his and Rafa’s company with my father. I ran into him as he was leaving.
He glanced at my finger. Gave me a smile.
Similar to the one at the charity gala, where we’d first publicly announced our engagement. He’d circled me in the center of the ballroom, chin lifted, while others sighed what a beautiful couple we were.
“I know you mentioned wanting something else,” he’d whispered that night, gesturing to the emerald ring. “But my mother insisted on a family heirloom.”
“I told you I like it,” I’d said, unable to control my smile.
It was true I’d once imagined a less old-fashioned style. But that evening, I was happy with any ring he deemed suitable.
A bitterness crept onto my tongue. Now, there were only careful questions about my well-being. Suitable ones.
A quiet knock disturbed my thoughts. Two taps, followed by Catherine’s soft whisper. “Fifi.”
Anyone else, I’d ignore. But Catherine… She’d sit outside my door, waiting until I let her in. And if I didn’t, she’d spend the night there without proper sleep, guarding my room.
“Come in,” I said, my gaze still on the sky.
“You didn’t touch the dessert. But it’s so good, it would be a pity to miss it.
Tiramisu with strawberries. Chef said he learned it in Italy.
I even sneaked a second portion for myself.
But no word to Mamma—she insists I watch my figure.
But it won’t hurt to have one more, right?
” My sister’s words tumbled out in a rush.
I shook my head, nearly smiling. It was moments like this that lit a tiny flicker in my chest. Taking one of the plates, I gestured to the chair on the left. Catherine plopped down without hesitation, already digging into her portion.
“Manners,” I tried to imitate Mamma’s voice, which made my sister giggle.
“If you don’t start eating, I’ll snack on yours too.”
“You wish!” I followed her lead, taking a bite and letting the sweetness of strawberry wash away the earlier bitterness.
Catherine’s foot tapped against the floor.
“I should have talked to you privately. I’m sorry.
” The words burst out of her. When she noticed my gaze drop to her restless foot, she stilled, shifting in her seat.
“I’d understand if you refused. I just thought…
this might also be a good chance for you to try… ”
“I’ll ruin everything.”
“You won’t!”
“I would.” I set down my fork. “All the guests will do is talk about me. On your day.”
Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but I raised my hand.
“They would,” I continued before she could argue. “They did at Rafael’s and Anne’s wedding. Mind you, I was only attending. What makes you think they wouldn’t at yours, especially with me as your maid of honor?”
“There may have been some… who gloated. But most people didn’t even care!”
My lips pressed into a thin line. We’d had this conversation before. But how could I explain that all I wanted was not to spoil her special day with my sorrowful face after overhearing yet another comment about me being shameless? A burden on my family.
“But you’ll attend at least, won’t you?” Catherine asked more quietly. “You attended Rafa’s and Anne’s.”
Throwing my head back, I closed my eyes. I’d been pressured too much the last time. For months, at every possible opportunity, the question came up: would I attend for even an hour?
Any trace of sweetness dissolved. “I—”
“Please,” she pleaded. “I’m your only sister.”
“I’ll think about it.” I wouldn’t. But at least I might be left in peace for a while.
Though who was I trying to fool?
The first thing Mamma said to me during breakfast the next morning was: “Good that you agreed to attend Catherine’s wedding.”