My Groom Swapped Brides at the Altar So I Swapped Grooms in the Parking Lot Chapter 04

My Groom Swapped Brides at the Altar So I Swapped Grooms in the Parking Lot Chapter 04

The next morning, sunlight poured through the big glass window, sharp enough to pry my eyes open.

Brandon had not come.

I knew he would not.

I had known it since the moment I got into that wedding car.

No, even earlier.

A month ago, when I suggested moving our wedding to the same day as Delia’s, I saw that flash in his eyes.

I saw it.

I just did not want to believe it.

Now, how could I not?

After everything, all that sat on the nightstand was a note from him.

Written at three in the morning.

[Sloane, there was a mix-up with the car arrangements. I’ve fired the drivers involved. Stay at the cottage for now. I’ll come get you once I’ve sorted things out here.]

I stared at that note, the laugh stuck bitter in my throat.

A mix-up?

We had already spent the night with other people, and he was still calling it a mix-up?

Then I remembered the two photos Delia had sent the night before.

In them, he was so desperate.

So forceful.

Pinning her against him like she might slip away.

He had never been like that with me.

Seven years, and with me, it always felt like he was just going through the motions of being a fiancé.

I told myself it was his personality.

That he was not good with feelings.

That quiet love was still love.

Now I knew.

He was not incapable.

He just saved it for someone else.

I was about to put the note down when the landline rang.

I stared at the number for a few seconds before picking up.

“Sloane?” His voice was tired. “Took you a while.”

“Just woke up.”

“Sleep okay?” he asked.

I glanced at the man in the bed.

“Fine,” I said.

There was a pause on the other end.

He had not expected me to be this calm.

He probably figured that even after his so-called explanation, my “dramatic” nature would make me ask at least one question.

“Did you really marry her?”

What he did not know was that I no longer cared enough to ask.

“Sloane.” His voice softened. “You saw those wedding photos being passed around the estate. Everyone who took them thought the bride under the veil was you.”

“Don’t let it get to you.”

“It was an accident. Nobody wanted this.”

Silence stretched between us.

He was waiting for me to say something.

To lash out.

To break down.

Then he could swallow all his guilt with one line.

“There you go, making trouble out of nothing again.”

But I did not give him that.

“I understand.”

He let out a relieved breath on the other end.

“Knew you’d be understanding. I’ve got to get back to work. Rest up. I’ll come for you.”

Understanding.

How many times had he used that word to shut me up over seven years?

“Sloane’s so understanding. If I skip Delia’s birthday, Mom and Dad will have a fit.”

“Sloane’s so understanding. Sit this family dinner out. Delia will be there, and you know how she gets when you outshine her.”

“Sloane’s so understanding. She’s part of the company now, so maybe hold off on joining the team.”

Understanding.

Understanding.

Understanding.

My understanding bought me a wedding where I got swapped out like a defective part.

Sunlight streamed through the window.

My heart felt like ice.

He was sure I would wait.

Seven years.

When hadn’t I?

He stood me up.

I waited.

He forgot our anniversaries.

I waited.

He paraded around with Delia to keep her from getting close to any other man.

I still waited.

I waited for explanations.

I waited for a “It won’t happen again” that never came.

He thought this time was the same.

He thought a note saying “mix-up” would make me swallow my tears and go back to being his obedient fiancée.

He did not even need to show up.

One note.

One “you’re so understanding.”

That was enough.

I paused for two seconds.

Then I opened the wedding album he had handed out across the estate yesterday.

The top page was a photo collage he had printed in the early hours.

On the back, in his handwriting:

[Finally married the girl in my heart.]

The bride’s face was not visible.

People who did not know the truth left comments congratulating us.

“Congrats, Brandon!”

“Congrats to the new Mrs. Astor!”

“True love wins!”

“After all these years, you two are finally married!”

The ones who knew just played along.

He called it a mix-up.

But he had not pulled back a single photo.

Three years engaged, and I had waited for a joke.

So I gave him one right back.