Bettys secret

The chapel smelled like lilies and panic.

Celeste was hyperventilating in her Vera Wang, one hand clawing at her throat, the other shoving her phone in my face. The screen showed a man in a bartender's apron, grinning. _Marco_. The wedding planner.

"I can't do it, Elise. I can't marry him," she gasped. "I love Marco. We're leaving for Lisbon tonight."

Our father was having a stroke in the hallway. I could hear him through the door: "Sixty million dollars, Celeste! If Kaine pulls out of the merger, we lose the company. We lose the _house_."

I looked at my sister. Same face. Same dark hair. Same scar on our left eyebrow from when we fell off the swing at nine. The only difference was that Celeste had been born five minutes first, and that was enough for Dad to decide she was the heir. I was the spare. The forger. The one who signed her name on bad report cards so she wouldn't get cut off.

"You want me to do it," I said. It wasn't a question.

Celeste grabbed my wrists. Her engagement ring dug into my skin. Eight carats. Cold. "He won't know. Damian's met me twice. Both times I was drunk. You're better at being me than I am."

The wedding coordinator knocked. "Two minutes, Miss Kaine."

Dad burst in, his face purple. "Celeste Marie, if you walk out that door-"

"She's having a anxiety attack," I said, stepping between them. My voice came out low, bored, exactly like Celeste's. I'd been practicing for years. "I'll go calm her down. Stall."

He didn't even look at me. He never did. "Fine. Fix her."

The second he left, Celeste started ripping off the veil. "Take it. Take the dress. Just walk down the aisle and say 'I do.' By the time he realizes, the papers will be signed. The merger goes through. Then we'll figure it out. Please, El. You've always cleaned up my messes."