Mathilda’s POV
I can’t describe how I feel right now—standing here in a white dress I didn’t even choose. My heart is a storm of emotions, happiness and sorrow tangled together as I face this wedding.
When I look at myself in the mirror, the reflection reminds me of her—Paula. Every time I see this gown, I’m brought back to the day she forced me to pick it and claimed the one that was truly mine.
And since Fredric arrived, he hasn’t said a word or even looked at me. He’s been glued to his phone, expressionless. Some of the guests glance my way with sneers—Fredric’s cousins, probably, enjoying every second of mocking me for this fake marriage.
“Mathilda, your wedding’s about to start. How do you feel?”
My father’s voice is soft as he brushes his hand against my cheek. The gentleness of
