Page 4 of The Substitute Fiancée

Seated at the dining table, across from Alexander and Kristel, I carefully cut into my peppercorn-crusted steak, taking care not to let my knife slip.

It would be a real scandal if I accidentally sent my peas into my sister’s neckline. She would never forgive such a humiliation, even though her black Chanel dress could use a little color.

For a brief moment, I let myself dream of that possibility.

Then Alexander gives me a light kick under the table, snapping me back to the present. I refocus as a crooked smile tugs at his lips.

Kristel, who noticed nothing, speaks animatedly about her latest business lunch, how she exceeded her targets, and the trust the CEO has placed in her. Everyone listens attentively, nodding at the right moments, smiling at the anecdotes.

I keep a low profile. It’s a skill I’ve perfected over the years. Because when people notice me, it’s never a good sign.

“And you, still doodling and dreaming of greatness?” my father throws at me sternly as we reach dessert.

See what I mean?

The hum of conversation dies instantly. All eyes turn to me.

“Yes,” I reply calmly. “In fact, a gallery director contacted me. He’s interested in my doodles and wants to exhibit them. Isn’t that wonderful?” I say, with an irony I no longer bother to hide.

My father looks me up and down, barely masking his contempt.

“Stop talking nonsense and trying to be interesting.”

I clench my jaw. There’s no point arguing with someone who refuses to listen.

“I don’t understand why you persist with these childish pursuits,” he continues. “At your age, it’s time to get your feet on the ground. You’re not going to live off me forever.”

He turns to my mother.

“Talk to her, Élisabeth.”

The blow lands cleanly. My fingers tighten around my fork.

‘Living off me’. As if the five hundred euros he gives me each month—while earning thirty times that—made me a leech.

My mother gives me a pained look before adding,

“Your father is right. You should take example from your sister. At twenty-nine, she’s already Commercial Director at Valeo. That’s an achievement she can be proud of.”

The message is crystal clear: I am a failure. I’m about to stand when Alexander opens his mouth.

My heart leaps. Is he going to defend me?

But Kristel beats him to it.

“Come now, you’re being unfair with her,” she says in her sweetest voice. “She’s only twenty-three. She’s still a baby. Let her have time to experiment.”

The word ‘baby’ lands like a disguised slap.

She buries me under the guise of kindness.

“You’re far too understanding, Kristel,” my father replies, with a tenderness he’s never shown me.

I set my fork down. The gesture is simple. Almost insignificant. But for me, it’s enormous.

“No,” I say.

The silence is immediate.