The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 411

Mia's POV

Madison stayed close to my side. Her hand found mine. Her palm was warm. Slightly damp.

"It's very fancy," she whispered.

"Very fancy," I agreed.

"Are we fancy enough to be here?"

Are we fancy enough to be here?

That's a question.

The venue looked like someone had taken a page from Architectural Digest and decided money was no object whatsoever.

No. Scratch that.

It looked like someone had taken several pages from Architectural Digest, hired the ten most expensive wedding planners in Manhattan, and told them the budget was "yes."

The gardens were geometric. Perfect. Like someone had taken a ruler to nature and told it to behave.

White marble columns rose from the lawn like ancient Greek ruins that had been scrubbed clean and relocated to upstate New York.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the trees. Each one caught the afternoon light and threw it back in a thousand directions. White silk draped between columns. The fabric moved in the breeze like it was breathing. Expensive breathing.

Roses. Everywhere. These were the size of my fist. Cream colored. Some pale pink. Arranged in clusters that looked effortless but probably required three florists and a degree in art history.

The chairs were gilt. Real gilt. Not spray paint. I could tell by the way the light caught the edges. That particular shimmer that came from actual gold.

I stopped walking.

Just stood there.

Staring.

"Jesus," I said.

"Close your mouth," Scarlett said beside me. Her voice was amused. "You look like a tourist."

"I feel like a tourist."

Scarlett's arm was still linked through mine. She leaned closer. Her voice dropped to that particular pitch. The one she used when she was about to say something good.

"Wait until you see the reception tent."

"There's a tent?"

"There are three tents. One for dinner. One for dancing. One for the after-party that only two hundred people get invited to."

"How many people are at this wedding?"

"Five hundred."

I stopped walking. Turned to look at her. "Five hundred people?"

"Morton's family doesn't do small." She tugged my arm gently. Getting me moving again. "Remember our wedding? That was small by their standards."

I did remember. Three hundred guests. A string quartet. Dinner that cost more per plate than most people spent on groceries in a month.

"This makes that look like a backyard barbecue," I said.

Morton appeared on Scarlett's other side. His hands were in his pockets. He was looking at the venue with an expression that was hard to read. Not impressed exactly. More like resigned.

"Your family does not mess around," I said to him.

"No. They don't."

"This makes your wedding look modest."

"That was the idea at the time."

Scarlett's hand found his. Their fingers laced together without either of them looking down.

Alexander was already running ahead. His small body weaving between guests. His clip-on tie had come loose. It dangled from his collar at a jaunty angle.

"Alexander!" I called. "Slow down!"

We moved down the stone pathway. My heels caught slightly on the gravel. I should have worn different shoes. These were too high. Too narrow. The kind of shoes that looked good but felt like punishment.

Alexander and Ethan were ahead of us. Morton had them. One hand on each shoulder. Steering them away from a fountain where water arced in perfect spirals. Probably very expensive water. Imported from somewhere with a French name.

"Don't touch," Morton was saying. Patient. "The decorator spent six hours getting that spray pattern right."

"It's just water," Alexander said.

"It's twelve thousand dollars worth of fountain rentals and labor."

Alexander's head whipped around so fast I heard his neck crack. "For water?"

"For the specific pattern of water."

"That's stupid."

"That's weddings."

Ethan was studying the fountain with that look. The one he got when he was calculating something. "If the rental is twelve thousand and they only use it for six hours, that's two thousand dollars per hour. Or about thirty-three dollars per minute."

We reached the seating area. White chairs arranged in perfect rows. An aisle down the middle covered in rose petals. Not scattered. Arranged. In some kind of pattern that probably had meaning.

"Row seven," Scarlett said. Checking a small card she'd pulled from her clutch. "Left side."

We moved down the aisle. People were already seated. Women in dresses that cost more than my monthly mortgage. Men in suits that fit like they'd been sewn directly onto their bodies.

I kept my face neutral. My shoulders back.

Madison's hand squeezed mine. Tighter.

"It's okay," I whispered.

She nodded. Didn't let go.

We found row seven. Morton gestured for us to file in. Scarlett first. Then me. Then Madison. Then the boys.

Morton took the aisle seat. His long legs stretched out slightly. Even sitting, he took up space.

"Comfortable?" Scarlett asked him.

"As comfortable as I can be watching my baby brother make the same mistakes I did."

"After all this time," Scarlett confirmed. Her voice was gleeful. "Four years."

"And now he's marrying Grace anyway?"

"Yep."

"That's—" I stopped. Laughed. Couldn't help it.

"Wait, there's more." Scarlett leaned in. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's pregnant."

"Grace?"

"Grace."

"How pregnant?"

"Four months? Maybe five? I'm not sure. But definitely showing."

I looked around. Trying to spot the bride. "So they're actually happy? This isn't just—"

"No, apparently they're genuinely happy. Morton says his brother is completely smitten. Has been since they reconnected about a year ago." She paused.

"Which was the arranged marriage wife?"

"Which was the arranged marriage wife."

I shook my head. "Looks like Morton's brother takes after Morton. Both of them ending up with their arranged marriage wives."

Morton, who had been standing a few feet away pretending not to listen, turned to look at me. His face was carefully blank. But his eyes had that look. The one that said he knew exactly what I was implying.

"Are you done?" he asked.

"No," I said cheerfully. "I'm just getting started."

"Mia—"

"Tell me, Morton. Is falling in love with your arranged marriage wife a genetic thing? Does it run in the family? Should we warn Alexander—my Alexander—that he needs to be careful?"

Scarlett was trying not to laugh. Her champagne glass pressed against her lips to hide the smile.

"You're hilarious," Morton said flatly.

"I know."

"Have you considered a career in comedy?"

"Every day."

He shook his head. But his mouth was doing something. Not quite a smile. But close.

A hand touched my shoulder.

I turned.

And there was Nate.

He looked—good. Better than the last time I'd seen him. His skin had color. His eyes were clear. He wore a dark suit that fit him well. His hair was cut shorter than I remembered.

"Nate!"