He Chose Her Over Me So I Chose Myself Chapter 03
I opened the vows again.
On the screen, every “June” carried the shadow of a replacement.
When I was eighteen, I got into the Rhode Island School of Design. Grant said art wasn’t a stable career, and since Camille was doing so well in business, I should try that too.
To stay near him, I gave up stained glass—the thing I loved most—and learned to wear dark suits like Camille, read financial reports, and attend the suffocating dinner parties she moved through so easily.
I thought if I became enough like her, he would eventually see me.
But no matter how convincing the performance, a substitute was still just a substitute.
A new email popped into my inbox. It was from the lawyer.
She confirmed that the image release I had signed as an adult could be revoked unilaterally. As long as the notice was served, the Mercer Foundation could no longer use my likeness. And I could rescind my intent to marry at any point before the ceremony, without Grant’s consent.
I was about to reply when my door opened.
Grant came in carrying a garment bag.
“I had this picked out for you.”
He pulled down the zipper. Inside was a black dress, so conservative it looked more suitable for a funeral than a wedding.
I had never liked black.
Grant had simply never remembered.
“It’s perfect for a Sunday brunch wedding,” he said. “The breakfast room doesn’t suit anything too formal. And Camille’s wearing gold on Saturday, so don’t choose a color that’s too bright. Otherwise the photos will look messy side by side.”
“Okay.”
I took the dress and draped it over the back of a chair.
Grant smiled, satisfied, and patted my head.
“Get some sleep. Don’t stay up revising the schedule.”
Then he turned and left.
I lowered my head and replied to the lawyer.
“On the wedding day, I will follow through with everything as planned.”
Once the email was sent, I returned to the vows document.
My hand was shaking as the cursor hovered over the comments icon.
I clicked.
A comment from Grant’s best man popped up on the side.
“Bro, you should probably cut this memory about rowing at Oxford. June’s never been to Oxford. She won’t get it.”
The vow in question said he would always remember the wind over the Thames, and how “she” had tied her scarf around his wrist when their boat reached the shore.
Camille had studied at Oxford.
Grant went to see her every year.
He had gone last autumn, too. At the time, he’d told me he was in London on company business.
So this wasn’t some old draft written years ago.
Until very recently, he had still been editing vows meant for Camille.
And I was only the name he had swapped in.
I picked up the tablet and walked into the study.
Grant was checking the wine list for Camille’s celebration dinner.
I put the screen in front of him.
“Who were these vows written for?”
Grant glanced at it without the slightest change in expression.
“It was just a draft.”
“Your best man was reminding you last week to delete the Oxford memory.”
He frowned, as if annoyed that I had latched onto something so trivial.
“I borrowed some material from something I wrote before. I just hadn’t finished changing it yet. In the end, I’d be reading it to you. Isn’t that enough?”
“So you were planning to read vows you wrote for Camille at our wedding?”
“June, you’re overthinking this.”
He took back the wine list, his tone light.
“Get some rest. We’re filming the foundation promo tomorrow.”
For more than twenty years, they had all promised they’d do better later.
Later, they’d give me the better room.
Later, they’d listen when I spoke.
Later, they’d treat me like real family.
Grant was the same.
Later, he’d love me. Later, he’d erase all traces of Camille.
But it turned out that if you were an inferior substitute, even the perfunctory scraps you received were secondhand.
I hugged the tablet to my chest and walked out.
The lawyer’s reply had already arrived.
“Received. We will proceed according to plan.”
This time, I stopped waiting for anyone’s later.