I Married My Fiancé for My Dead Lover’s Face

We moved inside the grand estate for formal photos. The sunroom had polished white marble and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water.

The photographer clapped his hands. "All right, let's get the bride and groom centered! Family and bridal party on the sides, please."

I stepped up to Tyson's right side. Before I could smooth my dress, a sharp elbow hit my ribs.

I stumbled back a step.

Destiny slipped into the space where I had just stood. She pressed her shoulder against Tyson’s chest. Her matching white gown brushed against his black pants. She let out a bright, airy giggle.

"Sorry, Kailani!" she chirped. "I'm just so used to standing next to Ty. We're practically joined at the hip anyway. You don't mind, do you?"

Tyson didn't push her away. He just chuckled, resting his hand lightly against Destiny's hip. "Relax, Kai. Let her get one picture with us. Don't be petty."

The heat crept up my neck. My thumb dug hard into the skin of my left wrist. My knuckles were bone white.

Right then, I heard the faint click of claws on marble.

Biscuit came trotting into the sunroom. He was ten years old, slow and arthritic, but he looked so proud. He wore the little ring-bearer harness I had hand-sewn for him out of soft blue velvet. He saw me and gave a tiny wag of his tail, heading straight toward my skirt.

Destiny looked down. Her face twisted into immediate disgust.

"Ugh, get it away!" she snapped.

She pulled her pointed white heel back and kicked him.

The crack of her shoe against Biscuit's old ribs sounded like snapping wood.

Biscuit let out a high, terrified yelp. His small body skidded across the slick marble floor, spinning into the base of a heavy stone planter. He landed on his side, whining, his back legs twitching.

"Biscuit!" The scream tore from my throat.

The entire room went dead silent.

I lunged forward, but someone was faster.

A man stepped out from the end of the groomsmen line. He moved without rushing, but he crossed the floor in three long strides. He dropped to both knees beside Biscuit.

His hands were completely steady. He didn't hesitate. He cradled Biscuit's gray muzzle, checking his breathing with gentle, sure fingers.

Biscuit gave a soft whimper. Then, amazingly, the old dog leaned his head against the man’s chest and went quiet.

The man scooped Biscuit up against his tuxedo. He stood up and walked straight toward me. He didn't look at Tyson. He didn't look at Destiny. He walked right past them and positioned himself at my side.

I turned my head. My breath caught in my throat.

I looked up at him.

It was the same strong, square jawline. The same slight crooked dip in the upper lip. The same way he tilted his head to the left as he checked on me.

Tyson had those features. But Tyson’s face had always felt like an empty shell. This man’s eyes were deep and familiar. They held an ache that went down to the marrow.

"He's okay," the man said softly. His voice hit me like a physical wave. "Just bruised."

*Click. Flash.*

The photographer took the picture before anyone could speak.

The bright white light blinded me. My lungs clamped shut. I could not breathe. I could not move.

"All right, let's take a break!" Clara's panicked voice broke through the silence. "Just a five-minute break, everyone!"

Tyson reached for Destiny's arm, checking her shoe as if her foot were the thing that was hurt. "Are you crazy, letting that mangy thing run loose?" he muttered at me.

I didn't hear him. I didn't care about Tyson at all.

I reached out and grabbed the groomsman’s black sleeve.

"Come with me," I whispered.

I pulled him through the side doors, dragging him into the shadowed hallway behind the heavy velvet curtains. The noise of the guests faded into a dull hum. Biscuit was still nestled safely in his arms, resting his gray chin over the man's shoulder.

My hands shook violently. I stared up at his face.

"Who are you?" My voice cracked. It came out ragged and thin. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Did someone hire you?"

He looked down at me. His eyes were dark, steady, and completely calm. There was no mockery in his expression. Only a heavy, quiet sadness.

"It's not a joke, Kailani," he said.

"Leland died three years ago," I said, my teeth chattering even though the hallway was warm. "His mother got his ashes. I saw the papers. He died in Switzerland!"

He tilted his head again. That same leftward tilt. The exact habit I had spent three years chasing in Tyson’s hollow smile.

"It's not a coincidence, Kailani," Leland said softly. "I need you to let me explain. Not here. Not right now. But I came back. I'm real."

The world tilted around me. The air rushed out of my chest.

*He's real.*

I stared at him for three agonizing seconds. I couldn't take it. The walls felt like they were caving in.

I pulled my hand back from his arm. I pressed my palm flat against the center of my sternum, trying to keep my heart from beating straight through my ribs.

Without saying a single word, I turned on my heel. I lifted my heavy ivory train and walked straight back toward the reception hall, leaving him standing in the dark.