Page 9 of Her Ex's Father
“Miss Clarke.” A head pops in—no one I recognize, though they’re dressed like resort staff in a flawless suit. “We are almost ready for you. It’s time.”
“The deal is almost closed.”
Surprisingly, this isn’t the coldest thing my father has ever said—even if it’s what he mutters as we’re standing just to the back of the aisle, out of view.
He hasn’t murmured that I look beautiful, that he’s proud of me. He hasn’t teared up at all. In fact, all he did was check with Mom quickly that the Canada situation was sorted out with the delivery.
He gives me a quick glance, then does a double take.
Time seems to stand still. Part of me wants him to recognize how miserable I am in this moment and call it off.
What he says next astonishes me even more: “Good job, Madeline.”
The sinking feeling in my chest threatens to send me to my knees. I can’t remember the last time either of my parents said anything positive to me—and I’ve been contributing to the business since before I got my degree in my early twenties.
Thisis what they see as my finest accomplishment?
Marrying a stranger to create a business empire?
Squaring my shoulders, it suddenly doesn’t bother me so much that I won’t be living under their roof (or rather, on their ranch) any longer.
It’s time for me to forge my own path.
I give my dad a flat smile, loop my arm through his, and take a deep breath.
“Madeline,” he says quietly before we step around the corner, “make sure you don’t slouch.”
Wow.
We turn the corner to face the long aisle I’m about to walk down and the man I’m going to marry. The man I’m basically selling myself to.
Except…
He’s not there.
The priest stands under a massive arch of pink and cream flowers, his watery eyes narrowed with worry. The guests, in three dozen rows of heavy ornate chairs, are murmuring. My mother is typing furiously on her cell and Stella stands to the side of the altar, torn between looking scared and thrilled.
Shit.
“Where the hell is Derrick Bronson?” my father growls, his arm tightening painfully around mine as he stares out into the crowd.
“Ow, Dad—” I pull away, try to look unbothered. But all eyes are on me. I can feel their judgement.
Even a boy as hapless as Derrick Bronson doesn’t want her.
The thought stings, and the gorgeous skirt of my wedding dress appears to deflate for a moment.
But no. Ijustdecided to take control of my own life.
Tossing the loose locks framing my face, I wrap both hands around my bouquet and walk purposefully down the aisle, leaving my father in my wake. His horrified gaze practically burns into my back, but I don’t care—the music is playing and it’s time to get this show started, whether it goes up in flames or not.
Stella’s eyes are, in fact, afraid as she watches me march up to her. They dart around the room, looking for Derrick I’m sure. He’s nowhere to be seen, unsurprisingly; maybe another ‘delayed flight’?
Mr. and Mrs. Carter, seated only a few rows back, look livid on my behalf. It’s hard not to notice that plenty of the Bronson guests look… unsurprised.
I hand my bouquet over to Stella and give her a weak smile. No matter how mortifying this is, I’m still the big sister, the rock.
If Derrick doesn’t follow through on the business deal so be it—butIwon’t be the reason this didn’t work.
