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.
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 have been good for far too long. Taking orders like a good little Vanderbilt girl. Dated people pre approved, befriended pre approved friends and withstand Marcy's judgemental comments about my size and how I look…but I draw a line at marrying a boy like Preston Astor.
Fuck no! 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, 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"
He smiled…the way his eyes crinkled told me as much.
"I don't scare easy, Ma'am. If you want me here, then here I will be"
I took a deep breath. "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?"
"Emilia! You are back! You are back!"
They just formed a nervous, human wall around me. I didn't need to look back to know Carson was there, a silent mountain trailing behind me without saying a word.
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 etched with pure fear until he saw me. Then it just… broke with relief or maybe, mine did and just like that I was five again, racing towards him to tell him about the imaginary monsters in my closet…only this time, the monster was real and standing in the eastern end of the gigantic living room with the rest of my family.
"Daddy"
"Emmy."
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 a little.
He held me tight, as I poured the whole disgusting truth into his ear in one rushed whisper. 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 believe me, no one wants to be at the receiving end of Lawrence Vanderbilt's anger.
He took one step forward towards Preston "You little shit—"
Preston, the coward, actually whimpered and shuffled behind his mother. But the show was interrupted by the grand entrance from the stairs.
Of course. I was wondering when Grandmother would show up to lay down the law.
There was my grandmother, Marcy, and 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," I announced, my voice slicing through their little fantasy, "is off."
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 thud and just like that, he folded like a cheap lawn chair, hitting the marble with a gasp.
And then he found his voice. "You fat bitch!"he cussed.
It was one of his favorite things to say about me. His favourite activity was finding new ways to tear my self-esteem apart little by little until there was nothing left to vanquish but Mama didn't raise a weak ass bitch and even if she did, it was my brother Joe.
And so, when my baby sister, Lark, hefted a giant crystal vase like it was a feather, and brought it down on his head. Knocking him out cold, I wasn't even a bit surprised.
Poking insults at me where Lark or Dad was, was a good way to get killed. They were my best defenders.
And just like that the room exploded. One of the Astor brats lunged for Lark, but Pascal's roar and my grandmother's cane slamming against the floor shut it all down.
Pascal turned to me, his face was filled with fake, grandfatherly concern like he genuinely cared about me. Pascal Astor was my grandmother in trousers. My life was just a business transaction to him, and nothing more.
"Emilia, my dear. Let's all take a breath. My nephew is a fool. We can forgive a few harsh words, can't we? I am such he didn't mean to call you such nasty words."
"Oh, he did or he wouldn't have called me that this time or the one hundred and five times he did in the past. And that's okay. I am a fat bitch—"
"No, you are not. You are curvy and beautiful. Breathtaking is more like it, Ms. Emilia"
Carson's voice made me turn around to look at him. I didn't even know he was in the room until he spoke.
I thought he took me up on the offer to hide out in the kitchen.
I suddenly found myself smiling at this stranger I just met hours ago, my husband, whose face I have never seen. Leaning against the wall, arms folded and waiting patiently for everything to blow up.
"Be pissed. I will take your side" He smiled back.
It was certain now. Carson Gibbs, whomever he was, had no fear.
"Who's he?" Pascal Astor asked.
I ignored his question.
I gave him my best, most pleased smile like I was saying you just earned another 100 bucks Carson Gibbs before I turned my attention to Mr. Astor.
"I'm very forgiving, Mr. Astor. I forgave him for never paying for a single meal in five years. I forgave him for making me feel like yesterday's trash. I can even forgive him for calling me a fat bitch."
I took a step closer, leaning in like I was sharing a secret. "But the question is, can you forgive him, Mr. Astor? Can you forgive Preston for fucking your daughter, Clara, in the southern bathroom this morning? Because I really, really can't."
The color drained from Pascal's face. He looked at Clara immediately, his mind working fast to wrap around the bomb I dropped.
"My baby girl?" He asked out loud.
"Daddy, she's lying!" Clara squealed, her eyes wide with fake tears.
I saw the look of relief on his face. Who would blame him? In this case it was easier to believe the lie. I wish I had the luxury of believing in a lie.
Pascal Astor believed his daughter. Of course. And when he turned back to me, he was purple.
"How dare you spread these filthy lies about my family! Rumors like that can ruin our reputation! I have a good mind to demand for your punishment"
My grandmother swooped in, placing her bony hand on his arm. Of course, Marcy Vanderbilt the patron saint of dicks!
"Pascal, please. You must excuse her. It's the pregnancy. It makes women hysterical. She will marry him. We'll pay for everything."
After a lot of furious glares and nose-lifting, air puffing, the Astors gathered their knocked-out prize and left.
As soon as the door closed, the sweet negotiator disappeared and a murderous blackmailer emerged.
My grandmother turned her gimlet eyes on me. "You will marry him," she said, each word precise. "You will not give birth to a bastard in this house."
"I wasn't planning on it, Grandma"
A flicker of relief crossed her face. "Good. You've come to your senses."
"Because I'm already married," I said, and I let the happiest, most unhinged grin spread across my face. It felt good to wipe that smug look off her cold face. It wasn't everyday one can shock a grand schemer like her "And my husband is perfectly willing to raise my baby with me. Isn't that right, Carson Gibbs?"
Every single head in the room turned to the doorway, where Carson stood in his greasy flannel, a statue of silent competence.
He met my grandmother's horrified stare and didn't even blink. "Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice steady as stone. "Very much willing."
For one glorious second, there was absolute silence. You could have heard a pin drop on the Persian rug.
Then — Marcy Vanderbilt's carefully constructed world shattered.
Her scream shook the house. "YOU MARRIED THE MEAT MAN!"
"Yes." I said. "Yes, I did"