Page 13 of The Spare

I wait, though I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, exactly. Some parting words of wisdom? A little appreciation for the fact that I’m throwing myself under the bus for my family?

He looks straight at me. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, boy? A damned Victoria Cross? Be gone with you.’

I recoil in my chair as if he’s slapped me. I don’t know why the nasty dismissiveness of his words makes me feel stricken. Ma and Pa expect each of us to roll over for king and country, family and title, without a word of complaint. I just thought that, perhaps, Xav’s ballsy move might have put things into perspective for them. And by ‘things’, I mean not only the assumptions they make of us, the sacrifices they ask, but the fact that I’ve stepped up to this challenge with zero notice. A few days isn’t nearly enough to get your head around marrying a woman you haven’t chosen for yourself.

‘Right,’ I say, pushing to my feet. ‘See you, then.’

I know he’s in a whole world of pain. I know the morphine has him addled.

But Jesus Christ, does he have to be such an ungrateful cunt?

You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t in this family.

Makes me wonder if Xav was onto something by coming to his senses and marrying whoever the fuck he wanted.

CHAPTER 6

Selena

‘Does it feel weird to you,’ my sister Octavia asks me, ‘that everything about today is going just as it should, except that you’re marrying a different guy?’

I meet her eyes in the mirror of my dressing table as the hairstylist puts the finishing touches on my chignon while we all drink champagne. My hair looks picture-perfect—exactly how she and I rehearsed it—which I suppose underlines Octavia’s point. My sister is eleven years younger than me and has yet to hone her emotional intelligence muscles. I make an effort with her, because I love her, obviously, but she’s hard work. At just turned seventeen, she’s superficial and painfully image-focused, even by our family’s standards.

‘A bit,’ I admit to her now. ‘It makes it even more surreal. But honestly, I’m glad everything else is going to plan. I don’t think I could have handled one more change today.’

That’s part of the truth. The rest of it is that I still feel completely discombobulated. She’s right in that this wedding is going according to plan in every way except the groom. And I’m not exactly heartbroken over Xavier’s betrayal. Royally pissed off, yes. Emotionally crushed, no. I’m still getting what I signed up for: a de Vere brother and a future as a duchess. Our children will inherit Belvedere and the rest of the estate.

So far, so on track.

But the fact remains that I have spent my life psyching myself up to marry one man and now, with, like, zero warning, am about to walk down the aisle with another.

His brother.

And a completely different human.

How the absolute fuck am I supposed to wrap my head around that?

So yes, while it’s reassuring that all the pre-wedding prep is going perfectly, it’s also surreal to the point of being downright creepy.

I’ve been preparing for this day my entire life…

But I’m marrying Ben!

The only thing I absolutely cannot do is think about how it will be tonight, when we’ve retired to a bedroom at Belvedere, just the two of us. Because if I start to think about that, then it’s unlikely I’ll make it down the aisle without vomiting from nerves, and that wouldn’t be a good look when I’m wearing two hundred grand’s worth of couture.

‘It’s been a real plug-and-play swap,’ my friend Minty muses. ‘One brother for another. Bam. Done.’ Araminta Stuart is a mate from Le Rosey and can trace her lineage back through the Stuart line to Mary, Queen of Scots. Like her ancestor, she’s a slim brunette, but where she inherited her sharp tongue from is anyone’s guess.

Flora frowns. ‘That’s easy for anyone who’s not Selena to say. She’s the one who has to rewrite every single plan she has for the future. It must be horrific.’

I shoot her a grateful smile in the mirror. Flora and I have never been close—she’s so much younger than me and her brothers—but she’s a sweet girl in her first year of uni in London. I suppose we have our creativity in common, even if working in fashion and studying sculpture are wildly different fields.

‘And whose fault is that?’ another of my bridesmaids, Annabel, drawls in Flora’s direction.

‘What do you mean?’ Flora asks.

‘Well, you introduced Xavier to his new woman, didn’t you? I heard she came to Belvedere as your guest.’

I can no longer see Flora’s face as I tilt my head for the stylist, but her voice sounds so indignant that I can tell it’s genuine. ‘No, not at all. Well, she did, but Xavier introduced us. She was helping me find my feet in London, but he sorted it out. I think he met her at an event or something?’