Page 19 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name

“Julia.”

A light tug on her arm. She barely registered it, her eyes locked on another pair of approaching headlights. They slowed as they neared the gate. Her pulse tripped. Panic warred with excitement. Now that he was here, she didn’t want him to be. What had she been thinking?—

“Julia.”

Her mother’s voice, sharp and insistent. The tone she used when correcting Julia’s posture mid-routine. Julia wrenched her eyes away from the window.

“Stand up straight. Colette is trying to get the fit right in the shoulders.”

Julia blinked at the seamstress, who had been gently trying to pry her arms apart.

“Oh. Sorry,” she murmured, relaxing her posture.

Colette gave a small nod and resumed her work, pinning the delicate fabric into place. Julia’s attention darted back to the window just in time to see the headlights continue past the gate.

She exhaled, the tension draining from her limbs. Then, with effort, she kept herself from slumping again.

From the bed, Natalie scrolled idly through her phone, propped on one elbow in that casually perfect way she always managed. Every inch of her looked like it belonged on a stage or in a perfume ad—long, lean legs, willowy arms, a swanlike neck. Even her feet had those high, elegant arches ballet teachers swooned over.

Natalie had been born for ballet. She looked like she’d been sculpted for the stage.

Julia had not.

She was taller, but it was the wrong kind of tall. Her height lived in her torso, not her legs, throwing off her lines in every arabesque. Flat feet, a head a shade too big for her frame, and the most unforgivable offense in ballet: hips. Real ones.

She’d been on a diet since she was twelve. Not because anyone had told her outright, but because they didn’t need to. Her mother’s carefully worded suggestions—Maybe skip the bread this week, love. Let’s try some lemon water in the mornings—were enough. And Natalie, with her delicate appetite and natural thinness, had been the gold standard. Always the example. Always the blueprint.

The seamstress finished her work and stepped back.

Julia turned to the full-length mirror, catching herself in the custom Valentino bridesmaid dress for the first time. Blush pink, sweetheart neckline, mermaid hem. It was objectively stunning. She looked…fine. Pretty, even. But she still felt like a draft version of someone else’s design.

From the bed, Natalie looked up and grinned. “You’re gonna pull a Pippa Middleton on me in that.”

Julia managed a tight smile. Lately, everything Natalie said felt dipped in something sticky-sweet.

Or maybe she was just becoming bitter.

Their mother appeared behind her, fussing with the fabric around Julia’s thighs.

“Hmm,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. That one sound, that slight purse of her lips, said more than words ever could.

Julia went still, spine straightening instinctively.

Her mother nodded toward Colette. “Thank you for coming so late. There’s still so much to do, and the wedding is only two weeks away…”

Julia tuned her out, eyes flicking back to the window. Nothing. No headlights.

The comment about the dress barely registered—she’d heard worse from her mother—but the thought of Daniel standing her up stung far more.

Then she heard it.

A low rumble. Distant but growing. Headlights swept around the bend.

They slowed. Stopped. Right across from her gate.

Holy crap. He’shere.

Julia flailed behind her, reaching for the zipper.