Page 3 of Jealous Stepbrother

2

CAROLINE

Eight Weeks Later

The sunlight streaming through the curtains is far too bright for comfort. They pierce through my eyelids, and I groan as I bury my face into the pillow.

I hate mornings, and I try to avoid setting my alarm clock if I can get away with it. My phone keeps buzzing on my nightstand, though, and I reach for it, fully intending to hit the snooze button and go back to dreamland.

When my gaze falls on the time, however, my heart stops.

10:25 AM.

The wedding ceremony starts at 11.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I sit up straight in bed, mentally brushing off the last remnants of sleep. I fling the covers off and rush to the shower. I may be late, but I refuse to look ugly, not after I fought tooth and nail against this marriage. The least I can do is look my best and not show an ounce of proof that I spent the whole night drinking by myself.

For the first time in twenty-one years, I finish showering in five minutes. Since there’s no time for a full face of makeup, I simply slather on some tinted sunscreen, dab cream blush on my cheeks, and swipe bold red lipstick on my lips. I thank my lucky stars that I religiously apply skincare every night.

The tips of my hair are still dripping wet, but I don’t have time for a blow dry. I almost forget my stilettos as I bolt out the door, mentally running through my essentials—phone, house keys, car keys, and wallet.

Check. Check. Check. And check.

The church bells chime faintly in the distance as my car skids into the parking lot. 11:05. I should be running inside now. I should stand with the other bridesmaids and plaster on my fake smile, pretending I love being here and enjoy watching my dad get married for the fifth time.

With my hands still on the steering wheel, I take deep breaths to summon the courage to leave this car. My pale lavender bridesmaid dress feels suffocating, the lace itchy, the waist too tight, the straps flimsy.

Why am I even here? Why do I bother?

Oh right. My studies. My tuition fees.

My dad, who was never there for me, showed up after high school graduation and declared he was paying for my college. The only good thing he ever did. Mom and I didn’t like it, but we had no choice. She couldn’t afford to send me to college with her meager pharmacist salary.

To be fair to him, he did come through and paid for everything, including my books, apartment, and other miscellaneous fees. I should’ve known he’d eventually come to collect. He would never do anything out of the goodness of his heart. That man wouldn’t know goodness if it hit him in the face.

A few weeks ago, he dangled it over my head and told me if I didn’t attend his wedding—to a woman he recently met, no less—he would cut off all the funds. It didn’t matter that I was graduating in a year, and I wouldn’t need his money anymore.

So yes, that’s why I’m here, even though this is the last place I want to be.

In a futile attempt at rebellion, I slam my car door, regretting the childish act a second too late when my car rattles. Great. Perfect. The cherry on top of the most exciting day of my life.

My heels clack against the pavement as I rush to the heavy oak doors. The guests turn at my entrance, and my eyes dart to the front, where Dad stands, throwing me a glare so fierce it can melt steel. Even all the way from here, I see him clench his jaw, disappointment written plain and clear on his face.

Is it still called disappointment when he doesn’t really expect anything good from me?

With my head down, I slip into a pew and hunch my shoulders, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I only need to suffer for about five hours more, and then I’ll be free. Then, I can rest easy, knowing my school and accommodation are paid for.

“Bridesmaids are on the other side.” A deep baritone voice, oddly familiar, pierces through my internal monologue. I try to place him, but I can’t, not while I’m still warding off the last traces of hangover.

I have no time for socializing or pretending I care about this ceremony or pretty much everyone here. It already takes an enormous amount of energy just to be here. Nevertheless, I force a polite smile and look at the man beside me, freezing when I realize who it is and feeling like the floor has disappeared from under me.

I sway in my seat and shake my head, but it’s not my imagination. He’s actually here. In the flesh.

The guy I met at the club two months ago. The guy who blew my mind and made me come repeatedly on a table in the VIP booth. The guy who occupied my thoughts for the past few weeks. The guy whose touch I still seek.

---