I Married My Fiancé for My Dead Lover’s Face

The bedroom in the Hamptons estate smelled like expensive lilies and sea salt.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror. My wedding gown was heavy ivory satin with layers of soft tulle. It looked perfect, just like the catalog promised. But my hands were not touching the lace.

I held a faded red dog collar. The nylon was frayed at the edges. The little silver tag read *Biscuit*. Ten years ago, Leland and I picked Biscuit out from a shelter in Brooklyn. Biscuit was old and slow now, resting downstairs for his job as ring bearer later. Leland had been gone for three years, lost to a terrible illness across the sea.

I looped the worn collar twice around my wrist, feeling the cool metal buckle against my skin. Then I slid it deep into the hidden pocket of my gown.

My best friend, Elena, watched me from the doorway. She didn’t scold me for bringing an old dog collar to an expensive wedding. She just walked over and squeezed my hand tight.

I gave her a small smile, but my thumb immediately began tracing slow circles over the inside of my left wrist. It was an old habit. I only did it when the air felt too thin to breathe.

"You ready, Kailani?" Elena asked softly.

"I'm ready," I said.

I walked downstairs twenty minutes before the music was set to play. The ocean breeze blew across the terrace, fluttering the linen ribbons on the chairs. And then I stopped.

Destiny Perez was standing by the double doors.

She was Tyson’s best friend. She called him her "brother," but she lived to put herself between us. Today, she wore a floor-length white gown. It had the exact same sweetheart neckline as mine. It had the same flared skirt.

The wedding coordinator, Clara, physically blocked her from stepping onto the lawn. Clara’s face was bright red. "Miss Perez, you cannot wear that. You look like the bride."

Destiny widened her big, innocent brown eyes. She put a hand over her chest. "It’s ivory, not white. Does it really matter? I bought it on sale. I didn’t think Kailani would be so insecure about a color."

Tyson walked over. He looked striking in his custom black tuxedo. He had the same sharp jawline as Leland. The same crooked dip in his upper lip. Every time I looked at Tyson, I saw the ghost of the boy I lost. That was why I stayed. That was the secret I kept buried in my chest.

"What's the holdup?" Tyson asked.

Clara pointed at Destiny’s dress. "Mr. Morrison, she is wearing bridal white."

Tyson glanced at Destiny. Then he laughed. It was a light, careless sound. "Leave her alone, Clara. She looks great. Don't make a scene over a piece of cloth."

He didn't look at me once. He just patted Destiny’s bare shoulder and walked out toward the altar. Destiny shot me a tiny, venomous smile before slipping past Clara.

I stood there in the hall. My knuckles went white against the satin of my skirt.

A few minutes later, the violin music swelled.

The processional started. Two hundred guests sat on white wooden chairs facing the gray Atlantic ocean. Tyson walked down the grassy aisle first, carrying the bridal bouquet of white gardenias. He was supposed to bring it to the front and wait for me.

I watched from the archway.

Tyson walked with steady, confident steps. But when he reached the front, he didn't stop. He turned toward the guest rows. He walked straight up to Destiny, leaned down with a tender smile, and placed the bridal bouquet into her lap.

Destiny blushed, burying her nose in my flowers.

A loud gasp rippled through the crowd. The guests began to whisper. Heads turned. People stared at Tyson, then back at me.

Clara rushed out onto the grass, waving her clipboard in panic. "Mr. Morrison! What are you doing? The bouquet belongs to the bride!"

Tyson blinked. He looked down at Destiny, then looked across the lawn at me. There was no shame on his face. No horror. He just rolled his eyes and gave a dry shrug.

"Whoops," Tyson said loudly into the microphone on his lapel. "Grabbed the wrong seat. My bad, folks. Let's just do a quick do-over."

A do-over. As if he had simply dropped a fork at dinner.

I stood frozen under the wooden arch. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth. My fingernails bit deep into my palms. He had just handed my bridal flowers to another woman in front of two hundred people, and he didn't even care enough to apologize.

Tyson snatched the bouquet back from Destiny, laughing as if it were all a joke.

The coordinator scurried around, shouting instructions to reset the music. The wedding party scrambled back into position for the second take.

I forced myself to breathe. *Just get through it,* I told myself. *Just look at his face. Remember Leland's face.*

To calm my racing pulse, I glanced across the lawn toward the row of groomsmen. There were five of them standing in matching tuxedos. My eyes drifted to the very end of the line.

A man was standing there.

He was looking down, adjusting his silver cufflinks with his left hand. Then he tilted his head slightly to the side—a quiet, familiar gesture that made the blood freeze in my veins.

I grabbed the paper program tucked into Clara's basket by the door. My eyes scanned the fresh ink of the last-minute additions.

*Groomsman: Leland Hoffman.*

My breath stopped completely. The ocean air seemed to vanish.

*No,* I thought, my vision blurring at the edges. *Leland died three years ago. His mother got the ashes from Europe. It's just a name. It’s just a cruel coincidence.*

I looked up again, but the man had already turned his face toward the ocean, his profile hidden by the shadow of the canopy.

"All right!" Clara hissed, pushing me forward. "Music is rolling! Smile, Kailani!"

I didn't smile. I locked my eyes straight ahead, feeling Biscuit's old collar pressing against my hip, and took my first step down the aisle.