The Billionaire’s Forever (His Submissive #12)(5)
Author: Ava Claire

"Miss Montgomery!" she gushed, every tooth in her mouth gleaming at me. "Your party’s already waiting."

I frowned, not believing they were here and I didn’t know it through means other than the hostess’ declaration. I’d half expected I’d hear them before I saw them, shouts ringing out above the painfully abstract indie music pilfering from the speakers.

Both women had strong personalities, thinking their way was the only right way and everyone else was doing it wrong. I figured I’d be the referee; it was the reason I’d all but jogged the half a mile from the office, wanting to get in the middle before blood was shed. I wasn’t betting on silence or the two women behaving.

"Is everything alright, Miss Montgomery?"

I cleared through the haze, blinking rapidly as I stepped out of my head and tuned into what the hostess was trying to say. Her big brown eyes were round with concern, mouth pulled into a hesitant frown of her own before she started sputtering an apology.

"I’m so sorry, I just think you and Jacob are adorable…" She clasped a hand over her mouth like she’d just said a cuss word.

I would have chuckled if I didn’t know her overcompensating for some mistaken slight wasn’t rooted in reality. Despite having ‘cafe’ in the title, the restaurant was no stranger to A list clientele–along with A-list attitudes.

"It’s alright," I reassured her with a smile. "We don’t get adorable very often. Mismatched, maybe. Adorable? Not so much."

Relief flooded her face as she returned the smile. "Well, most people are idiots." She moved to the front of the hostess stand. "Right this way."

I maneuvered through the sleek tables, smirking at the myriad of women still wearing their oversized shades indoors and men with their eyes glued to their phone screens. Waiters in white shirts, black slacks, and weary plastic smiles rotated around the room like parts of a carousel. Round and round, like the knots that rolled and tightened in my stomach as we moved closer to what I knew would be nothing but drama. We stepped up to the table where Mom and Alicia were both quietly sipping glasses of wine. Both women’s faces brightened when they saw me, the same relief the hostess wore when she realized I wasn’t going to demand her job on a silver platter. It was the relief of being put out of your misery.

I pulled out the chair in between them and ordered a glass of wine of my own. I was gonna need it.

Mom was the first to reach over, the sides of her mouth nearly reaching her hairline. Everything about her face looked strained and pushed to the limit, intensified by her heavy makeup and gray lined hair pulled into a tight, high bun. "It’s so good to see you sweetie." She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "You look lovely." She cupped my cheek, eyes narrowing me as she inspected me closer. "And thinner. Though I guess at all of these fancy restaurants they only give you a spoonful or two of food and call it a day–"

"But thin is good," Alicia interrupted smoothly. Her feline features shone as her lips split into a glittering grin. "Thin means beautiful wedding pictures."

I cringed, not a huge fan of talking about weight and even less so with all of the clear tension between them. The awkwardness hung on the air, thick enough that I could cut it with a knife. An inflammatory topic like weight would just make things worse.

I had no intention of commenting about any highly unlikely weight loss or the impact of my love handles on my wedding pictures.

Unluckily for us all, Mom picked up my slack.

"So you’re implying that the only way my daughter will have lovely pictures is if she’s thin?"

Alicia’s smile dimmed. "I said no such thing. I said thin means beautiful pictures."

"Which means not thin equals not beautiful?" Mom growled.

Oh geez. "Mom–"

"Oh it’s alright, Leila," she said, patting my hand. "I just wanted to know how thin Mrs. Whitmore suggests you should be in order to have beautiful pictures. For my reference."

Alicia took a long sip of her wine, pressing her scarlet lips into a line before she pushed her hair from her eyes."So things are really moving as far as the planning goes." She pulled out her iPad. "I have some floral arrangements I’d like you to choose from and there’s also the matter of music. Yo-Yo Ma is always a classic choice–"

I coughed. "Yo-Yo Ma is a ‘classic choice’?" He was freaking Yo-Yo Ma, one of the greatest cellists of our time. How was he even a choice at all? He played for presidents, international dignitaries–and Alicia was talking like hiring him for my wedding was a piece of cake.

I am officially in the Twilight Zone.

Alicia tilted her head to one side, holding her hands up as she backpedaled. "If he seems too formal, we can go in a different direction.” She stroked her chin thoughtfully, completely missing both me and Mom’s slack-jawed reaction. “There’s also a more popular music option as well. If you’d like me to use my contacts to get someone a little more top 40’s–"

"I think Yo-Yo Ma or freaking Katy Perry would be too much." Mom snapped. “They’re both talented and the idea that they’re even on the table is…just…”

Alicia took the interruption in stride, lowering her voice to a confidential level. "Cheryl, if this is a matter of money, naturally, the Whitmore’s take care of their own. Leila is like a daughter to me. Of course I will take care of the bill and you won’t have to worry about a single cent."

It might’ve been sweet if she hadn’t all but drawn a line with her eyes and put my mother on the other side.

I had a feeling Mom was approaching boiling point and before Alicia started talking about hiring Beyonce or some famous tenor, it was time to put my foot down. As awesome as any of the above would be, it wasn’t what I wanted. It was my wedding. It was high time I put an end to this whole charade. Some guy plucking out a song on a ukulele might not be as buzzworthy as a pop star bringing down the house at our reception, but it was what I wanted. It was the wedding story I wanted to tell my grand kids someday.

I looked at Mom first, then Alicia. "About the wedding–"

"There will be no wedding." Mom’s voice was filled with a finality and authority that would make even Jacob sit up and take notice.

Once I got over the shock, anger quickly filled in the blanks. What was this? Her last ditch effort to ruin everything? Hurt seeped in like a toxin. After our talk, I thought we were headed somewhere good.

What did she meant there would be no wedding? This was what she wanted, me to marry some rich guy and live the lavish life she didn’t.