Page 11

"My darling daughter. It's so good to have you home again," he says and draws me in for a tight hug. It's not like he hasn't seen me in forever. He comes to the bakery at least once a month, and we have lunch together.

But now the man is in his element. His daughter, his only daughter, is going to be married to a man of his choice, and he expects grandbabies to be on the way soon as well. There will be no grandbabies in this scenario, but I let him believe what he wants.

The Montgomery family has this really outdated tradition where the patriarchs choose their daughters' grooms based on their pedigree, as if we couldn't choose our own husbands.

It's a thing, and my father is a stickler for tradition. Aunt Louise had been the first to break away from the tradition, opting to leave the family and all its money to live freely and independently. I wanted to do the same, and the deal I made with my father was that as long as the bakery made me money, he would let me be.

Now I stand to lose my bakery to those three obscenely rich and good-looking men—I mean, those utter bastards. I can start again elsewhere, but I can't bear the thought of Mr. Almaty having to do the same at his age. He just wants to live out the rest of his days in the town named after his wife. Was that really too much to ask for? Cold-hearted bastards, I think again.

My plan is this: When I get married to the man of my father's choosing, I inherit the trust fund my grandmother left me. I've heard it's worth several hundred million from my gran herself, so it'll do just fine.

I'm then going to buy the block of shops from Mr. Almaty, thereby securing his future. He can live there rent-free forever. And since I'm the new owner of the block, those dastardly gorgeous, arrogant beasts won't be able to bully me out of selling. I simply won't, no matter what scare tactics they use on me. Mr. Almaty is protected. Darling Rose is safe, and my bakery will stand.

Except I have to get married. I have no idea who my father has in mind, but he's very excited. My plan there, too, is to be such a bad wife; the man will divorce me a week after being married to me.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do, daughter?"

No, I think silently. What I want is several hundred million dollars, which my father doesn't have, which means the only way I can land that kind of money is to marry.

"Yes," I say as enthusiastically as I can. I don't tell my father about my plans for my trust fund. He'll try to talk me out of it and will just end up wasting more time. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"All right, then. Let's put the Montgomeries right back on the map."

I wish he wouldn't say that, but at least he moves fast, probably because he thinks I'm going to change my mind.

I spend the rest of the day at Montgomery House playing with the dogs while my father picks out a husband for me, and he gets the lawyers to transfer my trust fund to me.

He's been holed up in his office for the most part before he left the house with a bounce in his step. I don't even want to know who's going to be my husband.

And then it happens.

I take a shower in my old bedroom and wear one of the formal dresses still hanging in my closet. By the time I come down for dinner, the family lawyer arrives with details of my trust fund, and my father is ready to divulge the name of the man he has chosen for me to marry.

Here I go.

Actually, I don't go anywhere.

I sit in horror as the lawyer with his nasally voice informs me that my trust fund is worth one hundred thousand dollars and sixty-eight cents. Apparently, my grandmother inconveniently added a few extra zeroes to the sum of my trust fund.

One hundred thousand dollars and sixty-eight cents. Not one hundred million dollars and sixty-eight cents.

And because my father is my father, he kicks me right in the ribs while I'm ninety-nine million nine hundred thousand dollars down when he announces who I will be marrying.

Oh no, he didn't. How could he possibly know? How can this be?

No. Just no. Not even over my dead baked body.

Chapter Ten

––––––––

Tia

––––––––

I'm so angry I can't see straight.

My entire world has come crumbling down on me, and it's all their fault. By the time I swerve into the driveway of their palatial home, I've added shaking with fury to my list of physiological attacks.