The Billionaire’s Forever (His Submissive #12)(6)
Author: Ava Claire

I gave her a look that was ours alone. It was the same look I’d given her every time she’d played matchmaker, or personal stylist, or my personal publicist when she’d put together a press conference in front of the house.

"How dare you–" I began.

"Trust me, Lay," she murmured. Her hand covered mine and then she gave it a quick squeeze. "I’ll take care of this."

She released my hand and went full on Mama Bear, all but growling at Alicia. "My daughter has no interest in your multimillion dollar affair.”

Alicia frowned, clutching the stem of her wine glass. “What on earth are you talking about? Of course she wants the wedding! She’s been right beside me through the entire planning process.”

“Right,” Mom said brusquely. “And have you ever thought of asking her what she wants? What would make her happy?"

I sat in stunned, frustrated silence. It was finally out there. But I wanted to say it. It was my truth to tell.

Alicia was looking back and forth between the two of us. Confused, probably wondering what kind of girl turned down an all expenses paid fairytale wedding.

I pressed my eyes closed, counting to five. Breathe in. Breathe out. I opened them and they were both looking at me, waiting for my response.

I tried to keep my voice low and level. "Let me explain, Mom." At least let me do that much.

"Let you explain?" she scoffed. "When? As you walk down the aisle?" Her voice carried, just like it always did. But it was twice as embarrassing as usual because unlike all the times when I was growing up and she scolded me, I was an actual adult. And all the people who looked down their nose at me like I didn’t belong had a surety in their sidelong glances. Like they’d been right about me all along.

"Before you sign one more check, let me tell you what my daughter wants–"

"No, Mom!" I said shrilly, all the frustration and minced words rushing to the surface. "I don’t need you to save me or speak for me. I am fully capable of speaking for myself."  I smacked down the tiny part of me that snickered at that, considering my lack of speaking up for myself was the exact reason the situation had escalated.

"If this is about the date, we can change it, dear,” Alicia offered.

She said it so simply, borderline flippantly. Like I was a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. She too wasn’t listening. She was dismissing me, just like my mother–she was just doing it without raising her voice.

And it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I stood up, tears filling my eyes and turned on my heels. The sound of them calling after me crashed into the other sounds of the restaurant. I needed the screech of the city to drown out everything but my racing heart. I just wanted to get away from everything. From everyone.

Leila Montgomery finally reclaims her backbone, then storms out of the room like a coward.

I didn’t let the tears fall until I got outside–where paparazzi were waiting, ready to immortalize the moment forever.

****

Jacob walked in and I didn’t even look up from my phone. My fingers had never gotten so much exercise. When Mom called, my thumb angrily hit ignore as I went back to my novel sized text to Megan, explaining how and why I wanted everyone to go straight to hell. Just as I was about to wrap it up, Alicia would call and I’d remember something I’d forgotten, a look or emphasis on some word that pushed me to the edge. And then Mom would call, again, and the cycle would start all over.

He walked over to the living room where I stood, catching my breath from pacing back and forth.

"I said, ‘Honey, I’m home!’."

He hadn’t, actually. It was clearly his attempt at a joke because without me saying a word, he knew something was up. It probably didn’t help that my arms weren’t wrapped around his neck, pulling him close like we hadn’t worked near each other for the past eight hours. Unless we carpooled, seeing each other after work was a reunion, something worthy of kisses and butt-grabbing.

I grunted, finally finishing the text I was composing with ‘ugh’ and sending it on its way. I dropped the phone onto the couch cushion a few feet away. It didn’t last very long in its new position because he picked it up and lowered himself in its place.

"So you holed up in the office all afternoon and shot out of the building like a rocket as soon as the clock hit 5pm. I take it brunch didn’t go well."

"How perceptive of you," I said bitingly. When I met his glare, I chewed on my lip and let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not especially." I avoided his gaze, knowing his eyes on me wouldn’t let the silence fly. I wasn’t ready to recap the disaster that unfolded at The Plum Cafe. There was no way to rehash it without finally doing the thing I’d been dreading.

Telling Jacob the whole truth.

I already knew how this would play out. He’d look at me, disappointment coloring his eyes as he asked what happened to Leila the Conqueror. And I wasn’t ready to answer that because it meant taking a hard look in the mirror. Wearing a truth I never thought I’d wear. Admitting that I was being a little bit cowardly.

How in the world was it easy for me to tell an international superstar to kiss my ass but I couldn’t tell my mother, future mother-in-law, heck, my future husband, what was in my heart?

But I couldn’t play dumb with myself. I knew exactly why. Those whispers of self doubt that I pretended to ignore festered. The closer I got to becoming Mrs. Jacob Whitmore and the more people scoffed, placing cyber bets on how long we’d last, the easier it was to let the doubts wrap around my heart. The doubts reminded me that I was so lucky that he picked me at all. He was one of the richest men alive. The fancy, ostentatious wedding was his birthright. I didn’t have much to give him–but I could give him a wedding fit for a billionaire.

I went to the kitchen, bypassing the bottle of wine that I really wanted and opted for a glass of water instead. "So if you haven’t seen them already, there are going to be some pictures of me doing the ugliest crying you’ve ever seen."

Finally. That was the real me pushing to the surface, because I knew there was no way he’d drop this if he knew it moved me to tears. The woman I knew I was didn’t give the fear a chance to laugh it off and pretend I was joking.

He was up, striding to the island where I stood. He took the glass of water from me and put it on the granite countertop with a click, then took my hands in his strong, sure ones. “What’s going on?”

I looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze because I was already open and raw and I didn’t want to cry again. I’d done more crying in the last two weeks than I’d done in my whole life.