Of all the fucked-up shit I have done in my short twenty four years on earth, ditching my family and about five hundred VIP guests while I galavant the city with my shotgun impromptu husband must top the list for Marcy Vanderbilt, grandmother dearest.
It was an offense punishable by death in Grandmother's book, if the great city of New York allowed such privilege without consequences.
But leaving the villa and driving around the city with Carson Gibbs in his beat up truck was like taking a breath of fresh air.
I had been good for far too long. Taking orders like a good little Vanderbilt girl.
Dated people pre approved, befriended suitatable friends and withstood Marcy's judgemental comments about my size and how I look.
I spent my entire life being the good granddaughter but I draw a line at marrying a boy like Preston.
Not for all the money and clout in the whole damn world, Grandmother.
The truck hadn't even finished shuddering to a stop before the vultures descended.
My cousins swarmed the driveway like they were a private security team hired to tackle a fugitive.
I looked at Carson and he just sat there, if the mob coming our way intimidated him, he didn't show it.
"It's alright if you want to hide out in the kitchen's walk-in freezer. I wouldn't hold it against you. My family is…psychotic" I smiled at him, hoping he doesn't scare easy "A doctor actually told us that"
My attempt at a joke was weak but he smiled anyway…the way his eyes crinkled told me as much.
"I don't scare easy, dear wife. If you want me here, then here I will be"
I took a deep breath and braces myself for impact. "You are a good man, Carson Gibbs. A good man. My apologies in advance"
I shoved the door open. "Well, look at this," I said, my voice sweet as poison. "The search party. Here to gently guide me back to my cage?"
"Emmy! You are back! You are back!"
They formed a nervous, human wall around me. I believe they really think I would make a run for it again and their orders were to stop me by every means necessary.
And then we were in the living room, and everyone was there. Just a cluster of old-money panicked faces gently waiting for my return.
And there, in the center of it all, was my dad.
His face, usually so calm, was filled with worry until he saw me.
Then it just broke...with relief or maybe, mine did and just like that I was five years old again, racing towards him to tell him about the imaginary monster in my closet…only this time, the monster was real and standing in the eastern end of the gigantic living room with his family.
"Emmy."
"Daddy"
I didn't walk; I flew. I jumped into his arms and for a single, stupid second, I broke our family's number one rule, I let myself break.
He held me tight, as I poured the whole disgusting truth into his ear. Preston. The bathroom. The cousin he screwed.
I felt the exact moment his love for me turned into murderous intent. His body went stiff.
When I pulled back, his eyes were locked on Preston with a look that could shatter glass and raise the dead, believe me, no one wants to be at the receiving end of Lawrence Vanderbilt's anger.
He took one step forward towards Preston
Preston whimpered and shuffled behind his mother.
Fucking coward!
"You little shit—"
The showdown was interrupted by the grand entrance from the stairs.
Marcy Vanderbilt.
Of course.
I was wondering when Grandmother would show up to lay down the law.
And she wasn't alone. Right by her side was Pascal Astor, the head of the Astor family laughing like they'd just heard the world's best joke and not orchestrating my personal hell.
"…just a case of nerves, Pascal," my grandmother was saying, her voice sweet like she was made of honey not cyanide "She'll be ready to walk in a few days."
Pascal Astor beamed, clearly satisfied with himself. "Of course. Young passion is so… volatile."
I didn't care much for what they wanted.
"The wedding is off" I announced, my voice slicing through their little fantasy. I mean I could have gently broken it to them but I went with shock and awe instead.
Preston, suddenly brave with his uncle nearby, took a step toward me. "Emmy, come on, sweetheart, let's be rational—"
I turned around and looked at him.
Rational. He wanted 'rational'.
My body moved before my brain could catch up. My knee connected with his crotch with a satisfying sound and just like that, he folded like a cheap lawn chair, hitting the marble with a gasp.