Jilted at the Courthouse, I Married His Uncle

Aurora Winslow had chosen the date six weeks ago. Not because the county clerk’s marriage-license office was hard to book, though it was. Not because she liked making a legal appointment feel like a ceremony, though Ethan Sterling had teased her for that too. She had chosen it because it was their anniversary. Five years ago, on this same date, Ethan had held her hand outside the university library and asked if she wanted to be his girlfriend. Five years later, she was sitting in the back of a cab with a cream-colored folder on her lap, inside it her identification, the marriage license application, and every document the clerk had told her to bring. She had landed less than two hours ago. Her suitcase was already on its way to the townhouse in a separate airport car. She had changed in an airport restroom, touched up her makeup in the mirror, and gone straight to the appointment. Her phone screen lit in her hand. Aurora typed one more message. I just got to the marriage-license office. Our appointment is in thirty minutes. She hit send. No reply. The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Big day?” Aurora looked up, caught off guard, then smiled. “Yes.” “Marriage license?” She nodded. The driver laughed. “Congratulations. You look calm for someone about to get married.” Aurora looked down at the folder on her knees. Her fingers were pressed too tightly to the edges. Maybe she did look calm. She had been practicing it for five years. Ethan disliked drama, public demands, clinginess, and questions, so Aurora had learned to be easy, understanding, and patient—the kind of woman who made room for his schedule, his temper, his silences, his family, his career, and the girl he always called his sister. Her phone stayed silent. When the cab stopped outside the county courthouse, Aurora paid, stepped onto the curb, and smoothed her pale coat. The sky was bright, the courthouse steps were crowded, and couples were walking in and out with flowers, folders, and laughter. She stood there for a second and looked at the entrance. This should have been the moment she remembered for the rest of her life. She called Ethan. It rang so long she almost hung up. Then he answered. “Hello?” Aurora’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Ethan, where are you? I’m already at the marriage-license office. I checked in. We’re—” “I can’t make it.” She stopped. For a second, the noise outside the courthouse seemed to fall away. “What?” “I can’t come right now,” Ethan said. His voice was flat, almost distracted. “Something came up.” Aurora looked at the folder in her hand. “But we agreed on today. We booked this weeks ago.” “It’s just a license, Aurora.” Just a license. The words hit harder than they should have. “It’s not just a license,” she said, her voice lower. “Ethan, this is our wedding license.” “We can do it another day.” Another day. As if she had not flown back overnight. As if she had not moved court dates and client meetings. As if she had not sat up until midnight checking every document twice because she was afraid of wasting his time. A soft female voice drifted through the phone. “Ethan? Are you still on the phone? Everyone’s downstairs. They’re waiting for us for breakfast.” Aurora went still. She knew that voice. Light, sweet, and slightly breathless—the voice Celeste used whenever she wanted to sound harmless. Celeste Monroe. The girl the Sterling family had taken in years ago. The girl Ethan always called his little sister. The girl who had been abroad for five years. Aurora’s throat tightened. “Celeste is back?” The call ended. No explanation. No apology. Just the dead screen staring back at her. Aurora stood outside the marriage-license office while another couple brushed past her, laughing over a bouquet of white roses. Her phone buzzed again. Not Ethan. Celeste. Aurora stared at the name for two seconds before opening the message. Aurora, was that you on the phone just now? I just got back last night. Ethan threw me a welcome-back dinner, and he had too much to drink, so he didn’t go home. Please don’t misunderstand. A second message appeared. We’re having breakfast at Red Moon House. Do you want to come? Aurora read the two messages twice. Please don’t misunderstand. It was such a gentle sentence. So harmless. So perfectly sharpened. Ethan had not come home last night. Ethan was not at the marriage-license office that morning. Ethan was with Celeste. Aurora lifted her head and looked at the courthouse doors. Then she lowered her phone and typed one line. Send me the address. Red Moon House was the kind of place where wealthy families reserved rooms instead of tables. Aurora walked through the carved wooden doors twenty minutes later, still holding the folder she had carried to the marriage-license office. A hostess led her down a quiet hallway, then hesitated outside a private room. Before the hostess could knock, Aurora raised a hand. Voices drifted through the narrow gap in the door. “Wait, wasn’t Ethan supposed to get his marriage license today?” Someone laughed. “Yeah. I heard Aurora booked the appointment weeks ago. She was probably standing there in white already.” “Poor future Mrs. Sterling.” “Future?” another man said with a snort. “Come on. Everyone knows Ethan’s heart has always belonged to our Princess Celeste.” Inside, Celeste gave a soft laugh. “Don’t say that. Ethan is my brother.” Brother. Aurora stood outside the door, and for some reason, she wanted to hear Ethan answer. She wanted one last chance to be wrong. Through the gap, she saw him. Ethan Sterling sat at the head of the table in a dark suit, his posture loose, one arm resting along the back of Celeste’s chair. From where Aurora stood, it looked almost as if he had pulled Celeste into the space beside him. His expression was one Aurora knew too well. Gentle. Patient too. The way he almost never looked at her. Ethan lowered his head slightly and looked at Celeste. “Do you really only see me as your brother?” The room went quiet for one sharp second. Celeste’s lashes trembled. “Ethan…” Someone whistled. Celeste lowered her voice. “You’re really not going to the marriage-license office with Aurora today?” Ethan looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “There is no future Mrs. Sterling.” Aurora’s grip tightened on the folder. The paper inside bent. Ethan’s voice softened even more. “No one is more important than you, Celeste.” The room erupted. Laughter. Cheers. Someone knocked a glass against the table. Aurora stood outside the door, listening to the sound of her five years breaking in public while no one even knew she was there. She did not cry. That surprised her. She had thought this kind of pain would be loud. Ugly. Messy. Instead, it was cold. It made her spine straighten. A man came down the hall from the restroom and stopped when he saw her. His eyes widened. “Uh… Aurora? You’re here?” The room went silent. The door was pushed open. Every face turned toward her. The laughter disappeared too late. Someone tried to smile. “Aurora, hey. We were just—come in, come in. Have you eaten?” Ethan withdrew his arm from the back of Celeste’s chair. His brows drew together, not with guilt, but irritation. “What are you doing here?” Aurora stepped into the room. Celeste immediately rose halfway from her seat, her eyes wide and wet. “Aurora, you came. Here, sit here. I saved—” “Don’t move,” Ethan said. His hand landed on Celeste’s shoulder and pressed her gently back into the chair. A small action. A familiar one. Protective. Instinctive. Aurora looked at his hand. Something in her chest made one final sound and went quiet. She smiled. “No need,” she said. “I didn’t come for breakfast.” Ethan’s face darkened. “Aurora, what exactly are you trying to do? Didn’t we agree to go another day?” “We didn’t agree.” Her voice was calm. “You decided.” The room was so quiet she could hear someone set down a cup. Ethan stood. “This is not the place.” “You’re right,” Aurora said. “The marriage-license office was the place. But you weren’t there.” Celeste’s eyes reddened. “Aurora, please don’t be angry. I just came back. Ethan was worried about me. We really are just—” “Brother and sister?” Aurora finished for her. Celeste bit her lip. Aurora looked back at Ethan. “Do brothers miss their own wedding license appointment for their sisters’ breakfast?” Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Celeste just got back. You don’t have to be so aggressive.” Aurora almost laughed. Aggressive. She had stood outside a courthouse alone with their marriage documents in her hands. He had sat here telling another woman no one mattered more than her. And she was aggressive. “Fine,” Aurora said. Ethan frowned. She opened the cream-colored folder and took out the appointment slip. The paper had been crushed in her hand, the edges wrinkled, the printed number still clear. “For your welcome-back breakfast,” she said, looking at Celeste, “consider this my gift.” She dropped the appointment slip on the table. It landed between Ethan’s coffee cup and Celeste’s untouched plate. “I’m not marrying you.” Ethan stared at her. For the first time that morning, something in his eyes shifted. “What did you say?” Aurora met his gaze. “I said I’m not marrying you. Our engagement is over. I’m setting you free.” Ethan’s expression hardened. “Aurora Winslow.” There it was. The warning voice. The one that had once made her explain herself, soften herself, apologize before she even knew what she had done wrong. Not today. “Celeste just came back,” Ethan said through his teeth. “If you’re upset, we can talk privately. Don’t embarrass her in front of everyone.” Aurora looked at him for a second. Then she laughed once. Quietly. He still thought this was about Celeste’s embarrassment. Someone at the table muttered, “She’s just throwing a tantrum. Everyone knows she loves Ethan too much to leave.” Another said, “Exactly. She’ll cool off in two days.” Celeste’s eyes filled faster. “Aurora, please don’t listen to them. Ethan and I are family. I would never steal him from you.” Aurora turned toward her. “Steal?” she repeated. “No. You can have what I no longer want.” Celeste’s face went pale. Ethan slammed one hand on the table. “Enough. Apologize to Celeste.” Aurora looked at him. Five years. Five years of waiting. Five years of telling herself his coldness was just his personality. His distance was just pressure. His tenderness toward Celeste was just habit. His absence was temporary. His neglect was not cruelty if he never meant to hurt her. But intent did not matter when the wound kept bleeding. Aurora slowly raised three fingers. “I, Aurora Winslow, swear I will never marry Ethan Sterling.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. Aurora’s voice stayed clear. “If I ever agree to marry Ethan Sterling after today, remind me that I chose my own humiliation.” The whole room fell silent.