Page 2 of Beautiful Revenge
God help me, this has to be over soon. How many toasts can one couple be given?
My fiancé presses his lips to my temple, tosses his linen napkin to the table, and stands. One of the waitstaff hurries to hand him a microphone, because, yes, there are that many people at our rehearsal dinner.
And this is nothing compared to the spectacle that our wedding will be tomorrow.
The event that will forever bind the Madisons and the Humphries.
Albert Humphries proves he’s from a long line of articulate, well-trained, pedigreed aristocrats when he addresses our guests.
There are times I can still see what I saw during our first encounter, a chance meeting in a small village in Costa Rica. We were both there on business, even though our roles couldn’t be on further ends of the spectrum. Albert was representing his family enterprises, making deals, turning millions into billions … and so on and so on.
I was there in an effort to spend my family’s money, the more the better. Stonebridge Capital funds the foundation my father established in my mother’s name with a generous annual budget. And I spend every penny.
Albert’s fingertips touch my chin to force my gaze to meet his as he addresses our guests. “When I say I stumbled upon Harlow in an open-air café in Costa Rica, it’s the truth. I almost fell on my face when I tripped on the strap of her backpack.”
The crowd laughs.
I bite my lip at the recollection I found endearing ... until I didn’t.
Albert’s gaze never breaks from mine as humble, self-deprecating words spill from his lips. “I was a mess, and not from the fall—well, not completely. I had been trekking through coffee bean fields for hours with our Central American team to expand our interests there. Harlow was on a break from doing what she does best—giving her time andtalents through her mother’s foundation.” He brushes my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “The Effie Madison Foundation. I wish your mother could see you now, sweetheart. She’d be so proud.”
I don’t care what anyone thinks. I pull away from his hold and stare at the crystal flute in my sweaty hand.
He brushes the hair away from my face, wraps a firm hand around my shoulder, and continues to tell the story I’ve heard more times than anyone should in the span of six months. “I guess you can say I fell fast and hard—literally and figuratively. We knew exactly who the other was. How could we not? We were both raised to think we were opposites … even adversaries if our last names are anything to go by. But we were both so shocked to see the other in such a remote and beautiful location—paradise, really—we couldn’t help but put that out of our minds. She invited me to join her for a cup of Arabica to apologize for my fall. It was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something since the Humphries like their coffee.”
Like their coffee.
I want to roll my eyes. They’re the second-largest importer of coffee beans in the U.S. behind the Seattle one that’s on every street corner. But unlike the retail giant, they make their money as middlemen.
And we all know the middleman is where it’s at when becoming a billionaire. The only thing better than being a billionaire is being a billionaire in the shadows where no one gives you a second thought. All the benefits with none of the risk.
Albert pauses to enjoy his joke’s applause before he continues the tale that started the spiral of my life. “After that cup of coffee, I convinced her to have dinner with me. Somehow, I talked her into sharing our next nine meals together. When I couldn’t delay my return to work any longer, I fell to my knees and begged her to continue what was born in paradise when we got home. Lucky for me, she set aside the animosity that’s run rampant in our families for decades.” He brushes his knuckles gently over the apple of my cheek. “It’s no longer a plague for our generation. We fixed that, didn’t we? You and me—we’ve beeninseparable ever since.”
I smile. At this exact moment, I have no other choice.
He shoots me a wink.
The sour feeling in my belly churns. I hope I don’t throw up.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he continues. “Tomorrow, you’ll become my wife. And I’m never letting you go. We’ll be together for the rest of our days.”
He’s utterly sure of that sentiment. I can see it in his eyes.
I take his hand in mine. It’s the least I can do since I don’t plan to make any declarations today. I’ll save those for our wedding when it matters.
But I do press my front to his side and push up on my vintage Pradas to kiss him. The shoes were my mother’s.
Applause rings around us, echoing through the wooded trees and bouncing off the pristine water of Lake Winslet. The Manor at Winslet stands behind us in all her glory as it awaits its first wedding since the new owner renovated it. It took years. I heard they really had to kick it into high gear to make sure the finishing touches were perfect before the Madisons and Humphries descended on it like the diamond-dripping vultures we are.
Albert tries to deepen our kiss, but before the applause can change to whoops and cheers, I fist his shirt and push away.
He doesn’t frown, but his eyes narrow. I catch the look on his face and the judgment that accompanies it.
I lift my champagne flute to our guests and mentally kick myself for the millionth time for being blind to the truth.
I thought I was better than that and don’t know where I went wrong. I am a Madison, after all. I’m fluent in English, French, and bullshit.
Albert picks up his stemmed crystal and holds it up to mirror my stance as we stand arm-in-arm at the head table that’s the center of attention for hundreds of guests.
