Page 25 of The Substitute Fiancée

Alexander: Sleep well. See you tomorrow.

9. Battle Plan

Samantha

I spend the night tossing and turning, imagining every possible scenario, wondering if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.

But when I open the door the next morning and see him smiling at me, all my doubts vanish.

David and Oliver are standing behind him.

“Good morning,” I say. “Come in.”

I already knew Oliver, of course. He had always been warm and friendly at our family gatherings. As for David, I’d crossed paths with him two or three times, without ever really talking to him.

I make the introductions quickly, and we sit down with Mara and Emelyne over coffee and the pastries they brought.

Then we get to work.

We fine-tune the plan. Dates. Photo shoots. Public appearances. The calendar for the coming months.

Mara’s experience as a private investigator is invaluable. She thinks of everything. Potential inconsistencies. Trick questions. Details that might ring false.

“Your story has to be solid,” she says, scribbling notes. “Journalists will dig. They’ll look for the smallest crack.”

“What story exactly?” David asks.

Alexander and I exchange a glance.

“We’ve known each other for seven years,” I begin. “Our families are close. We spent our summers together. We always got along.”

“And recently,” Alexander adds, “it became… more.”

“When?” Oliver asks. “We need a precise date. When did friendship turn into something else?”

I think for a moment.

“Six months ago,” I suggest. “Recent enough to explain why no one knew, but long enough to seem serious.”

“Six months,” Alexander repeats, looking at me. “Okay. And how did it happen?”

Our eyes lock.

I see a spark of challenge there. As if he’s daring me to say out loud the exact moment our friendship could have shifted.

And my stupid heart starts racing.

“Maybe an evening?” Emelyne suggests. “You were alone, you talked, and—”

“It was after a visit to the Rodin Museum,” I say, lowering my lashes slightly, as if searching my memory. “We had dinner together, then walked around the Trocadéro. On the esplanade… he kissed me.”

Alexander’s expression changes. Sharper. More intent. Almost searching, like he’s trying to read something beneath my words.

Because everything I’m saying actually happened.

Every detail.

Except the kiss.