"There will be a wedding today, Emilia Vanderbilt. Do you understand me?"
I look her straight in the eyes, holding her gaze. "Yes, grandmother."
I shove past her cane and made my way to the kitchen and I took in the view of my wedding reception hall on my way.
This view that took five months to plan all by myself while Preston gallivanted all over the globe with his favorite cousin.
The ambiance was exactly what some would consider 'romantic' and as a three times best selling successful romance novelist, I consider myself an expert on the subject matter.
The view was simply breathtaking – a lush garden with perfectly manicured hedges and vibrant flowers, The crystal chandelier, the slow music and the people, even the tables weren't left out of it.
It was set with fine, bone-china plates and crystal glasses that sparkled in the light.
You see those crisp,white tablecloth and the long-stemmed orchid in a beautiful silver vase sitting right there in the middle of every goddamn table- I imported those from Italy.
It was Preston favorite city and so, I called fourteen flower shops and twenty one cloth factories to find the right ones.
I did all of that for Preston and for what…to have him humiliated me on my wedding day!
Well, grandmother has made her demands clear. No Vanderbilt ever had children out of wedlock and I will be damned if that tradition ended with me.
The kitchen doors swing open and I walk inside like a battle ram.
Staff froze mid-motion as I stormed inside wearing my shorts and my baggy T-shirt. They all turned around to look at me.
"I need a husband," I announce for all of them to hear.
Our sous-chef fumbles his knife. "Ms Emilia?"
I look at all their stun faces.
Maybe I wasn't loud enough…maybe they thought I had gone mad. After all, they were all here cooking my wedding feast and for some reason, the bride was in the kitchen looking for a groom.
And these weren't strangers, these were people I grew up with. Their parents worked for our family and their children would work for our family if they choose to.
I knew it would be hard to find some to go up against Marcy Vanderbilt.
I hoist myself on the stainless counter, the chill biting through my knee.
"I need a husband. There is a Tesla, a half a million dollars in a bank account and a Prenup guaranteeing you nothing more than what I am offering. All that for a one year marriage contract with me" I scan the sea of stunned faces. "Who's in?"
A dishwasher snorts. Line cooks exchanged glances with the sous chef and it felt like eternity. I held my breath.
Then, from the walk-in freezer, a voice emerged—"I'll do it."
And there he was, wearing greased stained flannel and black pants.
He steps through the door like some mythic creature. Tall, dark haired, built like he could tear an electric pole from the ground with his bare hands. Calloused hands that were used for menial work. He had a black nose mask on.
I haven't seen hands like that since Vanderbilt traded ranches for oil rigs.
"Name?"
"Carson Gibbs" he says, wiping meatpacking grease on his jeans. "I deliver your beef."
"Are you sure?" I asked him, my eyes betraying nothing. No one wants Marcy Vanderbilt as an enemy in this city.
"ARE YOU?" He asked me back.
Around us, the kitchen holds its breath—sous-chefs paused mid-chop, servers…everyone, all watching the heiress and the psychopath who dared to accept her offer.
"Let's finalize the contract. Is there anything else you need?" i needed to have no surprise in this marriage of ours.
Carson shrugs, his hands flexing like he's sizing up a stubborn deer. "Tesla's nice, but I'd prefer a Ford F-150."
A dishwasher chokes. "Dude, it is a Tesla —"
"Everyone out!" I ordered. One by one, they all scurried away. And then it was just me and Carson Gibbs.
"A Ford, really? Anything else, Mr. GIbbs?"
"Truck's better for hauling livestock." Carson's stare pins me in place. "And I don't need your cash. Just someone to take care of the infants. I clearly don't know how" He takes a step closer to me. "So will you?"
I laughed. Does he not know me? I'm Emilia Vanderbilt. I'm hardly the wet nurse.
"What makes you think I will agree to your terms, Mr. Gibbs? Take the money I am offering, make a good life for yourself, our marriage will simply be on paper!"
He gaze scanned me. There was some familiarity to him, I just couldn't place it.
"I reckoned you may just be as desperate as I am, Ms. Emilia. I have no business raising two children on my own and...I don't see any other person who's in a hurry to go toe to toe with Macy Vanderbilt"
I thought about it. There was literally no one else in the room.
"Alright. Deal"
"And Is there anything you need from me, Ms. Emilia?"
"Yes. One—"
A daddy for my now fatherless baby. I almost say out loud but it wasn't a secret I was willing to share with him...at least not yet. The Astors would never stand quietly by while I took their blood away and I would be damned if Preston fucking Astor comes anywhere near my baby.
Before I can ask if he accepts my offer, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.
"Emmy? What the hell are you doing?"
Preston stumbles into the kitchen, his tie undone, lipstick smeared on his collar like a toddler's art project. Clara, his cousin hovering behind him, her raccoon-eyed guilt dripping in black streaks.
I lifted my chin. "Getting a husband, obviously. Grandmother insisted on a wedding"
Preston frowned "Christ, Emilia. This because of Clara? it meant nothing. Just pre-wedding jitters."
"Do me a favor?" I say to him. "Go to hell"
He came closer, eyes blazing like it's on fire. He grabbed my hand. "I am Preston Astor, my family owns half of the country! You won't leave me for…" His gaze run over Carson Gibbs. "...him"
Carson moves before I blink—one step, his body became a wall between me and Preston. "Lady said she's done."
Preston's grin turns feral. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"The groom."
Preston lunges, but Carson catches his wrist like it was nothing, twisting it until he yelps. "Wedding's off. Walk away" Carson says, calm as a Sunday sermon.
"Good luck, man. Fucking Emilia is like fucking a Mannequin...you have better chances of getting a tree to cum—" he throws a look at me, as he poked his favorite insult at me. "All this wouldn't happen if you would just moan once in a while and make my effort worth it!"
I take a step closer to him.
"Because you keep looking for my clits like it's missing. It's right there, Preston! It's right there! Maybe if you spent less time with your cousin and more time reading a basic anatomy book, you would have found it. it's not fucking difficult!"
I turned around and walked away.