Page 11 of The Substitute Fiancée

“Drink that. Call an Uber and go home.”

I thank her, leave a generous tip, and step back into the street—clearer-headed than I’ve been in a long time.

Strangely, despite the alcohol, a certainty settles in: this is better this way. Even if the pain is crushing. Even if my ego has taken a hit.

I try to figure out where I am when I recognize the neighborhood. Cobblestone streets. Old buildings. Art galleries closed for the night.

I’m two streets away from Sam’s place.

Her name rises in my mind like a lighthouse in a storm.

Sam—with her sincere smile, her eyes that hide nothing.

Sam, who helped me buy the engagement ring.

Sam, clutching her art supplies to her heart, her cheeks flushed in the art store, her passion for beauty.

Without thinking, I head toward her apartment.

My footsteps echo on the damp stones. The alcohol makes my legs unsteady, but my determination keeps me moving forward. I need to see a friendly face. Someone who will never betray me.

Her building appears at the corner of the street.

I press the intercom. Minutes pass. They must be asleep. I’m about to walk away when the intercom crackles.

“Yes?” Mara asks.

“It’s Alexander. I need to see Sam.”

“Alexander? Is everything okay?”

Her voice is surprised. Of course it is. I’m showing up in the middle of the night, unannounced.

“No,” I admit, my voice breaking slightly. “I… I need to see Sam.”

The buzz of the door unlocking.

They live under the roof, five flights of stairs, no elevator.

Sam is waiting at the door, concern written all over her face. She’s wearing an old Sonia Delaunay T-shirt I gave her years ago, now badly faded, and dark gray sleep pants. Her black hair hangs loose. She’s barefoot.

I must look awful, because her dark gaze deepens with worry.

“I’m sorry to show up like this,” I apologize. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’ll always be welcome here,” she replies.

And she steps aside to let me in.

The apartment is small, warm. A couch draped with a colorful throw. Canvases stacked beside an easel near the window—some finished, others in progress. Green plants everywhere. The scent of tea and paint. On the coffee table, the art supplies I bought her that afternoon, carefully arranged.

Mara and Emelyne are nowhere to be seen. I’m grateful they’ve given us privacy.

I walk toward the window and stare out at the street. My entire body is shaking. I can’t speak. My emotions have caught up with me.

Without a word, Sam approaches—like someone approaching a wounded animal. Her arms wrap around me, offering the comfort of her embrace. My body relaxes at her touch, and I let myself lean into her.

My throat tightens. My eyes burn. And suddenly, the tears I’d been holding back burst through the dam and spill freely.