Page 26 of The Substitute Fiancée

“That’s perfect,” Oliver says.

And we keep going like that until late morning.

“Lunch break,” Mara announces. “The pizzas should be here any minute.”

My phone suddenly rings. Andrew.

“It’s my brother,” I explain. “I need to tell him too. We’ll need his support if we want this to be credible.”

I step into my bedroom to answer.

“How are you?” Andrew asks.

“Okay… even though my life is a complete mess right now.”

“Explain,” he orders, already in big-brother-protective mode.

I quickly summarize everything the recent events, including the role I’ve agreed to play. He listens closely, interrupting only to ask questions.

“Jesus, what a bitch,” he snaps. “And to think we’re from the same family, that’s beyond me.”

“You’re telling me,” I reply.

“Wait… I might have an idea that could help you. Give me a few minutes. I’ll send it to you within half an hour.”

“Okay. Thanks for having my back, Andrew.”

“Of course. You’re my little sister. You can always count on me. Take care, Sam, and say hello to the others for me.”

We hang up, and I rejoin the group in the living room.

The pizzas arrive, and we attack them like we haven’t eaten in days.

I’ve barely finished my first slice when my phone vibrates. Andrew.

He’s sent photos.

Alexander and me, laughing side by side at family barbecues. At birthdays. On summer vacations at their estate.

In every photo, we look… happy. Close. Complicit.

“It’s true,” Oliver says, pulling out his phone. “I’ve got pictures of you two from last summer as well.”

“Wait,” Mara says. “Let’s create a shared cloud folder. Upload everything you have, and we’ll choose the best ones for the press releases.”

Oliver adds his photos.

I upload the ones Andrew just sent, along with mine.

“I probably have a few too,” Alexander says.

Within seconds, dozens of photos appear in the shared folder, displayed on the TV screen.

All time-stamped. Geolocated. Undeniable.

Mara opens the first one. The image fills the screen, like irrefutable proof of our supposed story.

Me, twenty years old, leaning toward Alexander.