Page 181 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“On the contrary,” he says, stalking toward me. “It’s excellent business. Everyone’s here, the arrangements are made, the officiant is standing by. Let’s have the help collect a few scattered flower petals and proceed.”
“We should discuss this privately, Father.”
“Nonsense. Time to salvage the day. Make your announcement, Bryce.”
Checkmate.
No. There must be a way out of this.
I glance at the disaster—overturned chairs, petals like snowdrifts—and then at Petra.
She’s watching me with those unreadable hazel-green eyes. The kind of expression she’ll weaponize in a courtroom someday.What would she do in this situation?
Answer: Find the weakness and attack the foundation.
“The wedding won’t be legally binding without proper documentation. We’d need licenses, witnesses, official—”
He dismisses my concern with a wave. “We can handle the paperwork tomorrow. This is the celebration. The fun part.”
Right. Nothing says “fun” like forced marriage.
He rotates toward the crowd with fluid confidence. “We all came here to witness a wedding, didn’t we?”
The billionaires nod in agreement. Murmurs of approval ripple amongst designer gowns and thousand-dollar suits.
“Absolutely,” someone calls out.
“Quite right,” echoes another voice.
With a nod from my father, Amanda rises with practiced grace as he guides her into the aisle. Her rose-gold gown shimmers with every step, and her honey-blonde hair is gathered in a graceful updo.
“Then let’s have a wedding!” he declares.
Polite applause fills the tent. Amanda’s cornflower-blue eyes find mine, and I see resignation cloaked in pageant polish. As if pulled bygravity, my gaze shifts.
Everything fades except Petra, standing by the wreckage she caused. Her mouth is a tight line, her lip quivers, and then, with one slow blink, a tear escapes.
I feel a sudden crack in my chest. A fracture that finally splits wide open.
“Mr. Sterling,” Nigel whispers at my side. “Is this… what you truly want?”
No. God, no.
But I nod. Just once.
“Yes,” I say. “Please arrange a few things for me.”
I bend close to the butler, detailing what needs to happen. When I straighten, there’s unmistakable pity swimming in his weathered eyes.
“Of course, sir.”
The staff moves like shadows, resetting chairs, smoothing linens, and brushing away the mess like it never happened. Likeshenever happened.
I take my last breath of freedom and face the crowd.Time to lie through my teeth.
“Many of you are probably thinking this feels rushed, but I assure you it isn’t. I’ve been wrestling with this decision for a long time.”
My fingers fumble in my jacket pocket then hone in on the velvet box. “My father drilled into me that real men don’t play make-believe; they step up and take responsibility. He was right. It’s time I stop making excuses and start being the man I’m meant to be.”
