For five years, he'd grown sick of my ugly face. Dark, sallow skin—like I'd come from the countryside. Just because a friend had once said in private, "What kind of taste does Andrew have, actually finding such an unrefined country bumpkin?"
From then on, he never brought me to any gatherings again.
But now—the bright, gorgeous woman in those photos—how was that still the Elena he remembered?
"Hey, Andrew, I'm talking to you. Did you hear me?"
A hand slapped heavily onto his shoulder. Sophie's whiny voice cut through.
"What exactly do you mean? Do you really want to marry me? I heard your family's housekeeper Sarah Lambert say it—when Elena married you, her wedding dress was custom couture. Fine, no couture for me, but you actually picked something this plain? How am I supposed to wear this? It's hideous!"
"Do you even have me in your heart at all?"
Andrew's brows knit tight. He only felt irritated. He perfunctorily handed over a bank card.
"Buy whatever you want yourself."
Sophie's dissatisfaction instantly melted into a grin. She took the card, but as soon as she lifted her head, her eyes met mine—and her smile froze.
"Elena... why are you at a bridal shop?"