Page 1 of The Marriage Bid
Chapter 1
Saffron
In thirty minutes, I will be on the auction block, and I haven’t come up with a plan to get out of a marriage with an old man a couple of years away from his grave. I’ve thought of everything from running out of the country to out of life itself. The first was impossible because I do not have the money to live in hiding. And the second was not viable, because as much as my life sucked at the moment, I liked living in general.
So here I was, drinking champagne that had no reason to taste so good, standing at the edge of a tacky gold and white ballroom, wondering which old man was going to be my husband. I wasn’t alone in this endeavor. Plenty of women were mingling with the rich old men. The ballroom was equal parts male boomers in tuxedos and twenty-something women in pastel evening gowns that looked a lot like prom dresses. Or was that the intention? Olga, the madame who arranges these marriage auctions, hadn’t given me a choice in the matter, and I must assume the other women too. My lavender gown, with its dipped neckline and almost sheer material, especially under harsh lighting, made me appear younger than my twenty-five years. Paired with the makeup the function's assigned makeup artist did before I entered the ballroom, I looked like aseventeen-year-old. A fact that made me balk when I stared back at myself in the mirror. Barf.
The only woman not wearing a juvenile-style gown was Olga, who was gliding around the room in a midnight blue dress that showcased her substantial bosom. She flashed her too-white veneers as she spoke to one of her clients, a man I was sure was my father’s business friend. How did she live with herself, I wondered? Arranging what was short of forced prostitution. Olga didn’t seem bothered as she laughed at what I felt certain was a bland joke, slapping the man’s arm as her brow struggled to wrinkle through the Botox that puffed up her face.
Her gaze clashed with mine, and a few seconds later, she was leaving the man and making her way to the champagne fountain next to me. Great. I hoped it was only to grab a glass, but her gaze focused on me as she swayed her hips, her raven curls bobbing as she made her way to me.
“Saffron.” She spoke with a distinct Eastern European accent, dragging the ‘ff’ and ‘r’ in my name. Her low-pitched tone and deliberate way of speaking were what I expected a brothel madame to sound like. “Why are you alone? You should be mingling.”
I gave her a tight smile. “I’ve already mingled, thanks.”
“Hmm…” Olga raised her thick eyebrows. “Your father wants what’s best for you, and I promise you all the men here have been vetted personally,” she emphasized the last word by tapping her chest, “by me. You have nothing to worry about. Look around and see who appeals to you.”
I scoffed. “You can make it sound like I have a choice in the matter.”
Olga tilted her head to the side. “It may not seem like it, but trust me, if you make a man like you, you can decide your fate just as easily.”
“Cattle have a choice when they’re being auctioned? That’s news to me.”
“Saffron. You’re not cattle. And this is not a Texas ranch auction. Most women usually get one bidder, and that’s because everyone here would have agreed on who they want before the auction starts.”
“Is that what you tell all the women here?” I gestured with my wineglass to the ballroom.
It was her turn to smirk. “All these women begged me to be here. They would have sold a kidney if they could. If you blend with the wall and become invisible, you might end up with someone you do not like. You’re a model. Aren’t you people better at showing off your goods? You don’t want to be the only woman to leave here without a husband, do you?”
I gave her my best fake smile. “I’ll try my best.”
She was not fooled. Olga tapped my shoulder and swayed back into the crowd. I took another swig of the champagne. A shot of Dutch courage. The crop of potential husbands wasn’t so bad if slimy older men didn’t bother you. A few were south of fifty and didn’t look like they were about to crawl into their deathbeds.
One was even, dare I say, handsome. But I wasn’t looking for a young man. I was hoping for an old and frail husband, preferably with a couple of years to live. And one had caught my eye—a jovial man who liked to throw a lame joke into almost every conversation he had with me. He was older than my father, and he had a persistent cough that sounded more like a chronic illness than your regular flu. With his pale and frail leathery skin, Dennis had a net worth large enough to satisfy my father, and at least he didn’t leer at my boobs when we spoke. He reminded me of my own fun grandfather, a thought I didn’t want to dwell on, but marriage with him might not end up being dull.He made it clear that he was looking for a companion in his final years, and as a result, he was a hit with most of the women here.
If he couldn’t bid for me, my hopes were on the second most likely—a silver fox named Larry, who had flirted with me most of the evening. A bevy of women currently swarmed him as he tried to give them all equal attention. Yeah, getting him to like me was going to be tough. He had choice, unlike the other men.
Did I want someone like him or someone who would die and leave me to be free to do whatever I wanted a few years after they were gone? With Dennis, that was likely, and with Larry, who knows what his true personality was? What if his niceties were a front? If he could get women so easily, what was he doing here?
The doors to the ballroom suddenly opened, bringing a draft of cool air and a man who immediately caught my attention. I gasped. The wineglass in my hand slipped, startling the server a few feet away and a few other people in the vicinity. But I didn’t care about all of that. What washedoing here? If Larry didn’t have to be here,hecertainly didn’t. First of all, he was too young, and even though I hated to admit it, he was too handsome. Tyler Hawthorne did not belong at such a sorry party as this. My gaze trailed him as he strolled past, hands thrust deep in his tuxedo pockets, marching like a king amongst his subjects. His cool, unaffected demeanor made my heart race as it always did whenever I was in his presence.
I leaned on the table next to me, and my hand brushed a couple of champagne glasses that fell to the floor. He enters the room, and I immediately turn into the clumsy teenager who had a crush on him.
The minute she saw him, Olga rushed over to him and began talking to him. Her hand gestured to the women in the room. A few, realizing there was a younger, more handsome catch, were already darting their hungry gazes at him. Tyler scanned the room, his expression blank, giving nothing away. My hearthammered against my chest, hoping he would not notice me. I was never self-conscious about my height, barring a few exceptions, and tonight was one of those rare times. In four-inch heels, I could not dwarf myself no matter how hard I tried. He glanced in my direction, and I bent down to help the waiter, who was cleaning up the mess I had caused. No matter what happens, Tyler should not know I am here. He would laugh if he were to find out how far I had fallen.
And what the fuck was he doing here?
I never got a chance to wonder for too long, because at that moment a gong rang, and Olga announced it was time for the women to leave the ballroom. The auction was about to start. We all rushed to what I was calling the backstage area. It was another room almost as big as the ballroom that Olga’s organizers had turned into a makeup and changing room. Since I was closest, I was first to enter, but soon the bevy of women rushed through, all excitedly chatting.
“You did not see him,” said one girl in a thick French accent I had seen on the modeling circuit before. “He came in just now,” she said to the two other women who were following behind her. “He is the man you want; trust me.”
“Because he’s handsome?” said her friend.
“Because he is rich. Richer than all of them here, trust me. He is Tyler Hawthorne. Yes. That Hawthorne.”
The other two women gasped. They can have him. I would rather marry cancer-ridden Dennis than Tyler. I mean, why would I want to be with a man who thought I was nothing but legs and tits? The day he said it to me flashed in my mind without me meaning to. We were at his brother’s birthday party—Levi’s twenty-first party. I was a teenager and acted like a fool trying to get his attention and failing. When I finally got it, though…
I willed the memory away and focused on the present. The auction was about to start. Olga’s people had white sashes with numbers on them, asking the participants to wear them. One woman dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans approached me and waved a sash with the number seventeen in my face. I stooped so she could put it on me; I was too tall for her, my hands shaking as I did so. This was it. I was going to marry an old man to save my father’s business.
