“To your sister. Who somehow ended up in the middle of a Valentian soap opera.”
The champagne went down easily, cold against my throat, contrasting with the warmth of the water. I leaned my head back against the edge, watching the stars above.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could hold them back.
Annabelle, who had settled on the other side of the pool, looked at me with an unexpectedly serious expression.
“I think you’ve always been the sensible one in the family. The one who thinks before she acts, the one who plans every step.” She took another sip. “So yes, I’m legitimately shocked by this whole madness.”
“Thanks for the moral support.”
“But,” she lifted a finger, smiling. “I also think that, for the first time in your life, I’m watching you follow your instincts instead of your reason. And that’s… interesting.”
“My instincts?” I almost choked on the champagne. “Annie, this is an arrangement. A six-month contract. I’m not following anything except some… I don’t know, sense of payback.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She refilled our glasses. “And that’s why you’ve got that lost puppy look every time Christian’s around? Because of the ‘contract’?”
I felt my face heat up, and it wasn’t because of the water.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” Annabelle rolled her eyes dramatically. “Just like you don’t know why you got all huffy when I said I was going to have some fun with Marcus.”
“Marcus’s a womanizing playboy.”
“But what a playboy!” She sighed dreamily. “And that Valentian accent when he whispers in your ear…”
“Annie!”
She laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet garden.
“Relax, sis. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’ve got to enjoy myself while I’m here, don’t I? Unlike you, who’s got six whole months to have fun with your Kensington.”
I splashed water at her, making her shriek and splash back. For a few minutes, we were just two sisters in a water fight, laughing like kids, forgetting for a moment about the wedding, the Kensingtons, everything.
When we finally calmed down, breathless and with champagne in our hair, Annabelle looked at me with a softer expression.
“You know what’s funny?” she said, leaning against the edge beside me. “I think you’re starting to actually like him.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she lifted her hand.
“No, listen. I’m not saying you’re in love. Not yet. But there’s something there… something that never existed with Alex.”
“Like what?”
“Respect.” She shrugged. “With Alex, you always seemed like you were trying to impress him, trying to be who he wanted you to be. With Christian… you just seem more yourself.”
Annabelle’s words caught me off guard. I had never thought of it that way, but there was a certain truth there I couldn’t ignore.
“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” I muttered, staring at the shimmering water. “This ends in six months. That’s always been the plan.”
“Plans change.” Annabelle tilted her head, studying my face. “You’ve changed. Since you met him, you’re… different. Braver. Less worried about what people think
“Isabelle certainly thinks the worst of me.”
“Isabelle is an aristocratic witch who desperately needs one night of wild sex,” Annabelle declared, making me choke on my champagne. “That woman is so uptight she probably cracks glass when she smiles.”
I couldn’t stop laughing, the mental image was just too good.
“She hates me.”
“She hates anything she can’t control. And you, my dear sister, are not controllable.” Annabelle raised her glass in another toast. “Unlike her son.”
“Christian? He’s the most controlling person I know!”
“No, he’s controlled. There’s a difference.” She frowned thoughtfully. “It’s like he’s spent his whole life following a script those two wrote for him. The perfect CEO, the perfect heir, dating the perfect high-society girl…”
“Like Francesca.”
“Exactly. And then you showed up, and suddenly he’s breaking all the rules.”
Her words made me pause. Could it really be that Christian saw something in me beyond just a convenient solution to his problem? That some part of him genuinely liked the disruption I brought into his carefully ordered life?
“Or maybe,” I said, forcing myself not to romanticize things, “he’s just making the most practical choice to secure his inheritance.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes, finishing off the last drop of champagne.
“Zoey, Zoey, always so pragmatic.” She shook her head. “Here’s my advice as your little sister: enjoy these six months. Not as a contract, not as a business deal. As an adventure.”
“An adventure?”
“Yes! You’re going to be married to a ridiculously attractive man, living in a mansion straight out of a movie, with access to places most people only dream of seeing.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling with the excitement I clearly didn’t share. “Don’t spend six months counting the days until it’s over. Live every single one like it’s real.”
“Even knowing it’s not?”
“Who knows?” She shrugged, climbing out of the pool in one fluid movement. “Maybe if you pretend long enough, it’ll become real. Or maybe you’ll discover Christian Kensington has more layers than that croissant we had for breakfast.” She held out her hand to me, pulling me out of the water. “Either way, better than spending the rest of your life selling wedding dresses to other women, isn’t it?”
Later that night, as I dried my hair in the guest room, Annabelle’s words kept echoing in my mind. Live every day like it’s real.
It was ridiculous advice, of course. Dangerous, even. Pretending my marriage to Christian was real would only pave the way for disappointment later, for heartbreak when the six months ended and we went back to our separate lives.
But as I got ready for bed on the eve of my wedding, I couldn’t stop the small, treacherous thought that crept into my m what if…?
The silence of the room clashed with the chaos inside my mind. The morning of the wedding had finally arrived, and I sat before the mirror, staring at my reflection as if she were a stranger. The white dress-the very one Christian had bought months ago-fell in soft waves around me, the delicate fabric catching the light that streamed in through the wide windows.
“You look absolutely stunning!” my mother exclaimed as she walked in, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “My daughter, a bride.”
I tried to smile, but even to me it felt forced. It wasn’t nerves I felt or at least not the usual kind of nerves a bride was supposed to feel. It was something more complex, a mix of guilt, anxiety, and, surprisingly, a strange sense of anticipation.
“Wow!” Annabelle stopped in the doorway, jaw dropping. “Someone’s going to have a heart attack when they see you in that dress, and I’m not talking about Joseph.”
“Annie!” my mother scolded, though she couldn’t hide a smile.
They bustled around me with excitement, adjusting the veil, commenting on my hairstyle, giving opinions about jewelry and makeup. An entire team of professionals had been in earlier, transforming me into the most glamorous version of myself I had ever seen.
“Could I have a moment?” I finally asked, needing to breathe. “Just a few minutes alone.”
My mother hesitated, worry flickering across her face.
“Are you sure, darling?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.