Chapter 7
When Fiona finally arrived at the family estate, only cold leftovers remained on the dining table.
The household staff bustled about clearing dishes while both sets of parents. exchanged pleasantries in the sitting room. Quentin and Daisy’s laughter echoed through the halls, their easy companionship a stark contrast to the hollow feeling. in Fiona’s chest. In this sprawling mansion, she felt like nothing more than an
unwelcome shadow.
Quentin caught a glimpse of Fiona’s dejected figure from the corner of his eye, and something twisted in his chest. A long–buried memory surfaced–a promise he’d made years ago never to let that little girl’s heart break again. The weight of that forgotten vow made him pause, but instead of addressing it, he called for the staff to bring in several formal gowns.
“Fiona,” he called out, his voice carefully measured. “I know you’ve been busy lately, so I asked Daisy to help choose your wedding dress. Would you like to see
what she picked?”
Daisy bounced over, her perfect smile gleaming. “Fiona, I’m going to be your bridesmaid! We’ll both be center stage at the wedding–everyone will see how stunning we sisters look together!”
Mr. Jennings gazed adoringly at Daisy, ruffling her hair with obvious affection. Quentin watched the father–daughter moment with warm approval, his smile matching theirs.
Only Fiona noticed the reality of what lay before her. The wedding dress was at travesty–yellowed fabric, cheap material, with an ugly gash torn across the bodice. Meanwhile, Daisy’s bridesmaid dress was everything a bride might dream of exquisite lace in a mermaid cut that accentuated her figure perfectly. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d think Daisy was the bride.
Daisy twirled gracefully, her face glowing with delight. “It’s beautiful! If only I had a tiara to complete the look.”
“That’s easily solved,” Quentin interjected smoothly. “Fiona has one–and surely
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she wouldn’t mind sharing with her dear sister.” He turned to Fiona, finally noticing. the damaged wedding dress in her hands. “What happened to that?”
When Fiona’s gaze shifted meaningfully toward Daisy, Quentin immediately stepped in front of his favorite, like a shield. “The boutique must have made a mistake. This has nothing to do with Daisy. I’ll sort this out right away.” “But all the bridal shops are closed at this hour,” Daisy chimed in with false concern. “Maybe we could find a second–hand dress for now? After all, Fiona did say she wanted to keep things simple.”
All eyes turned to Fiona, the weight of their expectations heavy in the air. For these two wealthy, influential families, acquiring a new wedding dress would be trivial. But rather than cause any fuss or inconvenience, they’d prefer to see Fiona
compromise–yet again.
After all, she was used to settling for less.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you’re all busy
with your own things. I’ll handle it
myself,” Fiona said with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Her diplomatic response broke through the tension that had been hanging heavy in the room. Everyone resumed their casual chatter over tea, dismissing Fiona’s
obvious hurt as if it were nothing more than a passing cloud.
Quentin knew exactly how much the wedding meant to Fiona. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment shadowing her eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a credit card and held it out to her.
“Don’t worry about the cost,” he said softly. “Whatever makes you happy.” Fiona hesitated before accepting the card, murmuring a quiet “thank you” to Quentin. That simple expression of gratitude seemed to carve an invisible chasm between them, wider than any physical distance could span.
Quentin felt his chest tighten with discomfort, but words failed him. He stood there, trapped in the awkward silence of things left unsaid.
Daisy, who had been watching Fiona with calculating eyes, suddenly disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a camera. “Since everyone’s here, why don’t wel
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take a family photo now?” she suggested with artificial brightness. “It’ll be too chaotic to get a good shot tomorrow at the wedding.”
Quentin agreed without hesitation, instinctively reaching for Fiona’s hand and positioning them in the center of the group. But just as the camera’s shutter was about to click, Daisy suddenly lurched forward, deliberately positioning herself in
front of Fiona.
The unexpected movement sent Fiona stumbling backward, her balance
completely thrown off.
“Fiona!” Quentin’s alarmed cry cut through the air as he instinctively reached out
to catch her. But then Daisy burst into tears, and his hand froze mid–motion.
He hesitated for just three seconds – three seconds that spoke volumes – before making his choice. He turned to Daisy, leaving Fiona to crash into the nearby shelf.
Drawing Daisy aside, Quentin tenderly wiped away her crocodile tears. “Don’t cry,”
he soothed. “You know Fiona – she’s always understanding. She won’t hold it
against you.”
The others immediately flocked to Daisy, cooing sympathetically and showing her
the photos on the camera in an attempt to cheer her up.
Meanwhile, Fiona struggled to her feet alone. Something warm trickled down her
face – tears or blood, she couldn’t tell. When she dabbed at it with a tissue, the
white paper came away stained crimson.
But no one noticed. They were all too busy consoling Daisy.
It wasn’t until Fiona had managed to stop the bleeding that Quentin finally approached her, camera in hand, his eyes downcast. “We couldn’t see your face in this shot, and Daisy’s pose didn’t come out well. Maybe we should retake it…” He finally looked up, his eyes widening slightly. “Fiona, what happened to your face?” Her face was bleeding, but all they cared about was how Daisy looked in the
photograph.
“Don’t worry about it,” Fiona said with forced casualness, waving off the suggestion. “No need to retake the photo. It’s getting late anyway–I should head
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back.”
What did it matter, really?
Taking photos together… it was just another wish she’d long since crossed off her calendar, like so many others before it.
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