Chapter 1

For three years I photographed marriage registrations to heal my own broken mind. Then I got a booking for my fiancé and my sister's wedding registration.

Roman Vaughn had one hand laced through my sister's fingers. His other hand reached over and stroked my hair.

"Baby, my love, my time, my energy, they've all gone to you. I'm just giving Laurel a title. You won't mind, will you?"

I was so furious the room spun. That was when my family and my best friend arrived.

I thought they had come to stand up for me.

Instead, they had formed their own little cheering party, there to guard the happy couple through the registration.

When they saw me shaking too hard to press the shutter,

my parents slapped me across the face, twice, and told me to crawl back to the psychiatric hospital.

My brother grabbed me by the collar and asked why I hadn't just died back then.

My best friend threw herself in front of my sister like a guard and screamed that I had no heart.

And then it hit. The panic seized me, and I dropped to the floor, convulsing.

The foam I spat up ran back into my nose. I could barely breathe.

But they thought I was fishing for sympathy.

They swept off together to celebrate the registration.

In the end it was a member of the staff who got me to the hospital.

The first thing I did after they pulled me back to life was open the website for the Africa-based photographer post.

I stared at the box marked reason for applying for a long time before I wrote it out, one word at a time:

"No one loves me, so I'll go find the way to a world that does."

1

The nurse making rounds saw I was awake and hurried over.

"Ma'am, where's your family?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and right then a photo popped up in the family group chat. A family portrait. Without me in it.

My parents had written under it: "We really are a happy family."

My hand went still.

Three seconds later I locked the phone and shook my head at the nurse.

"I don't have a family anymore."

Something like pity crossed her eyes. She said a few more things and moved on with her rounds.

I stared at the white ceiling.

Three years ago someone stalked and hurt me, and I came away with severe post-traumatic stress disorder.

The doctor said it would help me recover if I spent time around other people's happiness.

So I started shooting marriage registrations, and slowly I did get better.

But I never once imagined that the last booking of my career would have my own fiancé and my own sister as the couple in front of my lens.

Footsteps cut through my thoughts.

I turned my head, and Roman was already standing at the foot of the bed.

His suit was crisp and perfect, the one I had designed just for him, part of a matching pair for the two of us.

Except he had worn it to register his marriage to Laurel Matthews.

"Roman..."

My throat ached as I said his name.

"Mm?"

"Still crying so easily?"

Roman sighed softly, cupped my face in one hand, and wiped my tears away as gently as if I were something precious.

His other hand settled lightly over mine.

Warmth spread through me. I started to curl my fingers back around his.

The next instant he wrenched down hard and ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand.

The needle tore free of the vein, and blood flicked out in bright drops.

"The doctor already said you're cured. Stop the act and come home with me. Laurel's getting impatient."

His voice was still gentle. The words turned me cold all over.

I clutched the back of my hand against the pain, but Roman hauled me up and marched me out to the car.

By the time we reached the house the blood on my right hand wouldn't stop. It split into several thin streams and ran down over my knuckles to the floor,

spattering into a small red bloom.

"Dad, Mom, I brought Ellie home."

"Good. Let's get started."

Mom was brushing out Laurel's hair. She didn't even lift her eyes.

"Started with what?"

My best friend caught the blankness on my face and jerked her chin at my camera.

"The photo review."

Laurel smiled and crossed to Roman's side.

"Sis, Roman paid you thirty grand to give me my pictures. You wouldn't want to let me down, would you?"

The moment she finished, every pair of eyes in the room turned to me.

I bit down on my lower lip, took out the camera, and plugged it into the laptop.

After a short load, the first photo appeared.

Roman and Laurel at the registration counter, kissing.

The image was a little blurry. My hands had been shaking too badly.

Laurel's mouth pulled down at once.

"Sis, are you still blaming me and Roman for getting married? Is that why you shot such garbage?"

I opened my mouth to explain.

A slap landed across my face.

The world tilted. My ears rang, my head swam.

Dad shook out his hand.

"Ellie Matthews, your jealousy has always been too much."

"From now on, one bad shot, one slap."

I lowered my eyes, swallowed the coppery sweetness in my throat, and kept scrolling.

The third was a reject. Mom slapped me.

The sixth was a reject. My brother slapped me.

At the twenty-second, my best friend sighed, and then put her whole arm into the slap.

At the fiftieth, Laurel turned to Roman, wheedling.

"Honey, you do this one."

Something reluctant flickered in Roman's eyes.

He obeyed her anyway.

I stared straight at him.

Roman shut his eyes, raised his hand high, and brought it down hard.

I went straight to my knees.

Five rejects, five slaps.

They knocked the sense clean out of me.

Laurel skipped off happily to edit the photos.

Only then did I close my fist.

"Can I go now?"

Dad's face hardened.

"Go where? This is a joyous day. Of course the whole family eats together. If you dare leave, you're spitting in your sister's face."

I pulled my foot back at once.

I knew better than anyone what came of spitting in my sister's face.

In school I ranked above her, and she said I'd made her lose face.

My parents transferred me to a school out in the country.

When I landed a job at a top company while she sat unemployed, she said I'd made her lose face.

My parents took my brother and raised hell at my office until I was fired.

I couldn't gamble on it.

So I sat down obediently at the table.

Twenty dishes were laid out.

Every one of them Laurel's favorite.

Smiling, she set a shrimp in my bowl.

On instinct I moved it over to Roman.

Roman's long fingers worked, peeled the shrimp clean, and set it back in my bowl.

I stared at him, unbelieving.

"You know perfectly well..."

After all our years together, no one knew better than Roman that I was allergic to seafood.

He only gave a soft laugh.

"Laurel picked that out for you. Eat it."

My nose stung, the swelling on my cheeks sharp and clear.

When I put the shrimp in my mouth, the tears slid down on their own.

They dripped onto the shrimp and went down with it.

Bitter enough to taste of salt.

Laurel laughed and set out crab, then squid, then scallops.

Roman prepared each one, and fed each one to me.

At last the meal was over.

My hands and feet had gone numb from the allergy.

My whole body burned and prickled.

Only then was I allowed to leave. I walked stiffly out the door.

The instant I stepped through it, my phone buzzed, and the alert made my heart jump.

"Ms. Matthews, your application for the Africa-based photographer post has been approved."