The Wrong Bride: Marrying My Twin Sister's Fiance

Chapter 3

Alisha

As the wedding rituals unfolded, I consciously immersed myself in the priest's words and the profound meaning behind each traditional act. However, Adil's presence continued to captivate my attention, his eyes locking with mine in a silent, unspoken connection. It was an entirely unexpected twist of fate, and the whirlwind of emotions within me threatened to overwhelm my composure.

The priest skillfully guided us through the ceremony, and I mechanically followed his instructions, my thoughts in disarray. What could have compelled Lisha to flee from this union? What revelation about Adil had prompted her to reconsider? Here I stood, in her place, marrying a man I had scarcely come to know, yet who seemed profoundly enamoured with her – or perhaps merely the idealized version of her.

As the ceremony approached its conclusion, I couldn't help but ponder how long I could sustain this elaborate charade. Adil and his family believed they were welcoming Lisha as their daughter-in-law, and I had to maintain this illusion.

And just like that, I found myself married to Adil Suryavamshi. But was it truly a marriage to him? Was Adil now wed to Lisha or Alisha? There was little time to ponder the exact technicalities as we posed for photographs, with the photographer orchestrating various shots. Then, the guests were invited to a sumptuous lunch, and the photo sessions continued. I couldn't help but think that I should have opted for more comfortable shoes, as my heels were starting to dig into my feet.

More poses, more photos, more gifts, and introductions—our wedding seemed to have drawn the entire town to our house. It was challenging to distinguish between my relatives and Adil's, and in the grand scheme of things, it hardly seemed to matter. As I stood beside the smiling girl for the photographs, I wondered if she realized that I was not the intended bride. Did she dream of her own prince charming, oblivious to the deception?

My cheeks ached from continuous smiling, but Adil appeared to be relishing every moment. His mother exuded an ethereal presence, resembling a queen in her onion-peel pink saree adorned with delicate gold prints. She looked every bit the part as if we still lived in a time of royalty.

I stole a glance at my parents, who were immersed in welcoming the guests. They appeared genuinely happy, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if they had forgotten that I was not Lisha. Could they have? No, my parents were skilled at concealing their emotions. My mother's eyes met mine, and she smiled, a look of gratitude and relief in her gaze. Before I could dwell on it further, my mother's sister whisked her away towards the dining hall, and Adil squeezed my hand.

"Shall we have lunch now, my dear?" Adil inquired, his eyes filled with affection.

"Yes," I nodded, concealing the fact that I was not hungry. I didn't want to disappoint him any more than necessary.

As we made our way to the dining hall, I observed that it was quite crowded. Since the reception was scheduled immediately after the wedding, everyone had attended the ceremony earlier in the day. Adil and my father had decided against a buffet-style lunch; instead, they preferred a more traditional seated service for the meal, believing it to be more respectful. Adil had expressed disdain for the idea of guests queuing up with plates in hand to collect their food, and I couldn't help but agree.

Adil had been insistent, explaining his preference to the caterer, "The guests should be comfortably seated, and their food served directly onto their plates. This way, they will be able to enjoy their meal with ease. A sit-down lunch is far more appropriate. I fail to understand how anyone could derive satisfaction from standing in a line, moving around the room, and serving themselves. It lacks the respect that a wedding feast should command."