The Billionaire Bride He Took for Granted novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Eat the Dinner

Simone eats the wedding dinner she paid for, sets the ring on Trenton's plate and tells his mother no, then sees that Krista's prank video is sponsored by her own anonymous grant.

I sat at the head table in my wedding dress and ate the salad.

I had chosen it myself, with the pear and the candied walnuts, and it was good.

One hundred and eighty people ate their salads too, and tried not to look at me.

Nan sat beside me with her cane hooked on the back of my chair.

"Eat," she said. "You're eating for two."

I stopped with the fork halfway up.

"I haven't told anyone."

"You haven't had a drink in three weeks, and you cried at a pet food commercial." Nan buttered her roll. "I ran a school for thirty years, Simone. I know."

"I was going to tell Trenton today."

"Well," Nan said. "He'll find out some other way."

She said it with so much satisfaction that I laughed, and a woman at the next table jumped.

I took off the ring then.

It was a pretty ring, a modest diamond Trenton had chosen after eight months of me not asking.

I set it on the empty plate in front of his empty chair.

Then I went on eating.

Trenton's mother found me before the entrée.

She crossed the ballroom in her silver dress with her hands out, and the people at the tables beside us went very quiet.

"Simone, honey," she said. "Let's go somewhere and talk."

"We can talk here."

"Don't make this bigger than it is." Her smile stayed in place. "It's a video. It's what young people do. Krista is practically his sister, and she's having a hard time."

"Everyone is having a hard time," I said.

"Trenton is a good boy. He'd never hurt you on purpose."

"He announced it on speaker in front of my family."

"Well, you didn't have to answer." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "Be a good sport, sweetheart. He'll come around by Monday. He always does. You know how he is about Krista."

I knew exactly how he was about Krista.

I had known for eight years.

"I know how he is," I said. "The chicken is getting cold."

She stared at me.

It was the first time in eight years I had not said yes to her, and neither of us knew what to do.

"Well, I'll tell him you said that," she said, and walked off with her chin up.

"She'll tell him you said it with a smile," Nan said. "I'd like that on a plate."

Miles stood at the edge of the room.

He did not eat and he did not sit.

When the entrée plates went out, he walked over and bent down beside my chair.

"Your phone," he said.

I had left it in the bridal suite, in a bag, off. I had not wanted to hear it.

He held out his own.

The video had been posted forty minutes ago.

It was called RUNAWAY GROOM PRANK ON MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING (she didn't cry!!).

Krista had put up the audio from the call, and a clip of me alone at the arch, looking at the doors.

Somebody had filmed it from the third row.

The counter under it said four hundred thousand views.

The comments were scrolling fast.

poor girl

this is so cruel

wait is that the real wedding??

OMG KRISTA

I watched myself on his screen.

I looked small and very straight, and I did not look like I was going to cry.

"Four hundred thousand," I said.

"It's climbing," Miles said. "Scroll to the description."

I did.

Below the title was a long paragraph of hashtags and thanks.

Then, in the last line, in small grey letters, it said: Powered by the Marchbanks Patron Fund Creator Grant.

I read it three times.

I had approved that grant myself, two years ago, on a Tuesday, in a meeting that lasted nine minutes.

Miles had put it in front of me with one page of numbers.

Krista Dunleavy, 2.4 million followers, equipment budget and living stipend.

I had signed it because Trenton had mentioned Krista was struggling.

I had signed it because I wanted Trenton to have one less thing to worry about.

"She's been filming my wedding on my money," I said.

"Yes."

"And the whole time, she's been calling it a lucky break."

"I haven't known how to put that more gently," Miles said.

He did not look away.

I handed him back his phone.

Beyond the dance floor, one hundred and eighty people were pretending to eat.

At the back of the room, a waiter stood very still with a tray, trying not to stare.

"Pull the numbers on all of it," I said. "Every grant, every loan, every line with his name or hers."

"Tonight?"

"Tomorrow morning," I said. "I want to read them sober. Tonight I'm going to finish my dinner."

Miles nodded once.

"I'll have a car at the door at ten," he said.

Then he stayed standing by my chair for the rest of the meal, and nobody came near me again.

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