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Did I just say that again?
Panicking, I shove a small cucumber sandwich in my mouth before I say anything else I regret.
The food turns viscous, getting caught in the back of my throat because I’ve forgotten how to swallow. I try to suppress the impending coughs, tears brimming my eyes.
I want to shrink into a ball, but I violently hack instead.
This is what happens, isn’t it?
You speak your truth once, and then suddenly it’s death by cucumber sandwich.
“Are you alright, doll?” my father asks, but doesn’t look up to check if I’ve asphyxiated. I’m not as important as whatever is on his phone.
“Of course she’s fine, Ray.” My mother flashes me a look I wish resembled concern rather than annoyance. “You must be more careful. Remember, small bites.”
Vivian Greene is the epitome of kindness and cruelty all at once.
I compose myself and fight against the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Did you hear what I said?” I attempt.
My mother removes her sunglasses. “We’ve spoken about this, Molly.” Her amber eyes burn through me. “All the arrangements have been made for your wedding. You should be grateful the Bradburys overlooked yesterday’ssituationwith such grace.”
“Did they overlook their son’s activities with the staff?” I say. Vivian frowns.
“We have to be strategic,” she reaffirms.
Yeah. I’ve been figuring out how to strategize being around her my entire life.
It took two years of constant pleading for my mother to let me move into our empty Upper East Side townhouse. After that, I wasn’t around to play puppet at her random gatherings, and it was worth every attempt at compromise to no longer be a part of her matchmaking schemes.
Back then, I was thankful the Greene trust stated I had to be twenty-seven to get married, but that time has flown by.
Despite all my efforts to become the daughter they’ve always wanted—working a job that looks great on paper, getting a degree from Cornell, the family alma mater, wearing the clothes she curates for me, smiling at soirées, and askinghow high?when they say jump—it hasn’t been enough to escape being a pawn in their business proceedings.
“As much as I want to help with the expansion and get us the capital we need, I can’t.” I muster up the confidence to say it. “It so, unfortunately, happens that I’m in love with somebody else.”
I hand over the information to her like an opponent in a tennis match, patiently anticipating the next move.
“Not with the man from yesterday,” she states, not as a question, but as fact.
“Matthew Hudson is a successful entrepreneur.” I present my case. “He graduated summa cum laude from MIT, developed a technology that’s cleaning plastic out of the ocean, and makes generous philanthropic donations. He’s kind and a gentleman. I’m certain he could be an appropriate match for me.” I announce the achievements exactly how I practiced them this morning.
Matthew’s accolades list is long. He always lends a helping hand at the office. There’s the month he organized career days for undergrads from all the city schools to get introduced to sustainability. He also has an adorable sense of humor. His prime accomplishments should be enough to convince them he’s suitable for me.
“Molly, Lance is a phenomenal match for our family,” my mother asserts as she crosses her ankles, sending her knees to one side of her chair. “Besides, we already drafted the business plans for the Gold Coast expansion. Right, Ray?”
My father doesn’t respond.
This is how my parents can ignore all of Lance’s glaring red flags. The Bradburys are real estate developers who have been itching to climb their way up the social ladder. My family wants to expand our resorts to Australia, but they need capital. We may be billionaires, but most of our funds are tied up in investments and properties.
It’s simple. The Bradburys want status, and my family needs money. Our union would be mutually beneficial for everyone except me.
I’m just the icing on the cake—holding everyone together.
“Would it not be possible to expand without there being a marriage involved?” I suggest despite already knowing the answer.
“How many times have we had to tell you?” My mother flashes a frustrated look at my father, who still doesn’t notice. It’s always a curious dynamic, how little power she has in the resorts, but how much of her reign she exercises in keeping the family name strong. Dad is the only one here who decides what happens at On Cloud Nine. “Finding a new investor of this size would be impossible. The Bradburys are our best chance.”
