Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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Timothy's left hand twitched at his side—just for a second, but long enough for me to catch the glint of metal on his ring finger.
A simple silver band. Nothing fancy.
He didn't even turn around. "None of your damn business."
Just like that, he was gone, walking away like I was nothing more than a stranger who'd wasted his time.
I stood there watching him disappear down the hallway, and something cold settled in my chest.
After wrapping up the mediation, I stepped outside into the fading daylight. Rachel's car came screeching up to the curb, and she practically launched herself out the driver's side window.
"Sky! Was that Timothy fucking Goldstein I just saw walking out of there? Please tell me I'm hallucinating."
"You're not hallucinating." I slumped into the passenger seat. "It was him."
"Jesus Christ, what are the odds? Did you guys talk? How did he—"
"Rach." I cut her off as I buckled my seatbelt. "He's engaged."
The silence stretched between us like a rubber band about to snap.
I tried to laugh it off, but my voice came out all wrong. "I mean, we're pushing thirty, right? Of course he moved on. Nobody puts their life on hold forever for someone who..."
*Who broke their heart and disappeared.*
Rachel's face softened. She could hear everything I wasn't saying.
"You know what? Fuck him," she said, cranking the engine. "Forward and upward, babe. Speaking of which—I just scored you a twenty-thousand-dollar gig."
That got my attention. "Twenty grand?"
"Wedding singer. High-end clientele. They're doing their rehearsal right now and want to audition you first. You in?"
Twenty thousand could cover my treatment for another two months.
"Hell yes, I'm in."
Rachel floored it toward the InterContinental Hotel.
I spent the drive pulling myself together—concealer for the dark circles, blush to fake some life in my cheeks. By the time we arrived, I looked almost human again.
The ballroom took my breath away. Roses everywhere—cascading from the ceiling, wrapped around columns, even the chandelier was dripping with them. It looked like something out of a romance novel.
For a split second, I let myself imagine what my own wedding might have looked like, back when I thought I had a future to plan for.
Then I looked up at the stage and my world tilted sideways.
Timothy stood there in a pristine white tux, and he was *glowing*. Actually glowing with happiness as he watched his bride-to-be fuss with her hair.
Our eyes met across the room. I watched that happiness drain right out of his face.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
The bride turned around—Katherine Farrell, blonde and beautiful and everything I used to be before the cancer hollowed me out.
She spotted me with my guitar and smiled. "Oh, you must be our singer! Do you have a setlist, or should we pick something?"
Before I could answer, music filled the room. The AV guy was testing their engagement video.
Photo after photo flashed on the massive screen: Timothy and Katherine at the Matterhorn, sharing a kiss against the Alpine glow, and then—
My heart stopped.
Katherine in a flowing white dress and veil, Timothy on one knee in front of her with a ring, both of them laughing as someone captured their perfect moment at Lake Riffelsee.
"This route..." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"Oh, you recognize it?" Timothy's voice was carefully neutral. "I took Katherine to all my favorite places in Europe for the proposal tour."
*Your* favorite places? Those were *our* places. Every single location from the dream honeymoon we'd planned together, sprawled across my dorm room floor with travel brochures and highlighters, talking about "someday" like it was a guarantee.
I forced my mouth into a smile that felt like broken glass. "It's beautiful. Really romantic."
"Katherine, Timothy?" An elegant woman in her fifties approached, all pearls and polite smiles that didn't reach her eyes. "Could you pop into the lounge? The wedding planner needs to go over a few last-minute details."
They walked away hand in hand, and I was left standing there like an idiot with my guitar.
I started to call out "Mom," but the word barely left my lips before her hand cracked across my face.
The slap echoed through the ballroom.
"You," she hissed, her voice dripping with disgust,
"are the nanny's daughter who stole twenty-two years of my daughter's life. Instead of staying in Europe where you belong, you have the audacity to come back here and crash her wedding?"
A simple silver band. Nothing fancy.
He didn't even turn around. "None of your damn business."
Just like that, he was gone, walking away like I was nothing more than a stranger who'd wasted his time.
I stood there watching him disappear down the hallway, and something cold settled in my chest.
After wrapping up the mediation, I stepped outside into the fading daylight. Rachel's car came screeching up to the curb, and she practically launched herself out the driver's side window.
"Sky! Was that Timothy fucking Goldstein I just saw walking out of there? Please tell me I'm hallucinating."
"You're not hallucinating." I slumped into the passenger seat. "It was him."
"Jesus Christ, what are the odds? Did you guys talk? How did he—"
"Rach." I cut her off as I buckled my seatbelt. "He's engaged."
The silence stretched between us like a rubber band about to snap.
I tried to laugh it off, but my voice came out all wrong. "I mean, we're pushing thirty, right? Of course he moved on. Nobody puts their life on hold forever for someone who..."
*Who broke their heart and disappeared.*
Rachel's face softened. She could hear everything I wasn't saying.
"You know what? Fuck him," she said, cranking the engine. "Forward and upward, babe. Speaking of which—I just scored you a twenty-thousand-dollar gig."
That got my attention. "Twenty grand?"
"Wedding singer. High-end clientele. They're doing their rehearsal right now and want to audition you first. You in?"
Twenty thousand could cover my treatment for another two months.
"Hell yes, I'm in."
Rachel floored it toward the InterContinental Hotel.
I spent the drive pulling myself together—concealer for the dark circles, blush to fake some life in my cheeks. By the time we arrived, I looked almost human again.
The ballroom took my breath away. Roses everywhere—cascading from the ceiling, wrapped around columns, even the chandelier was dripping with them. It looked like something out of a romance novel.
For a split second, I let myself imagine what my own wedding might have looked like, back when I thought I had a future to plan for.
Then I looked up at the stage and my world tilted sideways.
Timothy stood there in a pristine white tux, and he was *glowing*. Actually glowing with happiness as he watched his bride-to-be fuss with her hair.
Our eyes met across the room. I watched that happiness drain right out of his face.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
The bride turned around—Katherine Farrell, blonde and beautiful and everything I used to be before the cancer hollowed me out.
She spotted me with my guitar and smiled. "Oh, you must be our singer! Do you have a setlist, or should we pick something?"
Before I could answer, music filled the room. The AV guy was testing their engagement video.
Photo after photo flashed on the massive screen: Timothy and Katherine at the Matterhorn, sharing a kiss against the Alpine glow, and then—
My heart stopped.
Katherine in a flowing white dress and veil, Timothy on one knee in front of her with a ring, both of them laughing as someone captured their perfect moment at Lake Riffelsee.
"This route..." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"Oh, you recognize it?" Timothy's voice was carefully neutral. "I took Katherine to all my favorite places in Europe for the proposal tour."
*Your* favorite places? Those were *our* places. Every single location from the dream honeymoon we'd planned together, sprawled across my dorm room floor with travel brochures and highlighters, talking about "someday" like it was a guarantee.
I forced my mouth into a smile that felt like broken glass. "It's beautiful. Really romantic."
"Katherine, Timothy?" An elegant woman in her fifties approached, all pearls and polite smiles that didn't reach her eyes. "Could you pop into the lounge? The wedding planner needs to go over a few last-minute details."
They walked away hand in hand, and I was left standing there like an idiot with my guitar.
I started to call out "Mom," but the word barely left my lips before her hand cracked across my face.
The slap echoed through the ballroom.
"You," she hissed, her voice dripping with disgust,
"are the nanny's daughter who stole twenty-two years of my daughter's life. Instead of staying in Europe where you belong, you have the audacity to come back here and crash her wedding?"
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.