Chapter 5 The Bride Who Wasn’t

LEITANA

I sat pressed close to the door, my body shaking where I was seated, my head resting against the cold glass. The entire car was so cold. I had never been in a car like this before—never even seen one like this in Vanuatu. Was it always this cold inside?

And…the man next to me—my husband. He sat a few feet away, his blindfolded eyes pointed down at the glowing screen of his phone. Even though I was afraid of the man Papa and Mama had forced me to marry, something inside me stirred—curiosity.

The same curiosity the sisters at the convent always warned me about.

Sister Immaculata Tavui would shake her head and say, “Leitana, curiosity kills the cat. Your curiosity and inquisitiveness will get you in trouble.”

But I’d only smile, because I never saw what was wrong with wanting to know more about the world beyond Vanuatu. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my island—I did. It was home, and it was beautiful. But still, I wanted to see more, to know more.

They used to call me “Little Dove” or “Tasi,” because of that. But I could never stop. Curiosity was like breath—it lived inside me.

And right now, despite the fear curling in my stomach, I was curious about him. Was he really blind under that cloth? Because it looked like he could see. His fingers moved fast over the screen—swift, precise, like they knew exactly where to go.

In Vanuatu, we had phones, of course. The sisters had one, and a few of the rich people on the island. But nothing like this.

This one was flat and shiny, no buttons at all, just light. The way it glowed made me want to touch it. Back home, the sisters’ phone was small and heavy, with cracks all over the screen. It only worked when you hit it twice.

But this man’s phone—my husband’s—looked like something from another world.

Without realizing it, I leaned closer, my breath fogging the glass beside me. My eyes followed the quick dance of his fingers. Tap, tap, tap. So fast. I didn’t know if he was sending a message or casting some kind of spell into that tiny light.

A memory slipped into my mind.

Marita and I, hiding behind the chapel, giggling as we stole the nun’s phone. Pretending to call the Pope. “Hello, Holy Father,” she’d say in her worst accent, and I’d burst out laughing until Sister Marie caught us and made us scrub the floors.

The corner of my lips twitched now, but I bit it back. I shouldn’t be smiling. Not here. Not beside him.

Still… I couldn’t help it. I leaned a bit more. Just a little. Just enough to see what kind of world lived inside that shining glass.

Then he stopped typing.

His head turned slightly, and even though his eyes were hidden behind that blindfold, I felt it—the weight of his attention.

I froze, caught between curiosity and terror.

His fingers stilled. The air in the car went thin.

Then, in a low voice that slid through me like cold metal, he said,

“Enjoying the view, Mrs. Ashbourne?”

My eyes went wide. That was when I realized how close I’d gotten. I was no longer leaning on the glass—I was leaning toward him. My eyes darted up to his face, then down to his lips. They curved slightly, almost like a smirk.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I scrambled back too fast, hit my head against the glass, and winced. My hands wrapped around my chest as my heart pounded so hard it hurt to breathe.

Papa’s words echoed in my head: “Do not anger him, or you are done for.”

Then Mama came closer, her hand settling gently on my shoulders as I stared at myself in the mirror.

“And only speak when spoken to,” she said softly. “Men like that do not like to be disrespected. And you know you’re pretending to be Avery—your twin sister. He’s never been close to her or even seen her in person. You may look alike, but her skin is fairer than yours. That can be explained. But your accent…”

Papa’s voice cut in, sharp and cold. “Do not butter it up,” he snapped, turning his hard gaze to me.

“You speak only when spoken to. And talk normally. Like a civilized person. None of that ‘mi no this, mi no that.’”

I lowered my gaze to my feet, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. What if he started talking to me? What if he hit me—because I’d looked at his phone without permission?

My mind spun fast, chasing words that wouldn’t stay still. I had to apologize. I had to say something.

In my head, the words twisted and tangled, fighting to come out right. Sori, mi no mean fo luk yu phone.

No. Papa said not to talk like that. He said people here wouldn’t understand. He said it was barbaric. Disgusting.

So I tried again, my lips moving silently. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look.

But even then, my tongue still wanted to shape the old sounds, the Vanuatu way.

I could almost hear Marita teasing me. “Leitana, you go speak like them fancy people now?” she’d say, wrinkling her nose, and I’d laugh until my stomach hurt. That was before….before pretending, before fear.

Now my chest was tight. My palms damp. He hadn’t said anything since. Just sat there in that heavy silence, the air thick enough to choke on.

My fingers twisted the edge of my dress as I practiced the words again, whispering them without sound. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look.

Would he get angry? Would he know I wasn’t Avery? My chest squeezed painfully. Maybe he could hear my heartbeat. Maybe he already knew.

The silence stretched too long. I could smell his perfume now—deep, clean, and cold, like rain falling on metal. It made my throat dry.

Say it, Leitana. Before he get vex.

I swallowed hard, staring down at my trembling hands. My voice came out so small it barely existed.

“Sori, mi… mi no mean fo luk. Mi jus…” I stopped, my throat closing. Then I tried again, forcing the words straighter, smoother.

“I’m sorry… I no mean for look.”

Oh no. It didn’t come out the way it sounded in my head.

I didn’t dare raise my eyes.