At least it felt that way until my mom started to cry over the phone.

My laughter dried up on the spot once I realized her overwhelmingly dramatic sobs weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

“Mom? Oh god. I’m sorry, okay? It’s going to be fine. So what if Charlotte ran away with her driver? At least she’s happy!”

“No, Elizabeth. It’s horrible. Horrible.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, knowing instinctively why my mom was having such a hard time with this. “Who cares what your friends think?”

“My friends?!” Her shrill tone caught my full attention. “I don’t care about my friends! You don’t understand, Elizabeth. Your sister was betrothed to someone else.”

My memory of the phone call is broken off by a loud honk as two cars nearly collide on the street in front of the courthouse. Windows are rolled down. Curse words are slung from one driver to the other. “Well screw you, pal!” is the parting shot before they disappear and my attention is drawn to the group of pedestrians crossing the street in my direction. In the back of the pack, with his hands tucked into his wool trench coat pockets and his attention on the horizon, is a man I recognize but don’t know. He’s a near stranger, and he’s about to be my husband.

Butterflies stir in my stomach as excitement blends into dread. I can’t believe I’ve agreed to do this—to take my sister’s spot—and in fact, I’m still not so sure it’s a wise decision, but now that he’s here in front of me, flesh and blood, tall and handsome, I feel like I can’t back out of the arrangement.

He looks up from the sidewalk and spots me. I freeze as he moves closer, assessing me without giving any hint as to what he really thinks. His dark eyes slide down my dress, linger on my boots for a moment too long, and then finally drag back up to my face as he comes to a stop in front of me.

I swallow and wait for him to smile and introduce himself. In fact, my mouth is already starting to tip up, preparing to reciprocate.

Instead, he simply asks, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Bleak words for a bleak affair.

“Having second thoughts?” I ask, squaring my shoulders and jutting out my chin, trying to exude false confidence.

He sees right through it, narrowing his eyes so his black lashes cluster together, further defining his shrewd gaze.

I don’t move an inch, not so much as a hair on my body swaying under his intense scrutiny. It feels like he stares at me so long I should have vines growing up my legs, anchoring me to my spot, before he gestures for me to take the lead into the courthouse. I hesitate at first, realizing instinctively I don’t feel comfortable turning my back on him.

Who is this man?

I mean, I know who he is on the surface.