Page 2 of The Substitute Fiancée

That’s exactly it. That genuine attention, that memory for the details of my life, the way he remembers my failures and my hopes when my own family—aside from Andrew—consistently forgets them.

As his hazel eyes settle on me with deep, sincere interest, I feel my vision blur with tears. That’s why it’s so hard to tear myself away from the crush I’ve had on him all these years. Alexander is one of the few people around me who truly cares about what I do, who doesn’t brush aside my dreams of being an artist.

My father keeps telling me I should “do something serious,” like my sister and her position as commercial director. My mother sighs every time I mention an exhibition. But Alexander asks me to show him my new canvases, my latest watercolors.

A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it. I wipe it away with a sharp gesture.

“Sam…” he begins, worried.

“Allergies,” I cut in quickly. “Pollen. It’s awful right now.”

It’s early November. There’s no pollen. But he has the delicacy not to point it out.

“With galleries, it’ll happen,” he says, with that unshakable confidence he’s always had in me. “Your work is incredible. They’ll recognize your talent eventually.”

His faith in me breaks me a little more, even if he’s wrong about the true reason for my distress.

I could tell him everything. Right here, right now, on this quay where we’ve shared so many confidences over the years. The words are there, on the edge of my lips, burning, desperate.

I love you. I’m the one you should marry. Kristel doesn’t really see you. But I do. I see you, Alexander. I always have.

But I look at his face, lit by a happiness I’ve never seen on him before, and I understand with painful clarity. He has never seen me that way. To him, I’ll always be the little sister he never had. The girl you can talk to about art and philosophy, but not the one you marry. Not the one who makes your heart race.

And confessing my feelings now would change nothing, except make everything horribly awkward. I’d lose his presence in my life, those sporadic outings that are both torture and balm for the heart, and that I can’t bring myself to give up. Those crumbs of attention that feed and starve me at the same time.

So I do what I’ve always done. I swallow my tears, shove my hands into my coat pockets so he won’t see them shaking, and I lie.

“For Place Vendôme, I’ll try to free up some time. Send me your availability, we’ll find a moment.”

His smile widens, radiant.

“Perfect! I knew I could count on you, Sam. You’re the best.”

He slips an arm around my shoulders in a brotherly gesture that makes me want to scream.

Paris stretches out before us, beautiful and cruel, an indifferent witness to my breaking heart.

“Thank you, Sam. Truly. Your support means everything to me.”

I close my eyes for a second, long enough to swallow my grief.

Then I open them and smile at him.

We resume our walk along the Seine, and I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to hold on before I finally break.

2. Chosen Family

Samantha

Alexander drops me off downstairs. The moment I open the apartment door, Mara looks up from the saucepan she’s standing over, a wooden spoon in hand. She frowns.

“Sam? Are you okay?”

Nothing escapes her. She isn’t a private detective for nothing.

“Yes, don’t worry,” I reply, in a voice I hope sounds reassuring.

I set my bag down by the entrance, avoiding her gaze. My fingers are still trembling. I managed to hold back my tears the entire drive. But now that I’m away from Alexander, the dam is about to burst.