Page 37 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

T here was something surreal about waking up and knowing today was the day I would try on wedding dresses. It wasn’t just any dress shopping trip. It was the trip. The kind little girls dream of when they’re still playing with plastic tiaras and parading around in pillowcases for veils.

Yes, I had done this once before, but I think I knew something was wrong even back then.

I hadn’t been truly excited. I was excited for the experience but when I had been shopping for a dress, it had been with the idea of impressing the guests.

Of trying to make Sampson happy and proud to call me his bride.

I already knew Isaac was happy with me and was very proud to call me his bride. And I was going to knock his socks off with a dress that made him want to throw me over his shoulder and haul me away.

I quickly dressed in a pair of shorts, strapless bra for the many try-ons, and a soft tee. Tori and I were making a day of it, starting with breakfast.

Tori and I sat down at the upscale restaurant that was near the boutique. Normally, we would start with mimosas, but that wasn’t happening today. I picked up the glass of sparkling apple juice Tori had insisted be served in a flute to make sure the day was special.

“Did you ask if they had that dress you saw in the magazine?” Tori asked.

I nodded. “I did and they do. The woman I talked to said the designer did have a rush option… for a fee.”

Tori laughed. “Of course.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “I think I know what I want, but once I put it on, I might change my mind.”

We finished our breakfasts and walked to store for my scheduled appointment.

The bridal boutique was very upscale. Normally, it took a year to get an appointment but my last name opened doors for me.

A personal stylist greeted us at the door and offered us champagne.

I declined, naturally. It was strange to not be the girl drinking. I was used to being the party girl.

The stylist had pulled a few dresses but I wanted to take a look around as well.

We started browsing, and for a while it felt like just a regular outing.

Girl time. Tori had her phone out taking pictures of everything—me holding up puffy sleeves with a dubious frown or laughing at a gown with so many sparkles it looked like it had swallowed a disco ball.

I was never going to be the princess-gown type of girl.

I didn’t like it. I was too old for that nonsense. Wearing white was pushing things.

“Okay, try on the first two before you try on the one you think you wanted,” Tori said.

I nodded, taking the first dress from the stylist and stepping into the fitting room. It was a classic A-line with delicate lace detailing. It was beautiful. Timeless, but not quite me. I slipped it on, the fabric cool against my skin, and stepped out to show Tori.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, tilting her head as she studied me. “But it’s safe. You’re not a safe bride.”

I laughed, turning to look at myself in the mirror. She was right. The dress was lovely, but it didn’t make me feel like me. It didn’t make me feel like the woman Isaac had fallen for—the one who was bold, daring, and unapologetically herself.

“Next,” I said, disappearing back into the fitting room.

The second dress was more dramatic—a fitted mermaid style with a plunging neckline and intricate beading.

It was stunning, but as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was trying too hard.

It wasn’t effortless. It wasn’t us. It was sexy and showed cleavage, but again, it felt like it was supposed to be sexy.

“Okay,” Tori said when I stepped out again. “This one is definitely more you. But I don’t know. It’s missing something.” Tori tilted her head as she circled me. “It’s gorgeous. It’s like… it’s trying to be sexy instead of just being sexy. You know what I mean?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Like flashing cleavage is just going to be sexy.”

“Okay, let’s try the one you’ve been eyeing,” Tori said, handing me the third dress.

I took it from her and stepped back into the fitting room.

This was the one I’d seen in the magazine.

The lace corset bodice had lots of beading while also being just a little risqué.

It was daring, but not over the top. It was elegant, but it had an edge.

It felt like me. The endless yards of tulle in the skirt gave it the poof that was close to a princess style but not like a cupcake.

There were tiny silver threads running through the skirt.

The moment I stepped in front of the mirror, everything stopped. The strapless, sweetheart bodice showed off my narrow waist and made my boobs look great. It was definitely going to need some tailoring, but the length was right.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“Let’s see!” Tori exclaimed.

I stepped out and waited for her reaction. I didn’t care if she liked it. I did. And I knew Isaac would.

Tori’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” she repeated. “You look…”

“Like a bride,” I said softly, turning from side to side.

And I did. For the first time in my life, I looked like a woman ready to start a new chapter. Not a wild child, not someone faking it through a rehearsal dinner to impress a stiff fiancé. This was all me.

“This feels different,” I murmured, watching my reflection.

Tori stepped closer. “Because it is different.”

She was right. When I was engaged to Sampson, dress shopping felt like a box to check off. A chore. Something to please my mother-in-law-to-be, who had very strong opinions about sleeves and necklines. I never really pictured myself walking down the aisle then.

But now?

Now I could see Isaac’s face as I approached him. I could imagine his hands reaching for mine. His crooked, handsome smile. The low rasp in his voice when he told me I looked beautiful.

I wanted that. God, I wanted it so badly.

The seamstress that worked with the boutique stepped in and I spent the next thirty minutes being poked and measured while she muttered about pinning this and loosening that.

I didn’t tell her I might have a puffier belly in a month.

I was pretty sure I would still be my same size.

I would just eliminate salt and drink lots of water.

As I changed out of the dress and we headed back out into the sunshine, Tori linked her arm through mine. “You really love him.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I do. He’s the first man who’s ever shown up for me.

Not just when it’s easy. Not just when I’m being charming or fun.

He stayed through surgery. He brings me tea when I can’t sleep.

He’s been shouldering half the wedding stuff even though it’s so not his vibe.

It’s like…” I paused, pressing a hand to my chest. “I don’t know. He’s home.”

Tori smiled. “So are you moving in with him after the wedding?”

“Yes. The penthouse is perfect, and I know he needs to be close to the Bancroft firm. It makes sense.”

She sighed dramatically. “I’m going to miss you. Who’s going to help me sneak cookies out of the kitchen at midnight?”

I bumped her shoulder. “You can come work for us.”

“What are we, the royal family?”

“I’m serious. I don’t know what my job will be exactly yet, but I’d love to have you around.”

Tori didn’t respond right away. Her expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

We found a patio nearby with big umbrellas and buzzing bees. We ordered an entire platter of appetizers—calamari, sliders, fancy bruschetta. We talked about the dress and all other things wedding related. I couldn’t believe I was going to be married in just a few short weeks.

Everything was falling into place.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message from my friend Lydia popped up. “Hey. You see this? Hope it’s BS. Thought you should know.” There was a link.

My stomach twisted as I clicked.

A glossy tabloid site loaded slowly. I scrolled down past a picture of me and Isaac in Vegas—arms around each other, laughing in front of the Bellagio.

The headline burned into my retinas: DUVALL’S ONLY DAUGHTER: ANOTHER FAILED ENGAGEMENT? INSIDERS CLAIM WEDDING TO BANCROFT HEIR IS A SHAM

“What the hell?” I whispered.

Tori leaned in. “What is it?”

I showed her the screen.

We read together in silence.

The article quoted anonymous “sources” who claimed the engagement was arranged by our fathers.

That Isaac and I barely knew each other before the proposal.

That I was once again rushing into something doomed to fail.

That I was “desperate” to beat the scandal from my last engagement and make headlines for something positive.

That this was all for show.

The photos were brutal. Zoomed-in shots of us looking “tense” during a coffee date. A blurry image from the hospital, me pale and tired as Isaac guided me inside.

The article painted me as unstable and Isaac as some reluctant participant in a high-society PR stunt.

None of it was true. But it still felt like a slap to the face.

“I can’t believe this,” I breathed.

Tori squeezed my hand. “It’s trash, Mina. Nobody who matters believes that stuff.”

I shook my head. “People do believe it. And what if there’s some truth to it?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because our fathers did set us up,” I reminded her.

Tori’s eyes narrowed. “Are you having doubts?”

“No.” The answer was instant. “Not about Isaac. Not for a second.” I stared at the screen. “This will change things. People will treat me differently. Him too.”

“Who cares?” She snorted. “You guys know the truth.”

“I know,” I said. “Why are people so damn cruel? Why can’t they just leave us alone and let us be happy?”

“Slow news day,” she said. “A Bancroft and a Duvall is big news in the society world.”

I rolled my eyes. “We just want to be normal people.”