Page 34 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

ISAAC

I never thought I’d be the guy texting five different invitation vendors before noon on a Thursday. But here I was, sitting in the library of the Bancroft estate, a pile of sample wedding invites spread out around me like I was judging the semifinals of Stationery Idol .

“Too shiny,” I muttered, holding one up and snapping a photo to send to Mina. “This one looks like a metallic napkin.”

I sent the photo with a caption: Too disco?

Her response came back almost immediately: You say that like it’s a bad thing. But yeah. Next.

I chuckled and tossed the invite aside. My fiancée was recovering from surgery and I was neck-deep in vellum cardstock and font debates. Somewhere, the old Isaac Bancroft was clawing at the walls of my subconscious, begging me to stop this madness and go grab a whiskey.

But he could wait. Because Mina mattered more. We were moving full speed ahead with this wedding. With her laid up, I was the guy on the ground doing a lot of the legwork.

I picked up another sample—matte cream with a minimalist gold script. I stared at it, waiting for my revulsion to hit. It didn’t. It looked elegant. Classy. Like her.

I sent another pic. Top contender?

She took longer this time. Probably dozing. She was supposed to rest, and I told myself that even if she didn’t text back, I’d already decided this one was the winner. Or at least a finalist.

“I brought sustenance,” Kathy called out.

“And I brought more catalogs,” Marigold said right behind her.

The two had taken pity on me. Thankfully, with all the recent weddings in the family, there was no shortage of catalogs, swatches, and everything else that went along with wedding planning.

I looked up from the pile of invites to see Kathy and Marigold standing in the doorway, arms loaded with more catalogs, fabric swatches, and what looked like a tray of sandwiches.

Kathy was grinning like she’d just won the lottery, and Marigold had that determined look in her eye that usually meant I was about to be steamrolled by her enthusiasm.

“Sustenance?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as Kathy set the tray down on the table. “Is that code for ‘we’re about to drown you in wedding planning hell’?”

“Oh, hush,” Kathy said, waving a hand at me. “You’re lucky we’re here. Without us, you’d be stuck with metallic napkins and pink everything.”

“Mina likes pink,” I argued.

“A bride likes pale pink flowers, not pink everything else,” Marigold said with such authority I had to believe her.

Marigold plopped down in the chair across from me and started unloading her armful of catalogs. “You say that now, but wait until you see the options for table linens. It’s a minefield out there.”

“Table linens?” I repeated, feeling my brain start to short circuit. “Why do I need to care about table linens? Can’t we just pick a color and call it a day?” I finished, already dreading the answer.

Marigold gave me a look that could only be described as pitying. “Isaac, table linens set the tone for the entire reception. They’re not just tablecloths. They’re a statement. A vibe. A mood. Now, you said you guys didn’t want to be super traditional, right?”

“A mood,” I repeated flatly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Great. Just what I needed—more existential crises about fabric. I’m still dealing with these invitations.”

Kathy laughed, sliding a sandwich toward me. “Eat. You’ll need your strength for this.”

I took a bite, chewing slowly as Marigold began flipping through one of the catalogs with the precision of a surgeon. She stopped on a page and tapped it with her finger. “This one. Ivory with gold threading. Classic but modern. Mina would love it.”

I didn’t mention Marigold didn’t even know Mina.

I leaned over to look, squinting at the photo. “It looks like a tablecloth.”

“Exactly,” Marigold said, as if that settled it.

Kathy leaned in, studying the swatch. “It’s elegant without being stuffy. And it’ll pair beautifully with the peonies Mina wants.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Let me take a picture,” I said. “I’ll send it to Mina.”

“I have some of the swatches,” Marigold said and quickly flipped through a ring of fabric before she found the one she was looking for.

The next two hours felt like I had been given a taste of what hell might be like.

The women left me alone with the stacks of books surrounding me.

I checked the time and realized I was running late.

I promised Mina I would be there ten minutes ago.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Just as I was about to clean up the mess I’d made on the antique table, I heard a throat clear behind me.

I turned. My dad had walked into the room. There was an amused expression on his face. “Kathy said you were having a minor breakdown in here.”

I gestured toward the mess. “I don’t know about minor. Wedding invitations. Apparently, they can’t be basic. They can’t just invite people to the wedding.”

“Ah.” He picked up one of the rejects and frowned. “Is this one textured?”

“It feels like a lizard.”

He put it down and nodded. “I honestly never thought you would be the son to take on wedding planning. Your brothers all managed to avoid the dirty details. Me too. Kathy handled most of it.”

“Someone has to, while Mina recovers. Figured I’d knock a few things off the list.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m capable of ordering paper.”

He didn’t laugh, but there was a flicker in his eye. “I’m not shocked you can do it, Isaac. I’m shocked you want to.”

I shrugged. “It’s my wedding, too. She needs to rest and neither of us wants to postpone the wedding, so I’m busting ass trying to figure this stuff out.”

I looked back down at the neat little pile of samples I’d sorted into the “good enough for my future wife” pile. “I want this to be easy for her. She’s healing. It’s the least I can do.”

Dad walked over and sat across from me. “You’ve already fallen for her,” he said, no judgment, just matter of fact.

My mouth opened. Closed. Then I gave a half-laugh, half-scoff. “Does it matter if I have?”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“You were the one who told me this marriage was expected. I made it happen.”

He looked at me steadily. “And then it became something more.”

I didn’t say anything. Mostly because I didn’t know how to explain the feeling of being flipped inside out every time Mina smiled at me, or how my chest felt too tight when she winced in pain, or how I didn’t want to imagine a life that didn’t include her anymore.

Instead, I grabbed a couple of the samples I liked best and stood.

“I’m taking these to her.”

Dad didn’t stop me. Just nodded once. I didn’t know why I felt like I had to let him believe I was only marrying the woman because he had told me to. It was weird, but I felt like that was mine. Obviously, everyone knew I was crazy about her, but I didn’t want to admit it to my father.

I collected the swatches and various samples and headed out of my father’s house.

I drove through the gate at the Duvall estate and took a minute to see it with fresh eyes.

The place was too pristine. Too perfect.

It always made me feel like I should be wearing something more regal than dark jeans and a button-down, but Mina didn’t care about any of that.

This was her home and where she wanted to have our wedding.

Margot answered the door. “Mr. Bancroft,” she said with a nod.

“Margot, please call me Isaac,” I said.

“She’s upstairs,” Margot said with a smile, looking at my armload of supplies in one hand and the flowers in the other.

“Thanks.”

I took the stairs two at a time.

When I knocked and poked my head into her suite, she was propped up on her bed, flipping through a bridal magazine with a look that hovered somewhere between interest and murder.

I knew the feeling.

“You’re here,” she said, and her face lit up.

I held up a small bouquet of white lilies in one hand and a pastry box balanced on my stack of wedding crap in the other. “Figured you needed sustenance and something pretty and wild… just like you.”

Her smile doubled. “My hero.”

I set the box down and kissed her gently. She reached for the pastry box. Her eyes lit up as she peeked inside. “Is this from that bakery on Fifth? The one with the croissants that taste like heaven?”

“The very same,” I said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I figured you deserved a treat after all the wedding planning chaos.”

She took a bite of the croissant, closing her eyes in bliss. “You’re spoiling me.”

“That’s the plan,” I said, grinning. “Can’t have my future wife feeling neglected.”

She laughed softly, brushing crumbs off her lap. “So, what did you bring me? Besides pastries and flowers?”

I held up the stack of samples and swatches. “Wedding stuff. Invitations, table linens, and a whole lot of decisions I didn’t know I’d have to make.”

Her eyes widened as she took the pile from me, flipping through the samples with a mix of excitement and disbelief. “Isaac Bancroft! This is expert-level planning.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I teased. “I’m full of surprises.”

She held up one of the invitation samples—the matte cream with gold script—and smiled. “This one’s perfect. Simple but elegant.”

“I thought so,” I said.

She grinned and started flipping through the other samples. “God, you’re actually taking this seriously.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I have layers. Like an onion. Or a lasagna. Or a seven-layer dip.”

She laughed. “Thank you for doing this. I know it’s not your thing.”

“Nope. But you are.”

She stilled at that, her eyes wide. Then she reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I love that you said that.”

We talked through the invitation choices, laughed at a few terrible vendor attempts, and finally landed on the one I just knew she would like.

“Want to go for a walk?” she asked. “I think I’m finally healed enough to make it around the garden, and I’m getting stir crazy in here.”

“Only if you promise not to fall over and make me carry you dramatically again.”

“No promises,” she said, grinning. “This is what you signed up for, putting a ring on this finger.”

I helped her down the stairs and outside, our pace slow and easy. The evening sun was low, casting the estate in golden sunlight that made everything look just a little prettier. Maybe it was just having Mina by my side that made everything a little more magical.

We wandered the garden paths, her hand tucked into my elbow. I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known I needed.

She was healing. Laughing. Picking flowers and talking about whether we should have a string quartet or a band.

It felt good.

It felt right.

That was terrifying. I wasn’t used to being the one people expected to be responsible. A husband. A future father.

I glanced sideways at her as she sniffed a rose, eyes closed, content.

I could see it. A future. A home. Kids. Maybe chaos. But ours.

We returned to the house and were just about to head upstairs again when her father appeared in the foyer.

“I thought I heard voices,” Hectar said. “Come, you two. Join me for dinner. The chef cooked one of her specialties.”

I opened my mouth to say we should let Mina rest, but she beat me to it.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Stay.”