Page 49 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

“ I ’m sorry,” Tori said. “I have to deal with this.”

I pouted but I knew there was nothing to do about it. She had a job and responsibilities. I was on my own. Although I was totally bummed she wouldn’t be with me when I tried out some hairstyles for the big day. I valued her opinion.

“I could say you’re sick,” I offered.

She rolled her eyes. “Technically, you’re my boss, so you would be lying to yourself. And if I don’t take care of this, it’s just going to build, and shit will hit the fan on your wedding.”

“I know, I know. Fine.”

“Send me lots of pictures,” she said.

“I will.”

I left the estate. Thankfully, I had put the driver on notice I might need him.

I hated driving in the city. I rarely drove myself anywhere at all.

My dad preferred when I used his driver or a car service.

And honestly, I was exhausted. My future husband kept me up most of the night.

Add in the pregnancy draining me, and I could probably fall asleep just about anywhere.

First, I had to pick up my dress. The stylist wanted me to take pictures of myself in the dress to help her decide the best way to do my hair. I was absolutely leaving it up to the experts.

“Miss Duvall,” one of the assistants beamed. “Your dress is waiting for you in the fitting suite. Right this way.”

I followed her, unable to stop the swell of emotion in my chest. My dress. My wedding dress . The next time I’d wear it, I’d be walking toward Isaac.

The suite was lined with mirrors and plush seating, a pedestal in the center like a stage.

And there it was. My gown. Elegant, ethereal, exactly what I’d wanted.

It was stunning and sexy but not flashy.

Not overdone. Just right. I knew it was going to make Isaac’s mouth water.

And it might scandalize my dad a little, but I didn’t care. It was my style.

I stepped into it with care, the assistants helping to zip and adjust, fluff and finesse. When I turned to look in the mirror, my breath caught.

It fit like a dream.

I smoothed a hand down the front, my fingers lingering just below my belly button. The corset top felt a little tighter than I remembered, and for a second, my heart skipped.

Was I showing?

No. No, not yet. The baby was the size of a raspberry at most. My body was just in transition. I was just paranoid. Hormonal. Overthinking. That’s what I kept telling myself.

The corset was supposed to be tight. It gave the dress the perfect shape. And shit, it made my tits look amazing. With the pregnancy and the corset pushing them up, it was sexy as hell.

“Do you love it?” one of the assistants asked from behind me.

“I do,” I whispered, then smiled at the double meaning. “I love it.”

I had the assistant take several pictures of me in the dress from various angles.

They helped me out of it and carefully stored it in the custom garment bag I’d had monogrammed. It would be delivered to the Duvall estate on the morning of the wedding.

Next stop: the salon.

The salon was one I had been using for years. It was a common occurrence to see A-list celebrities sitting in one of the chairs. The receptionist recognized me right away.

“Miss Duvall,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “We’ve been expecting you. Right this way.”

I followed her through the salon, past rows of stylists working their magic on clients who looked like they’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. The soft hum of blow dryers and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air.

She led me to a private room at the back, where three women were already waiting for me. One stood by a chair with a cape draped over her arm, another had a tray of makeup brushes laid out like surgical instruments, and the third was scrolling through an iPad.

“Welcome,” Brett, my regular hairdresser, greeted me. “This is Lila, your makeup artist, and Mia, our creative director. We’re so excited to help you find the perfect look for your big day.”

I smiled nervously as I sat down in the chair. “Here are the pictures of my dress.”

Brett took the phone and gasped. “Mina! Damn, girl. Your man is going to be dragging you away from the altar and straight into a room.”

I laughed. “That’s the goal.”

She wrapped the cape around me and ran her fingers through my hair, studying my texture and length.

“I was thinking soft curls, pinned back on one side with a few pearl accents,” she said, grabbing a few photos on her phone. “Still romantic, but not too structured.”

I nodded. “Exactly what I was picturing.”

As she worked, we chatted about the wedding. I told her about the flowers, the live music, the outdoor ceremony overlooking the water. I told her about the silk runners and the candlelit patio where we would dance our first dance under the stars.

“And the groom?” she asked, a sly smile playing on her lips.

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

“Isaac Bancroft,” I said.

“I know,” she teased. “Everyone knows. And good for you, landing a Bancroft.”

I laughed. “I feel very lucky.”

One of the women that had just brought in a large case with what I assumed was makeup stopped what she was doing.

“ The Isaac Bancroft?” she asked.

I laughed. “Yes. The one and only.”

“He’s so handsome,” one of the women said.

“Thank you,” I said, blushing a little.

“How did you two meet?” Brett asked.

I glanced at her through the mirror. “It’s kind of a whirlwind.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wrapping a strand of hair around the curling iron. “Those are the best kind.”

I noticed we had a bit of an audience. So I told them the story.

How my engagement to someone else had imploded spectacularly.

How I’d nearly walked down a very dark road—burning bridges, closing myself off, trusting no one.

How my father tried to step in, to fix it the only way he knew how—by forcing a future I hadn’t agreed to.

“And then,” I said softly, watching my reflection as Brett worked, “Isaac stepped in.”

I paused, fingers curling around the armrest. “I didn’t see him coming.

I didn’t expect to like him, let alone fall for him.

But he’s… everything. He’s steady. Protective.

He listens. He makes me laugh. And the best part is, he never asked me to change.

He just let me be exactly who I was and reminded me that was enough. ”

“That sounds like a fairy tale,” one of the women sighed.

“It feels like one,” I said honestly. “It’s like I was going down the wrong path, and then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day. He doesn’t have a white stallion, but he has an awesome Porsche.”

That earned a laugh.

“He saved me from myself,” I said with a dreamy sigh. “My hero. My heart. My love.”

I sounded like a silly woman from a Jane Austen story. But it was all true.

“Is it true about that article?” someone asked from outside the open door to my private room. “The one that said your engagement was fake? That it was some kind of publicity stunt?”

My smile dimmed slightly, but I kept it in place. I was used to dealing with pushy, nosey people that believed everything they read.

“Oh, that nonsense?” I waved a hand. “You know how the media is. You put two well-known last names in the same room and suddenly it’s a conspiracy theory. Isaac would never do something like that. He’s the most sincere man I’ve ever met.”

Yes, I knew that it might have started off exactly like the article suggested, but I knew Isaac. He loved me. He was honest with me. I didn’t care what a bunch of gossiping assholes thought. They weren’t in our lives. They didn’t even know us.

That seemed to satisfy them. Conversation shifted, and soon we were talking about honeymoons, wedding cake flavors, and the South of France.

“What do you think of the hair?” Brett asked.

I turned my head slightly, studying the soft curls cascading over one shoulder, the delicate pearl pins catching the light. It was elegant, romantic, and exactly what I’d envisioned. “It’s perfect,” I said, smiling at Brett through the mirror. “You’re a genius.”

She beamed, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I’m so glad you like it. Now, let’s get Lila to work her magic on your makeup.”

Lila stepped forward, her tray of brushes and palettes ready.

She started with a light foundation, blending it seamlessly into my skin.

As she worked, I closed my eyes, letting myself relax into the chair.

The gentle hum of conversation around me was soothing, and for a moment, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to walk down the aisle in just a few days.

“Open your eyes for me,” Lila instructed softly.

I did as she asked, watching as she carefully applied a soft rose gold shadow to my lids, followed by a thin line of black eyeliner and a coat of mascara. She finished with a subtle blush and a nude lipstick that complemented the overall look.

“What do you think?” she asked, stepping back to let me see.

I leaned closer to the mirror, studying my reflection. The makeup was flawless. It had that natural but polished look that enhanced my features without overpowering them. “It’s beautiful,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re going to be stunning on your wedding day,” Brett said, squeezing my shoulder.

“You are an artist,” I told her.

She grinned. “No, you’re just beautiful.”

I felt beautiful. I hadn’t expected to, not really. I’d been so nervous about the dress, about the little changes in my body, about the weight of everything that was happening so quickly. But looking at myself now?

I saw a woman on the brink of something extraordinary.

I saw a bride.

“Isaac’s going to lose his mind when he sees you,” Brett said, fixing a stray curl.

“I hope so.”

“Do you want to try another hairstyle?” Brett asked. “I’m prepared to do a couple of others.”

I shook my head. “No. This is perfect. It’s exactly what I want.”

I took a couple of pictures and sent them to Tori. She was of course thrilled with the final look. I left the salon after settling the bill for their services on the big day.

I slipped back into the car and let out a sigh of relief. I leaned my head against the cool leather of the seat. Everything was coming together. The dress was done. I had my hairstyle chosen. There wasn’t much more to do except get married.

The driver pulled away from the curb, and I placed a hand on my stomach, feeling the soft warmth of my palm through the fabric of my sundress.

“Hey, little bean,” I whispered, glancing down.

“I’m going to marry your daddy soon,” I said quietly.

“And then the rest of our lives will begin. Hopefully, you’re going to be a big brother or sister.

Hopefully, you’re going to have several brothers and sisters.

And hopefully, they won’t make me throw up as much as you. ”

I blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.

Tomorrow would be a blur of last-minute prep, but tonight? Tonight, I was going to soak in the tub and dream about babies and backyard swings and a golden retriever.