Mated To My Dead Husband's Twin

It felt like a cruel joke to Elise.

"You are going to be late, Elise."

Her mother's voice was a sharp pinch, but Elise barely felt it. She was too busy staring at the woman in the mirror. The woman looked like her. She had Elise's dark hair, pinned up in a twist so tight it pulled at her temples. She had Elise's brown eyes, though they looked glassier than usual. But the diamond earrings weighing down her lobes didn't feel like hers. They felt like cold anchors.

Elise adjusted the left one. Her fingers were trembling. Just a little. A subtle vibration that traveled up her arm and settled as a knot in her stomach.

The door to the dressing room opened. Jarret walked in. He didn't look at Elise. He looked at his wrist, checking his watch with a frown that had become his permanent expression over the last six months of their engagement.

"The car is waiting," he said.

Elise turned on the stool. Her silk robe slipped off one shoulder. "Do you like the earrings? Your mother sent them," she asked.

"They're fine," Jarret said. He was already typing on his phone. "Did you pack the blue dress for the brunch tomorrow? The press loves that color on you."

"I asked about the honeymoon, Jarret," Elise said, her voice quiet. "We haven't talked about the schedule."

He finally looked up. His eyes were blue, piercing, and completely empty of warmth. He looked at Elise like she was a constituent he was trying to rush through a handshake line.

"It's just a formality, Elise. You know that. I have meetings in Paris. You'll shop. We'll take photos. Stop trying to make it a romance novel."

He turned his back to Elise. His phone buzzed. He answered it immediately, his voice dropping an octave.

"I have to take this. It's private."

He walked out. The door clicked shut.

Elise sat there in the silence of the massive Barrett estate, feeling the humiliation burn her cheeks. It wasn't a hot fire. It was a cold burn, like dry ice. She was marrying into a dynasty. She was becoming a Barrett. She should feel lucky.

Instead, she felt like she was walking toward a cliff edge.

The ceremony was a blur for Elise. She remembered the flash of cameras, the heavy scent of lilies that filled the air with a cloying sweetness, making her head feel tight and dizzy, and the way Jarret's hand felt dry and lifeless when he slid the ring onto her finger. He smiled for the crowd. He kissed Elise, but his lips were firm and unyielding, a seal on a contract rather than a promise.

Night fell. The reception ended. Elise sat on the edge of the bed in the master suite. The duvet was silk. Everything in this house was silk or marble or gold. Cold textures.

She dreaded the door opening. She dreaded the obligation of the wedding night. Jarret had made it