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The Never Bride
Nile
“Grandfather, don’t you thinkthat’s a little old-fashioned?” I know my grandfather is anxious for the next generation of our Hanson family to be born, but hand-selecting a bride for me and having his lawyers draw up a marriage contract is a little over the top, even for my eccentric grandfather.
“Nile, you’re thirty-seven years old. You should’ve already had at least five children by now.”
“Just because you and grandma tried to single-handedly repopulate the earth by having ten kids doesn’t mean the rest of us need to take over that goal.”
“Yes, and how many of my twenty grandsons have given me a great-grandchild?”
And there it is the legendary Hanson guilt trip. As the oldest grandson, you would think I would be immune to his conniving ways.
I lean back into the soft Italian leather of my grandfather’s office chair. I might as well get comfortable. Who knows how long his rant will last.
“I’m not getting any younger, Nile, and neither are you. All you do is work. I never see you date anyone or do anything that doesn't involve work. How are you supposed to find a wife hiding in your office all day?”
I sit up straight in my chair, ready for a comeback, “Running the company takes up most of my time, especially since my father retired five years ago.” I hold back the smug tone that is dying to come out of my mouth, knowing I hit on my grandfather’s one weakness, his children and grandchildren.
He has been just as bad trying to get his children to retire as he’s been trying to get his grandchildren married with babies on the way.
He leans forward in his chair, pinning me with that stare that used to put the fear of God in all of his grandchildren when we were caught in one of our numerous schemes. Usually led by yours truly. Even as a grown man, that stare still sends shivers down my spine.
I miss those days when we didn’t have a care in the world, unlike now, where the weight of the company weighs heavily on my shoulders.
“And do you know why your father was able to retire when he did?” I don’t answer, knowing it’s pointless. “Because he got married and had three strapping boys who now run that company for him.”
I walked right into that one.
I have one last ace up my sleeve, “What about Drew and Tate?” It’s not my finest moment to throw my brothers under the bus, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Don’t worry. I have my eye on someone for each of them.” He waves his hand in the air, dismissing my final plea. “But my dear boy, as the oldest grandson, it’s your duty to show the rest of my yahoo grandsons it’s time to settle down and start families.”
“I’ve got the marriage contract right here.” He pats the document sitting in the middle of his desk. The one I didn’t even realize was right in front of me. “All you have to do is sign it, and it becomes a binding contract between you and the lovely Miss Lydia Simpson.”
As much as I love and respect my grandfather, there is no way I’m going to sign that contract. I’m getting ready to tell him that when his secretary interrupts us. “Mr. Hanson, Mr. Simpson is here with his daughter.”
“Send them in right away, Charlotte.” Charlotte nods, rushing out of the room to do my grandfather’s bidding. “Such a sweet girl. If I already didn’t have Miss Simpson picked out for you, I might have chosen her as your bride.”
He’s right, Charlotte is a sweet girl, but she’s not my type. My type would have curvy hips, something I could hold onto while she’s riding me.
“George.” My grandfather stands. I reluctantly follow his lead, standing to greet our guests and politely decline his daughter’s hand in marriage.
I turn around and come face to the woman of my dreams. She’s lush and curvy in all the right places. And her face, her facescreams of a mixture of innocence and seduction. Those plump lips alone could bring a man to his knees. Throw in her wide hips and large breasts, and I'm a goner.
Shit, I sound like a caveman, claiming a woman I don't even know. What's next? Am I going to pee on her and mark my territory?
When I gaze into her big brown eyes staring back at me, her eyes widen, and her nostrils flare, and I know she feels it, too. This silent connection pulsing through our bodies. She's the other half of my soul. The one I've waited a lifetime for and there is nothing that will ever tear us apart.
“Johnathan,” Mr. Simpson replies, “I’d like you to meet my daughter,”
My body acts before my mind has a chance to catch up. I spin back to my grandfather’s desk, slashing my signature across the marriage contract. “I’ll marry her.” I say at the same time Mr. Simpson says, “Shae.” He puts his hands on my Goddess before moving to the young woman standing on his other side. The one I didn’t even notice once my eyes landed on Shae’s. “And, of course, the lucky bride-to-be, Lydia.” He places his arm around the woman on his right side and pulls her in for a side hug.
My eyes snap to my Goddess, and my heart drops.
What have I done?
I’m not the reckless one. That’s Tate. I’m a methodical planner who never acts irrationally. But once I saw Shae, I knew she was mine, and I would do anything to have her, even sign that stupid contract.
