Page 35 of Marry Me Tomorrow

“You didn’t mention any guests, Mom,” Trent says, his tone careful.

“Well, they’re not really guests,” she replies, her voice turning evasive. “It’s just one person, and he’s family, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Trent stops walking, his expression hardening. “Mom, who is it?”

Mrs. Hughes hesitates, wringing her hands. “Now, don’t be upset . . .”

“You’re not making it easy not to be upset,” Trent says. “Just tell me, please—for Jenny’s sake.”

She sighs, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s your grandfather.”

The air seems to thicken around us. Trent freezes, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenches his fist.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Mom says, turning into the house.

Reaching out, I gently take his fist in both of my hands, prying his fingers open and lacing mine through his. “Trent,” I say softly, trying to meet his eyes, “why are you upset your grandfather is here?”

He exhales sharply, his tension easing slightly under my touch. “It’s not that,” he says. “I love spending time with my grandfather. It’s just that this is the grandfather—the one with the marriage stipulation. I’d be devastated if he somehow found out that I created a kind of loophole to get the marina by arranging a marriage with you. I wish Mom would’ve let us know he were coming, and then we wouldn’t have to walk in here unprepared.”

“She doesn’t know about our agreement,” I remind him. “And this isn’t the first time you and I have had to reassure people about our marriage.”

“You’re right,” Trent says. “It’s just that he’s one of the people I love and respect the most.”

“We can handle anything he asks about our relationship. I promise.”

Trent studies me for a long moment before nodding. “We can do this.”

Smiling, I squeeze his hand. “I know we can.”

Together, we head toward the house, the glow from the windows casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. I steel myself for whatever awaits inside.

When Trent and I enter the dining room, an older man is sitting at the head of the table. For a moment, I could swear I am looking at an older version of Trent—same strong jawline, same air of quiet confidence. His white-blond hair, softened to the color of sun-bleached straw, frames a face carved with the lines of a life well-lived. A neatly trimmed beard of the same pale shade hugs his jaw, and when his gaze lifts to meet mine, his gray-blue eyes—clear and sharp despite their age—hold me steady. There is a warmth in that look, a kindness that softens the firm set of his shoulders and the roughness of his weathered hands resting on the table’s edge. “Samson,” Mrs. Hughes says to him warmly, “this is Jenny, Trent’s fiancée—the lady I was telling you about. Jenny, this is Trent’s grandfather Samson.”

Samson’s bright eyes sweep over me, his expression warm. “Fiancée, huh?” he says. “Who would’ve thought Trent would finally find someone. And not a moment too soon either.” He gestures toward me, “Come here, then. Let me get a good look at you.”

I let go of Trent’s hand and step forward, my heartbeat quickening. Samson stands and extends his hand for a formal shake. I wave it off with a smile and pull him into a hug instead. “It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, keeping my voice light and sincere. “Trent has said only wonderful things about you.”

He stiffens in surprise, clearly not expecting the hug. But when we pull back, he has a soft smile on his face. “I like her,” he says to everyone in the room. “But I can’t help but wonder how this engagement came about a little . . . suddenly.”

“Samson,” Mrs. Hughes interjects gently, but Samson waves her off with a slight shake of his head.

“It’s not every day a man like Trent, not interested in dating, goes from single to engaged in the blink of an eye,” Samson continues, his gaze settling back on me. “And call me old-fashioned, but I’ve seen my fair share of impulsive decisions fall apart under careful scrutiny. I hope the timing of this engagement doesn’t have anything to do with the marina.”

Trent steps beside me and grabs my hand. “It doesn’t,” he says. “I know our relationship came about suddenly, but we’re happy together.”

“When you meet the right person,” I say sweetly, squeezing Trent’s hand, “you don’t second-guess it.”

“Of course,” Samson says, “if you two are happy, then I’m happy. But how you managed to rein him in in such a short time is perplexing to me.”

I glance up at Trent with a soft smile. “Trent didn’t need any reining in. He’s such a sweet and loving person. And he shows that to me. He has such passion for your marina, too. And I have to say—it’s gorgeous. You couldn’t have picked a better spot on the lake for the lodge and marina. The views are breathtaking, and the whole place feels so thoughtfully designed. You must have had such a wonderful vision for it. I’d love to pick your brain later—I’m an artist, and I love learning how others see the world.”

Samson’s brows lift slightly in surprise and we all take our seats at the table.

The meal Mrs. Hughes prepared is as exquisite as it is abundant—each bite more flavorful than the last. The conversation remains polite, but I can feel Samson’s watchful gaze on Trent and me, his unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Leaning back slightly, I listen as Mrs. Hughes speaks. “Edmund and I are so excited for Trent to fully take ownership of the marina soon,” she says, her voice brimming with pride.

“I can’t wait to pass the marina on to Trent either,” Samson says, “but he’s not married yet. We still have a few days before that happens, right?” Samson laughs.

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