Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me
Chapter 184
APRIL’S POV
There are rehearsal dinners, and then there’s this.
It’s everything you’d expect from old money and hidden cruelty–massive, impeccable, obscenely expensive.
As if the Ashfords need to prove any further just how wealthy they are–especially since everyone present already fucking knows.
The dinner isn’t being held in the ballroom like most Ashford events, but in the west lawn, where the grass has been manicured to perfection.
A grand marquee, taller than most buildings and twice as intimidating, has been erected under the descending twilight.
The entrance is flanked by two marble obelisks draped in wisteria, each engraved with the entwined initials of the three couples to be wed. LL. NV. PE.
The interior glows warm and golden, simultaneously intimate and overwhelming. Rows of towering crystal chandeliers hang suspended from mirrored ceiling, refracting light like sunbursts.
Silk and linen–covered tables, long and imperial, stretch across the length of the marquee, three in total.
The first holds the bridesmaids–AKA the former contestants–the second opposite holds groomsmen–Julian being the only one I recognize–and the last, at the head of the room, contains the three couples and the ultimate couple–Samuel and Marisol.
Servants I don’t recognize move soundlessly, dressed in tailored black and white gloves, offering trays of hors d’oeuvres so delicate they look crafted by jewelers.
Easton and Anna hover at the edge like sentinels, watching everything with hawk–eyed vision.
It’s supposed to be an intimate event, but it’s so grand, I keep expecting paparazzi to burst in at any moment and take pictures to be splashed on the front pages of magazines and tabloids.
If the rehearsal dinner is this flamboyant, I can only imagine how extra the wedding will be tomorrow.
For the umpteenth time tonight, that thought twists my intestines into an uncomfortable knot.
Tomorrow.
The weight of the future seems to hang over my head like one of the chandeliers, heavy with promise.
I should have known better than to wear satin.
It clings too easily–shows every shift in breath, every ripple of discomfort. And right now, that discomfort clings to me like a second skin.
I sit stiffly between Jamie and Rachel at our table, trying not to flinch every time cutlery clinks against porcelain.
Trying not to stare across the tent at them.
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Chapter 184
Valerie is once again draped in white silk and her usual smugness. Her makeup is angelic; her smile is dagger–sharp.
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She clings to Nathan’s arm like it’s the Bun Bun to her June, leaning in every time he speaks, like the world might crumble if she missed a
word.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show a bit of discomfort. He’s spent his life perfecting his art of pretending. But I know him.
I know his shoulder is too stiff and his jaw is clenched too tightly and his smile is too rigid.
Beside them, Lara could be the mirror image of Nathan. I wonder if, for all his cruel intelligence, Lucas has picked up on the switch with his fiancée.
Does he realize her smile is no longer genuine and that she’s gripping her knife a little too hard because she’s fighting against the urge to stab the hand he has around her shoulders?
Lara has assured me several times that he’s none the wiser, that he has absolutely no idea what she’s planned for tomorrow.
I hope that’s true.
The only couple on their table that truly radiates love is Eliza and Peter. She looks so happy, it makes my eyes hurt.
I’m so glad they found each other. I’m glad they know what tomorrow brings and are prepared for it. I’m glad they have a plan.
I hope with my whole heart that theirs doesn’t fall through the way mine did. That they last in all the ways Nathan and I didn’t.
“I know it sucks to see that leech with her arms around him, but you’re about to fold that metal fork in half with how hard you’re clenching it,” Jamie says, leaning over.
I blink, letting the poor abused fork clatter onto my plate of untouched salmon on a bed of culinary complication.
“Sorry.” I force out a smile.
She nudges me gently. “Hey, no need to apologize. Whoever thought it was a good idea to rub our defeat in our face is the one who owes an apology.”
I fight the urge to snort and look at Lara.
The rest of the rehearsal dinner drags on slowly, but the real torture begins when it’s time to actually rehearse.
According to the program, Peter and Eliza will be joined first, then Nathan and Valerie, and then Lara and Lucas–or as she likes to refer to it: the big finale that will blow the lid off the Ashford empire.
Peter and Eliza practice their vows first. It’s sweet and genuine and brings tears to virtually everybody’s eyes.
Those tears instantly dry up, replaced by dread as Nathan and Valerie stand together on the raised marble platform opposite their table.
Valerie reads hers first, like she’s auditioning for a role. It’s performative and rehearsed and perfect–just like everything else about her.
She even manages to cry right on cue. Easton appears and presses a tissue into her hand. And then, for her big finale, she leans up and kisses Nathan’s cheek.
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Chapter 184
With the fork out of my grip, I clench my hands in my lap, my nails digging into my palm as Nathan starts,
“Valerie St Claire. Today, I make a commitment to you, to love and cherish you…”
His voice is deep, his words strained. They land like glass shards in my chest, scraping at my barely healed heart.
They sound so wrong.
This is all so fucking wrong. He shouldn’t be promising all these things to another woman.
And the thing is, I know. I know he doesn’t love her; I know he doesn’t mean a word of the curated speech he was given.
But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Because it should be me. I should be the one up on that platform.
Nathan finally finishes his vows, and the accompanying applause feels like walls closing in.
“I need some air,” I murmur, excusing myself.
No one seems to care as I walk away.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
