(My Hired husband has five daughters who wants me to be their mommy)
Nothing screams "I don't" like walking in on your fiancé and his lopsided dick making fuck-fuck-fuck sounds inside his cousin...on the morning of your wedding day.
You'd think the world would stop.That you'd freeze in time at the sight of the abominable act. It doesn't.
Instead, you remember things in excruciating details.
Like the final thrust he gives her after he's seen you. The one he takes before pulling out his weirdly curved, lubed-up, below-average cock from her bushy lady bits.
The way it glistens, dripping with her juice in the brightly lit bathroom.
That... that plays on repeat.
"I can explain. It's not what you think, Precious." His face twisted, as if he were fighting off some mediocre orgasm.
Precious? Is now the time for pet names, Preston!
"I sure hope not" My voice is dangerously calm. Like I walked in on my sister Lark helping herself to my perfume Calm not I caught my fiance plumbing his family member calm.
"I swear, I can explain, Emmy"
And so, I waited for the explanation. I would love for his stupid wrinkled ass to explain it to me.
"Go on because where l come from, cousins don't typically cum in each other unless it's Game of Thrones. And this, you gross asshole, is not the Westeros."
I ripped the mirror from the wall and hurled it at him, it barely missed his head and shattered at his feet. Damn my lack of eye to hand coordination!
"Emmy! Emmy, don't jump to
conclusions! I can explain, baby, just let me explain!" He fumbles with his zipper, his thing swaying in the air like a dying fish.
Fuck! I can't believe he was inside me seven hours ago! Gosh! I can't believe I have slept with his taboo ass twelve times in the past five years.
Damn it! I can't believe I lost my virginity to him.
I need a shower... preferably with acid as soap.
I didn't wait around for the excuses. Not when there was more fun to be had-like trying my damndest to draw blood from him and the redhead cowering behind him.
Five years.
That's how much of my life I wasted on him.
Five. Freaking. Years.
"You didn't really see anything, right Emmy! You wouldn't spread disgusting rumors that would ruin our lives, would you? And nothing happened, I was just helping Clara with..."
"...an orgasm, Preston. You were helping your cousin to an orgasm, you stupid loaf of bread!"
"It happened just this time. Just once!"
He offers this like it's a get-out-of-jail-free card. Like it makes any of this better.
"Oh,really?" I quip, ripping the soap dispenser from the wall. "I feel so much better! Thank you for clarifying, you asshole!"
I turn my rage to the 'cousin'.
"And you... you were fucking him while I was forced to eat kale and cabbage to fit into the size-zero Vera Wang I bought with my own money!"
"Lower your voice Emilia. There are press everywhere and you are being dramatic" She forced out from behind him.
Dramatic.
Dramatic would be walking into the kitchen to borrow hot boiling water from the stove and dozing them with it.
Maybe, it's exactly what I needed to do.
Maybe, I should —
My outburst is cut short by a voice from the doorway.
"What the hell happened to the bathroom?"
It's Lark. My baby sister. Sixteen, slightly drunk, barefoot and swimming in our father's old jacket.
I stopped And turned my back on the carnage and walk toward her. There was no need to give her nightmares.
"Come on, Lark."
"Emmy! Wait!" Preston shouts after
me."You're pregnant with my child. You don't really have a choice, do you? Don't do anything rash!"
**
I came face to face with my grandmother in the foyer. Her sharp eyes flickering over me, and I know she's dissecting every tremor in my hands, every flicker of panic in my gaze. She doesn't need words to confirm it. She could always see right through me.
Lark might be oblivious, but Grandmother? She's a bloodhound.
She sends Lark away with a wave of her jeweled hand.
The moment the front door clicks shut, Grandmother corners me in the hallway.
Her cane slams sideways, blocking the exit. "The York Times has their headline: America's Royal Wedding" she says, her voice cold.
I don't think I have ever heard warmth in her voice. Marcy Vanderbilt is everything a grandmother shouldn't be — cold, judgemental, critical and an overall old bat but she is the head of the New York Vanderbilt family and it is a lifelong dream of hers to have one of us wed an Astor. Even if that Astor is a cousin-fucking cunt like Preston Eugene Astor.
"The Archbishop is en route from Rome. You will walk that aisle."
"He was fucking his cousin," I whisper.
"And you'll smile through your vows." She steps closer to me, her tiny frame just as intimidating as a two hundred pound bear wrestler named Chad.
"He was fucking his cousin!" I say louder now.
She came closer and pulled me by my arm, until I lowered my head enough for her to whisper in my ear.
"Lower your voice!" Her grip tighten on me "Your trust fund is quite sizable, Missy. No wedding… No inheritance. No home" Her gaze drops to my stomach. "That bastard in your belly will starve in a gutter. No Vanderbilt is allowed to have a child out of wedlock, do you hear me?!" She said through her gritted teeth.
I nod. "I understand, grandmother"
I shoved 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 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.
A sous-chef fumbles his knife. "Ma'am?"
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.
I hoist myself onto a stainless-steel counter, the chill biting through my knee.
Screw, Preston! I am a Vanderbilt. We don't beg. We buy. If I need a husband and a baby daddy, I will just buy one.
"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. 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.
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 town.
"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.
"Fine. Let's finalize the contract. Is there anything else you need?" i need 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 —"
"Truck's better for hauling livestock." Carson's stare pins me in place. "And I don't need your cash. Just some hospital bills paid." He takes a step closer to me "And Is there anything you need, Ms. Emilia"
"Yes. One—"
A baby daddy. I almost say out loud but it wasn't a secret I was willing to share with curious ears around.
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 lift my chin. "Hiring a husband. 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."
The kitchen erupts. Phones flash. Whispers hiss like grease on a skillet.
Preston lunges, but Carson catches his wrist, twisting 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!"
"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.