Chapter 10

“You’re getting married. We’ve chosen the man for you.”

Mom’s announcement has the effect of a sudden plunge into the frigid waters of the Arctic Ocean.

We’re sitting in my parents’ living room, freshly redecorated with white Calacatta marble imported from Italy, the third renovation my parents have done in the last five years.

Heaven forbid they have decor that is older than a few years.

“What?” I don’t know why I’m surprised they didn’t involve me in the process. So typical of them.

“Honey, you knew this was going to happen eventually. And with your condition…” She trails off, eyeing pointedly at my stomach.

“What? Because my biological clock is running out, I’m losing value to you guys soon? Marry me off while you can still barter for something?”

I stand up and fist my hands to my sides. Nope. Not today. New and improved Belle will rather beg on the streets than follow suit.

“Sit back down, Annabelle.” Dad finally looks up from his phone—he’s no doubt texting one of his mistresses, judging from his slimy smile earlier. “We have indulged you long enough. Because of your privilege, you have—”

“A roof over my head, a fine education, more money than I’ll ever need, a cushy job,” I tick off his usual items with my fingers. “What else are you going to say? Because I have the unfortunate luck of being born to the two of you, I don’t have a say in my life?” I shake my head vehemently. “I don’t think so.” Not anymore. I’m in the driver’s seat .

While it has only been a few months, if there’s something the year of yeses concept has taught me, it’s that I have agency in my life. I get to make those choices—good ones or bad ones—for myself.

Images of slate-gray eyes and sexy dimples float to my consciousness and I shove the thoughts of him away, even though Silas has occupied my mind far too often in the last month since that magical night between us, after which he disappeared—a phantom or a hallucination. I tried searching for him online, but the first name of Silas was too common and without a last name, it was impossible to find him.

“What about McKenzie Atelier? Don’t you care about your grandpa’s legacy?” Dad glares at me.

“Of course I do. Why do you think I work so hard?”

“Well then, this marriage will bring more business to the company.”

I cock my brow. “I’m not going to get married just to bring in more business. That’s ridiculous.”

My parents glance at each other, and something about the way they are fidgeting is getting my hackles up.

I narrow my eyes. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”

Silence. Crap. This has to be bad.

“I won’t entertain the idea of getting married unless you guys tell me the truth.” I cross my arms and sit back. The ball is in their court.

Mom clears her throat and sighs. “Look honey, we’ve made a few bad investments over the years and the truth is, we’re broke.”

“How are you broke?” I look at the spacious apartment decorated with new wallpaper, new lamps, new everything, then at the expensive jewels on my mom’s fingers. “Don’t lie. And you can sell your things if you’re so hard up on cash. What does this have to do with the company?”

More furtive glances and my blood boils in my veins.

“I…I may have taken out funds from our corporate accounts,” Dad mutters, his face reddening, finally looking ashamed. “The corporate loans we have at McKenzie Atelier are due soon, and we simply don’t have the cash for them. The investments were supposed to pay off. They were supposed to—”

“ You embezzled from the company? How could you? It’s Grandpa’s legacy! When were you planning to tell me this?”

I think back to the man who taught me how to sketch designs on paper, cut patterns for my own creations, sew on a sewing machine, the man who died when I was sixteen and I’ve been left alone and adrift ever since.

This company meant everything to him…and to me.

“Well, we’re telling you now. And you want to have a family, right? You want children? I know we talked about IVF and egg freezing before, but with our finances, that isn’t an option anymore. Not to mention, you’ve never reacted well to hormonal medication,” Mom begins, her brown eyes softening as she tugs my hand. “Sit down, honey. Let me explain. This isn’t as bad as you think.”

Reeling from the revelations, I take a seat.

“Look, the family you’ll be married into is well-connected, well educated, a fine family.”

“Rich, no doubt.” I snort.

She ignores me. “They need an heir and want to enter the fashion industry. We need their money. Like you, we want to keep your grandpa’s legacy alive. After all, few companies can compete with the top fashion houses in the world.”

I don’t look at her, and she clearly takes that as a positive sign. “I know you want children of your own and you don’t have a boyfriend or anyone you’re interested in. Your fiancé is a good man, well respected.”

Nausea bubbles up inside me. Fiancé. I haven’t even agreed to marry him yet.

Mom continues, “You just need to be married to him for a minimum of one year and give him an heir. I’m sure he won’t mind IVF or something like that. He’ll provide the funds for our company and afterward, if things don’t work out between the two of you, you can amicably divorce. ”

She squeezes my hand, her tone softening. “I know how hard it is to get the diagnosis of DOR. And if you end up getting pregnant, isn’t it fate then? For you to become a mom? Isn’t that what you want?”

Tears burn in the back of my eyes and I look up, finding her lips wobbling slightly in an uncharacteristic display of emotions. For a moment, I wonder if she too went through something similar when she left Hong Kong and her modeling career behind to marry my dad.

Thinking back, I don’t think my parents were ever in love. My dad is a womanizer and Mom spends more time socializing and indulging in spa treatments than at home. They live separate lives.

But now, as she’s looking at me, I see a glimmer of maternal love, that somehow, in her mind, she really believes she’s doing this for my own good, and not just to save my grandfather’s legacy.

I swallow the lump in my throat and murmur, “Who’s the family?”

“The Andersons.”

My head snaps up, my eyes widening at the name of the most influential family in New York. They’re the family tied to my best friends, since Grace and Taylor recently found out they are half-Andersons from their dad’s side and Millie is head over heels in love with Ryland, the second son of the family. I’ve met most of the Anderson siblings before.

“Fleur Entertainment’s Andersons?” I ask, straightening up. I do like them. They are good people. It feels weird to be considering this like a business transaction, but the nausea in my gut settles a bit.

Mom smiles, as if knowing what I’m thinking. “Now you understand? We know you know them, and we aren’t lying. This is a good match.”

“Which brother am I supposed to be marrying? Not Ryland, since he’s attached to Millie.”

More thoughts of a dark-haired man in a leather jacket flash in my mind and a dull pain twists behind my rib cage.

It was a beautiful dream. A haunting, romantic dream. Darn it, why am I still thinking of Silas ?

“Maxwell, the eldest. I know he has some press issues recently, but I’ve been reassured by Linus what they are reporting isn’t true. He isn’t crazy,” Dad comments, and goes back to scrolling his phone like he’s talking about the weather and not about marrying his only daughter off for money and connections.

“Crazy? I haven’t followed the news.” What crazy? The girls never told me about Maxwell being crazy.

While I’ve met the Andersons a few times in social settings, I’ve never met the eldest brother. He’s a known recluse, always ducking out of most public events except for the famous Christmas Ball at The Orchid. It was said he’d grace the crowd with his presence for the bare minimum of one hour before leaving, and photographers were strictly forbidden to take photos of him there.

But still, he’s an Anderson.

I think about Ryland, who, with his wry humor, seems to treat Millie like the most precious person in the world. Rex, who flirts with anyone with a vagina, but is always kind, and Ethan, the serious one who doesn’t talk much, but is always there to be a listening ear, and Lana, the stylish older sister I never had.

Not to mention, ever since Grace and Taylor learned about their relationship with the Andersons, they’ve gotten to know their half-siblings very well and cannot sing their praises enough.

He can’t be that bad, right?

“Honey,” Mom says, “this is a good thing for you. Think about it. Your grandpa’s legacy. Having a baby—time is running out.”

A lump forms in my throat and I feel a tug in my heart.

“Belle, time is of the essence. Maxwell wants to meet you in a few weeks and we shouldn’t keep him wait—”

“Albert, let the girl breathe. This isn’t a new car purchase we’re talking about.” Mom snatches Dad’s phone from his hand, and he rolls his eyes and harrumphs.

“Fine.” He glances at me and murmurs, “We know we’re asking a lot of you, but I trust you’ll make a rational decision. And don’t think I haven’t heard from Gordon how you’ve mucked up the first run through of the spring collection. Our numbers are dropping because the elite are choosing designs from the other fashion houses. An alliance with the Andersons will shift this narrative.”

Anger burns through my veins as I think back to the humiliating presentation yesterday, where Gordon Flair, my lecherous boss and the bane of my existence, berated me in front of the entire design department.

He rips my designs in half and I want to shrivel from embarrassment. The room erupts in snickers.

“Nepotism is alive and well!” Gordon sneers. “What trash is this? This is why McKenzie’s is failing, because of talentless people like you!”

“But you asked for these specifications in the design, I told you they were—”

“Excuses! Only the weak blame others for their failures.” Gordon leans in and pats my cheek—like I’m a toddler. Heat rushes to my face, and it takes everything in me not to give him a right hook. “Try again, princess.”

It was embarrassing and infuriating.

Dad leans forward, his eyes sharpening. “Belle, this is a win-win for everyone, and we’ll get to keep McKenzie Atelier afloat. I know you want that.”

I hate what he’s saying makes sense.