Page 2 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
My father barely looks up from his phone, his mouth a hard line, the only sign of tension in a face otherwise blank with indifference.
The Honorable Judge Davenport, pillar of Texas society who aspires to even loftier heights, can’t even pretend to give a damn about the offspring he’s selling to save his own skin. The same man who looked Dorian Vale in the eye and promised him the perfect society bride is now trying to pass off his backup plan without a word of warning to the unsuspecting groom.
“Darling?” my mother prompts, her smile becoming even more fragile.
“She’ll do.”
His words fall like stones in the quiet room.
As always, I’m his biggest disappointment.
Since I’m the oldest, I was supposed to get married to an appropriate man and deliver children.
Instead, I walked away from my family. I chose academia over society. Instead of getting a business degree as expected, I earned my PhD in literature. When he cut me off from the trust fund established by my grandmother, I took a teaching job, further humiliating the family.
Even now, I wouldn’t stand in, if the stakes weren’t so high.
My father’s career, our family’s reputation, perhaps even his life—all of these hinge on this marriage going forward exactly as planned. And my mother begged.
The fact that the bride has been swapped without the groom’s knowledge is nothing more than an inconvenient detail.
I squeeze my eyes shut as she digs her fingers into my shoulders, a silent warning to remain silent. To pretend.
Like she has for the last twentysomething years?
I swallow hard, considering the reflection in the mirror. The scared woman staring back at me isn’t a woman looking forward to her fairytale wedding. She’s a substitute. A placeholder. The Davenport family’s last-minute solution to a problem that should have never been mine to fix.
Behind me on the vanity of the wedding events center, a silver-framed family photo mocks me. It was taken on Margaux’s most recent birthday. All of us are arranged in perfect formation, smiling our perfect social-media-ready smiles.
Who brings a picture to a rented room? My mom. Because it will look lovely in all the official wedding snapshots that will be sent to the local media.
The image is less than a month old. Did Margaux know even then? That she’d never go through with this farce of a marriage?
“Hurry up,” my father snaps at the seamstress as he drops his phone into his tuxedo pocket.
Desperately she shakes her head, not looking up as she secures yet another pin. “I need another hour.”
“You don’t have it.”
Hating to see people treated this way, I glare at my father, then reassure the woman. “You’re doing a great job. Thank you.” A pulse pounds in my temples, and a dull ache forms behind my eyes.
“We’ll make it work.” My mother smooths her hands down the front of my bodice, as if the fabric will magically mold to fit. “No one will be able to tell.”
Does she really believe that?
Through the walls, “Pachelbel’s Canon in D” floats up from the string quartet below, the familiar melody now twisted into something ominous. Each note feels like another step closer to the gallows. Somewhere down there, three hundred of Houston’s elite have gathered to witness what they think will be the society wedding of the year.
Instead, they’ll get me.
Most likely, the guests won’t realize the switch immediately. Margaux and I share the same dark hair and green eyes, and we’re the same height. Even though I’m slimmer, that can be explained by nerves about the wedding.
But once the truth is revealed…
Dorian Vale will be waiting at the end of the aisle. And though my parents might believe I can be seamlessly swapped for the sister who fled, I know better.
And when he notices, I have no idea what he’ll do or how my father will deal with the repercussions.
The photographer, Marcella—a woman my father has hired a dozen times in the past—sweeps in, camera in hand.
