by R. R. Banks
The bolt of fear turns into a steady stream of fear-fueled electricity, searing my every nerve ending. I knew this is where he was going, but hearing him say the words feels like he just kicked me in the nuts with a pair of steel-toed boots.
Still, the idea that I can wipe the slate clean, get out from under his thumb – I can't deny how badly I want that. The question is - can I get my stubborn, willful daughter to agree to this? Can I get her to put the family first and take one for the team? She doesn't know about Trujillo or the kind of trouble I'm in, and if I have my way, she never will.
But, I know if I'm ever going to get her to agree to it, I need to tell her enough to get her to think of the family and sign off on this.
“What do you think, Michael?” Trujillo asks.
“The slate will be wiped completely clean?” I ask. “No strings attached?”
“Completely clean,” he says. “You get a completely fresh start. You have my word.”
I know this is going to be a tough sell. Hell, it might be impossible. But Holly is a good girl who's loyal to the family. She's loyal to me and will usually yield to what I want. It's not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but I think with some prodding, I can get her to see things from my perspective.
“I think I can do that, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. “I think I can get my girl to agree.”
“Excellent, Michael,” Trujillo replies. “I knew I could count on you.”
See how Brayden and Holly’s story unfolds. Get Accidentally Married HERE.
The Wedding Proposal (Sample)
By R.R. Banks
An Amazon Top 50 Bestseller
*176 Customer Reviews – 4.8/5 Stars
"Will you marry me and carry my baby?"
Ruthless billionaire. Cold. Untamable.
Relationships meant nothing to me. I never wanted a family.
Then she walked into my office.
My best friend's little sister.
She's more beautiful than I remembered.
I wanted to protect her in the past, but I f*cked up.
Years passed. She's my new secretary.
And still the only girl I want to claim. Mark as mine.
To inherit the company, I need a baby. And a wife.
She needs money to save her mother.
I gave her a proposal. We made a contract.
She thinks our marriage has an expiration date.
But her sweet curves and innocence belongs to me now.
I'll be damned if I let her get away.
Can we build the perfect future, or will our past get in the way?
Chapter One
Cherry
I was really beginning to hate my wedding planner.
"There's no way I'm letting that thing anywhere near my mouth," he spat.
"Oh, come on," Jess coaxed.
"It's fuzzy."
"It's supposed to be fuzzy. Just take a little nibble."
My best friend is also starting to piss me off.
"No. That's disgusting."
"No, it's not. Just open up and go for it."
"No. And you know why? It doesn't want me to eat it. It is telling the world that its gross, furry outside should not be eaten."
I turned around and held my hand out.
"Give me the damn peach."
Jess looked dejected as she dropped the peach into my hand. I put it back in the basket I was carrying and took a moment to smooth down my dress.
"I still can't believe that you are bringing them peaches," she said.
I shot her a glare.
"I picked them myself during my visit to Georgia last week," I said, trying to keep the defensive note out of my voice. "I can't come to a tea empty-handed. Especially one that's being held in my honor."
"Speaking of which. Remind me, why did you think it was a good idea to meet your fiancé’s parents at the same time that you are introducing them to your maid of honor and your wedding planner?"
"Anthony and I had a whirlwind romance and I haven't had a chance to meet them. Since the date that we chose is coming up fast, we wanted to make sure everyone could get to know each other without slowing down the planning process."
"I didn't think that 'whirlwind romance' was a phrase that people actually used in conversation.”
My glare changed trajectory to focus directly on Smyth the Wedding Planner. I really should have known better than to hire someone with a deliberately misspelled last name as a first name and a capitalized title that was not warranted in any way. He came highly recommended, but I was now convinced that I was the butt of a particularly cruel matrimonial prank. I could just see the announcement now:
Wedding planned by wedding coordinator to the nobodies – Smyth the Wedding Planner.
"They will think it's a sweet gesture."
"Why?"
"Because it's a sweet gesture, damn it." I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I smoothed my simple floral dress again and flashed what I hoped was a somewhat convincing smile to Jess. "They're expecting us. Let's go."
We started back up the meandering stone walkway that led to the palatial estate owned by Anthony's parents.
“Remember, don’t say the ‘v’ word," Jess muttered toward Smyth.
“What ‘v’ word? Violet? Vanilla? Viagra?”
“No, that Cherry’s a virgin.”
As I continued up the path, I closed my eyes and tried to count to ten to calm my nerves.
“Why, thank you, Big Bird. Next week will be brought to you by the letter ‘Q’.”
I'm going to kill them before we get to the party.
“And now to the Count for today’s number.”
I'm going to plan my own wedding and be my own maid of honor.
“Would that be 666?”
Maybe we'll just elope.
“Two scary future-in-laws, ha-ha-ha.”
As we made our way up the walkway I noticed a car pulling up the driveway that looped behind the house. The driveway had been designed in what may be the least convenient way possible so that the drive itself wasn't visible from the road in front of the house. Instead, just the hint of the entrance could be seen before the asphalt veered away from the grounds so that they remained untouched. Pristine. It was one of the few features of the house that Anthony had described to me beforehand, so I would know what to expect when I arrived. I had stopped in front of the house just as he had instructed, and a valet appeared beside me, taking my keys. The three of us hurried out of the car and he unceremoniously drove away, leaving us at the gate that led to the walkway.
The walkway was so long I couldn't really imagine the family used it on a regular basis. It was only used by people that they wanted to impress with their manicured lawns and fountains, before taking their breath away with their estate that seemed to unfold like origami on the horizon the closer we got.
But it wasn't my car making its way up the hidden drive. The brief glimpse of it that I caught told me that it was a different color and a far more elegant, expensive model.
"I thought that we were the only ones coming to this shindig," Smyth said.
"It isn't a shindig," I said. "And we are. That's probably a caterer."
As I said it, however, I knew that wasn’t the case. Caterers showed up in big white trucks, not glittering European sports cars. A nervous feeling was building in my gut and I forced an even larger smile on my face.
Nothing can go wrong when you're smiling this big. Countless commercial product campaigns aimed at resolving miserable conditions have taught me that.
We had only walked a few more steps when a low sound – that my mind had convinced me was the distant murmur of the lawn equipment that had to be going at all times due to the size of the property – became more distinct. It wasn't a riding mower fighting a never-ending quest against the blades of grass and harshly molded ornamental trees. It was the murmur of music and voices.
Confused, I followed the sound the rest of the way up the
walkway and then around the side of the house. My confusion only increased when I stepped through another gate and saw the tiered back patio swarmed with guests in clothes too lavish for the afternoon, much less a casual tea. Jess stepped up beside me, never turning her widened eyes away from the spectacle unfolding in front of us.
"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "This is definitely a shindig."
I didn't know what to think. This wasn't the plan. I couldn't understand why Anthony didn’t clue me in to such a tremendous shift in our plans for the afternoon. My eyes scanned the crowd, desperately looking for him. When they finally settled on him, my heart fell even more. He was standing several yards away in a sunken section of the garden, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and giving what looked like his very best snobby rich man laugh. His other arm was draped casually around the waif-like waist of a blonde woman standing beside him.
What were the chances that she was his sister he never mentioned to me that recently returned from war?
"Hey, Cherry," Jess said from beside me. "Remind me again how you got your name."
I didn't take my eyes off Anthony or the glass of champagne that swirled when he leaned toward her to touch a kiss to her temple.
"My father said that marrying my mother and having my brother made his life complete, but that I was the cherry on top."
"Ok...adorbs...but we'll talk about that later. Is it short for anything?"
"Cherry?" I asked. "No. It isn't short for anything."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Do you have another name? Like a little-known first name that would only be used for formal occasions?"
Aggravation was rapidly building inside me.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Are you absolutely positive?"
I let out an exasperated growl.
"Yes, I'm absolutely positive that I know my own fucking name!"
The voices around me quieted and I felt my cheeks burning.
"Um." I turned toward Jess, who was pointing at an elaborate flower centerpiece crafted into names with a scrolled heart in between them. "Because it seems that the flower guy thinks your name is Michelle."
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
"Cherry!"
I turned toward Anthony's voice and saw him rushing toward me. The whispers and mutterings around him had become so thick that it seemed like he needed to physically push his way through them.
The judgment is strong with this crowd.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Part of me said turn and run like hell from the humiliation I felt. The other part said stand my ground and find out what was going on. Another small part of me wanted to hurl peaches at his head until my basket was empty and then fill it back up with flowers torn out of the centerpieces. And then throw those at his head.
"Cherry, what are you doing here?" Anthony asked.
He was talking in a low, whispered hiss as if that was going to do a damn bit of good with three-quarters of the town's society page staring at us.
"What am I doing here?" I asked. "What do you mean what am I doing here? What is she doing here? In fact, who is she?"
I pointed at the blonde I could only assume was Michelle as she made her way toward us. Anthony glanced behind his shoulder toward her and then looked back at me. All the color drained from his face and I realized that it wasn't until that moment that what was happening really sunk in for him.
"Can we talk?" he asked, lowering his voice again.
"I'm not sure," I said. "It seems to me like not talking might be what brought us to this moment. So, I think that the question is...can you talk?"
I was making a scene. I knew it. Jess knew it. Smyth knew it. Michelle knew it. The governor, who I was fairly certain I was watching scarf down cocktail shrimp like it was a new tenet of his office, knew it. But I didn't care. If there ever was a moment in my life that warranted a scene, this was it. I, like every other good Southern woman before me, had been training my whole life to throw the perfect hissy fit, and I was about to give them one hell of a show.
"Cherry, please. Let's go somewhere and I can explain."
He was looking at me with a desperate expression in his eyes and a small feeling of compassion came over me. I gritted my teeth and nodded.
"Fine," I said.
"Thank you."
Anthony gestured toward the walkway and we turned around, feeling like we were being ushered out of the party. My party. My stupid get-to-know-you engagement tea. As the voices rose up behind me again, though, I knew that wasn't what it was. It had never been.
We reached the front of the house where the sounds of the party were mercifully muted. I turned around and felt my jaw set when I saw that Michelle had decided to come right along with us. Anthony must have seen me doing my best to bore holes in her stupid couture with my eyes because he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She nodded solemnly and planted a small kiss on his cheek before turning away and heading back down the path. Bastards. I felt Jess's hand grab onto my arm before I could start to take a step toward them.
She knew me so well. I withdraw any feelings of impending hatred of her.
Anthony turned back to me and I realized that he wasn't leading us into the house. He expected us to stand there, in the middle of the walkway, and hash this thing out. I didn't know exactly how many levels of offended that made me feel, but it was a lot. Apparently, I was good enough to be engaged to, but not to step inside the house while my ‘fiancé’ explains to me why there was a haughty, skeletal woman taking on my role at my engagement tea. It reminded me of the casting on one of those true crime dramas where they do reenactments of grisly murders. The more horrible the thing that happened to the person, the more flattering the casting of their reenacted selves tended to be.
"Anthony," I said, wanting to get in the first words. "What in the hell is going on?"
"Cherry, I can explain."
"Can you? Who is that woman? And who are all these people? I thought that this was supposed to be a quiet tea where I could get to know your parents and they could meet Jess and the wedding planner."
"Smyth."
Smyth the Wedding Planner stepped forward, offering his hand to Anthony delicately, as if it being kissed right now is the appropriate solution for this situation.
"Seriously?" Anthony asked.
"Yes," Smyth said. "Do you have a problem with it?"
I reached out and pushed Anthony on his chest, attempting to pull him back into the conversation.
"Look," Anthony said. "I am so sorry that this happened this way and that Jess and Smitty were here to see it."
"Smyth."
"Yes. Smyth. I don't know what to tell you."
"The truth. Tell me the truth."
"Michelle is an old friend…"
"The truth, Anthony," Smyth snapped.
"I can handle this myself, Skippy."
"Smyth," I said through gritted teeth. "And I'm not really so sure that you can. Why don't you start again?”
Anthony sighed.
"Michelle is my fiancée," he said.
"That's funny," I said. "I thought that I was your fiancée."
At least he had the dignity to have a few tears in his eyes.
"Both of you are. Were. I don't know. I've been with Michelle for a while. We had started to drift apart after we got engaged and she left on a three-month vacation in Europe with her family. That's when I met you. You were so different, Cherry. You caught my attention from the first moment I saw you, and I just couldn't get you out of my mind."
"So, I conveniently fit in there right next to Michelle?"
"It wasn't like that," he said.
"Really? Because that's exactly what it seems like. Your fiancée was away, and you were bored. So, you needed someone to keep you amused until she came back."
Anthony gave me a quizzical look.
"Keep me amus
ed?" he asked. "What kind of amusement would that be, exactly? You wouldn't even have sex with me."
"That's just unnecessary,” Smyth said. "Don't talk to her like that."
Maybe he is not quite as awful as I thought he was.
Anthony turned to him sharply, pointing one finger directly at his chest. The tears were gone from his eyes now and his face was red with color.
"Look here, John Jacob Jingle Heimer Shut the Fuck Up, I've heard enough from you. This is between Cherry and me."
"And these lovely people who I'm going to guess are your parents," Jess said, looking over at the two extravagantly dressed people rushing toward us. "Oooo. They look mad."
She and Smyth stepped slightly further away from us as Anthony straightened and dropped his hand.
"Anthony?" A woman with severe makeup and expertly coiffed silver hair called as she approached. "What's going on here?"
"Who is this woman?" The tall, dignified man beside her asked. "She has disrupted the entire party."
I gave them a saccharine smile.
"Hello," I said, stepping toward them with my hand extended. "You must be Angela Freedlander, Anthony's mother. I'm Cherry. Anthony's fiancée."
Her face fell. Angela’s hand gripped mine limply, controlled by the force of a lifetime of social polishing and etiquette. I shook it enthusiastically before offering my hand to the man.
"And Sterling, is it? Mr. Freedlander, it is lovely to meet you."
I was struggling to maintain control and look like I was still put together even though inside I felt like I was falling apart. The two older Freedlanders were looking at each other and then their son, then back at each other. Neither would face me. I got the feeling they had the attitude that if they didn't acknowledge the problem, aka me, I would just disappear.
"Cherry, please," Anthony said again. "Let's try to be dignified about this."
I felt my cheeks burning. My heart was pounding erratically in my chest and my hand tightened around the handle of the basket I was still holding until the wicker pierced my skin.
I can't believe I picked peaches for these assholes.
"Dignified?" I asked incredulously. "You want me to be dignified? I just walked up to a house where I thought I was supposed to be having a tea to meet my future-in-laws and found it swarming with people. I'm sorry if my first thought was that I was woefully underdressed and not that I just crashed an engagement party other than my own!"