He Gave Our Love Token to His Childhood Sweetheart, So I Called Off the Wedding

The wedding party came down in a noisy stream.

A flashy convertible was parked out front of the building.

I was just about to get in when Marianne cut in front of me and blocked the way.

She batted her eyes at Jonathan.

"Jonathan, can I sit up front?"

"I've never ridden in a convertible before."

Jonathan glanced at me, then down at the train of my gown pooling on the ground.

The back seat of that car was absurdly cramped. In this dress I wouldn't even be able to stretch out my legs.

Still, he didn't turn down Marianne's ridiculous request.

"Cassie, you take the back."

"Marianne and I both grew up in the orphanage. She had it so hard for the last twenty years. Just put up with it today and let her enjoy this."

He wasn't asking me.

He'd already pulled open the passenger door as he spoke, waving Marianne inside.

"Cassie, it's just for a little stretch of road. It is your wedding, after all. I'll give the front seat back to you."

She played the delicate, put-upon innocent, and even with fury churning up through my chest, I still didn't let it show.

They both knew the ride was being filmed.

Both knew how absurd this would look to anyone on the street who caught sight of it.

But the two of them were lost in each other, moved by their own little moment, and no one paid the slightest attention to how I felt.

Karen couldn't stand it. She rushed to my side and dropped her voice.

"Cassie, are you seriously going to sit in the back?"

"Your train is huge, it's dangerous back there."

"Jonathan, that lowlife—"

I knew Karen was angry on my behalf. Over the past few years she'd hinted more than once, gently, that he and I didn't belong to the same world.

2.

Of course I knew. One of us grew up in an orphanage with nothing to his name, and the other was a cherished heiress raised in comfort.

But love never cared about matching stations, and I'd set my heart on marrying him.

My judgment had gone soft, and that was what had brought me to this.

"Let's just take the car behind them together."

Up front, Jonathan had his head turned toward Marianne, laughing at something with her.

Their faces were nearly pressed together.

Karen bit down hard on her lip, seething, and stamped her foot.

"Fine. Today's your day. Whatever you say."

The wedding car pulled away toward the hotel.

Along the way, passersby kept turning to look.

"Wait, the bride's not in the lead car? Who's the woman up front?"

"Get a picture, post it. I've never seen a setup like this."

"Look how cozy those two in the sports car are. Looks like she matters way more to the groom than the bride does."

Every stranger there was guessing at who Marianne was.

They watched her stand up, flamboyant, and throw her arms wide, not just claiming the seat that belonged to me but blocking the camera's view, erasing me from the shot completely.