THE SUBSTITUTE BRIDE

Three years after she ran from her own wedding, Sophie showed up on my parents’ doorstep in shambles.

Derek Malone had turned out to be nothing but a con man who preyed on wealthy young women — he’d spent every piece of jewelry she’d brought with her, then abandoned her in Miami without a cent.

She came back right around the time the press was covering the Cross family’s annual charity gala, where I’d appeared in an evening gown beside Julian, my smile splashed across the cover of a New York society magazine.

According to my mother, Sophie stared at that photo for a long time, then said something that left the whole room silent: “That was supposed to be my life.”

Sophie started showing up at the Cross estate, always with some excuse — visiting me, bringing gifts for my mother-in-law, asking after Julian.

I recognized that look in her eyes immediately — the same one I’d seen since childhood, whenever Sophie wanted something of mine.

But this time, I wasn’t giving it up.

“If I hadn’t refused to marry that man, you’d never have set foot in this house,” Sophie told me flatly, the one time we were alone together, her voice stripped of all the fragility it used to carry — cold now, and condescending, as if she were doing me some kind of favor.

“Consider it me letting you have three good years.

Now I need it back.

You’d be smart to hand it over instead of clinging to something that was never yours to begin with.”

“Nothing here was ever yours, Sophie,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“You gave it up the night you ran.”

“Only temporarily,” she said, a smirk curling her lips, her eyes dragging over me like she was appraising an object.

“You were just keeping my spot warm for a while.

It’s time to give it back — don’t make me say it twice.”