Paper Promise: The Substitute Bride - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

"Are they dating?" I asked, my eyes still fixed on the door through which the two had exited.
Mrs. Catherine shot me an irritated look, as if I had spoken a blasphemy.
"James is a married man, dear, and married men don’t have girlfriends. At most, a fleeting amusement," she replied coldly, stirring her tea with unnecessary precision.
"I think they have a lot of fun together," I murmured, unable to contain the bitterness in my voice.
Catherine placed the teacup down with a decisive clink.
“Don’t worry about Emily; she’s insignificant. Just worry about looking stunning tonight.”
I felt a shiver run through my body as if I were an animal about to be caught in a trap.
“I hate these social events; I’m not good at interacting with strangers. Molly was an excellent hostess,” I confessed, feeling the weight of obligation suffocating me again.
"Learn to love it," she retorted with a smile that never reached her eyes. "You're Reynolds now."
At times, I wished I could forget that damned last name I carried like an invisible chain.
"Mr. Pierre has arrived," the butler announced from the entrance, his posture impeccable as always.
"Tell him we’re on our way," Catherine ordered.
She rose elegantly, and I followed her reluctantly to the room where Pierre awaited us. The French stylist, in his well-lived fifties, gestured impatiently and sighed dramatically upon seeing me.
"Mon Dieu, Catherine, you said she’d be ready!" Pierre exclaimed, scanning me from head to toe with critical eyes. "So much work still ahead!"
Catherine gave him a cold smile. "Laura seems to have forgotten the importance of tonight’s event. An unforgivable oversight, isn’t it, dear?"
"I just…" I began, but Pierre interrupted with a snap of his fingers.
"Spare us the excuses, chérie. We only have a few hours to transform… this…" he waved vaguely in my direction, "into something worthy of the Reynolds name."
Catherine walked around me, inspecting me as if I were a defective object.
"Pierre, do you think you can hide those slouched shoulders? And that hair… so lifeless. So… ordinary."
"I’ll perform miracles, as always," he replied, pulling a measuring tape from his pocket. "But she needs to cooperate. Breathe less, stand up straight. A Reynolds doesn’t slouch like a maid."
"I’m not a doll," I protested, feeling my face flush.
Catherine let out a dry laugh. "No, dear. Dolls are perfect and silent. You still have a lot to learn."
Pierre began taking my measurements with brusque movements.
"Arms too thin, hips too wide. We’ll have to compensate with strategic padding. Maybe a dress to distract from the neck. So elongated, like a… how do you say… a sick swan?"
"Can I at least choose the color?" I asked, trying to preserve some dignity.
They exchanged condescending, amused looks.
"Ma petite," Pierre responded with falsely sweet tones, "do you really think I’d trust someone who matched those colors this morning? Catherine, you should’ve supervised her wardrobe personally."
"I tried, Pierre. But she insists on keeping those… pieces from the past. So stubborn." Catherine tucked a strand of my hair back with her cold fingers. "Tonight, you’ll wear what we choose. The Reynolds have a reputation to uphold, and you will not shame us. Again."
The word again hung in the air like poison, and I swallowed hard as they continued discussing me as if I weren’t even there, deciding how to package me for display.
I let my thoughts drift far from that room, that mansion, and all those expensive dresses. I didn’t even know my place in that snobbish family. To society, I was the lucky woman who married the coveted James Reynolds, but in private, I was treated like a maid who slept in the guest room.
That evening, I looked at myself in the mirror, unable to recognize the woman staring back. A stylish stranger, a prisoner in luxury. A long black dress hugging the curves of my body I hardly knew I had.
"I worked a miracle here," Pierre declared, circling me like an artist admiring his masterpiece. "You are absolutely stunning."
"I really am," I agreed softly, almost in disbelief, as my fingers traced the delicate outline of the dress.
"Chanel, latest collection," he announced with barely contained pride, adjusting an invisible seam. "Exclusive. Not even Catherine has one like it."
My blond hair was pinned in an elaborate hairstyle, with a few strands strategically loose, like a golden frame, softening the lines of tension that usually marked my forehead.
"Thank you."
He left, and I was alone again, the echo of his steps fading down the corridor. The silence that followed was suffocating.
I picked up my phone and, with slightly trembling fingers, took a mirror selfie. Sending it to Alice, I added a simple message: "I’m nervous for tonight."
Her reply came almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting to hear from me:
"Oh my God, you look gorgeous! Like a movie star. Good luck tonight, you’re going to slay. Tell me everything later, okay?"
Her enthusiasm brought a faint smile to my face. Alice, so far removed from this world of appearances and powerful last names, was still my anchor to reality. The only person who saw me as simply Laura, not as a Reynolds.
I tucked my phone into the small clutch bag, took a deep breath, and prepared to face the night ahead. For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I could get through this with a shred of dignity intact.
I froze for a moment when I heard James’s voice approaching.
"The guests are arriving. You have to greet them," he called out, his impatience clear even through the closed door.
I took a deep breath, adjusted the dress one last time. But when I opened the door, James was no longer there. From where I stood, I saw him entering the room that remained untouched, preserved like a sanctuary.
Veronika 's room.
My eyes narrowed as I saw him turn the doorknob of that always-locked door, that space that was forbidden to me. He entered without hesitation, as if he had every right, closing the door softly behind him.
For a moment, I stood frozen in the hallway, not knowing what to do.
The distant voices downstairs reminded me of my obligations.