Chapter 6: Lillian

“You can have whatever you want, baby,” Robert smiled at me, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Whatever you want, just say the word and it’s yours.”

Obviously, I appreciated the fact that Robert wanted me to have the wedding of my dreams. Any woman would be thrilled to hear that kind of promise, especially when it came from someone with as many resources as him. But despite his generous words, I couldn’t help but wish he would get involved a little more. I didn’t want him to just sign the checks and smile on cue—I wanted him to care. I had never planned anything remotely this big before, and I certainly hadn’t expected to have a budget that made venues nod approvingly and wedding planners light up when they heard the amount.

“What do you want?” I asked him, carefully folding both of my hands in my lap. I sat straight, trying not to slouch in the expensive leather chair, not wanting to look out of place in this kind of restaurant. Everything around us was dripping in elegance—the wine list was its own leather-bound book, and even the butter had some fancy French name.

Robert had taken me to a fancy restaurant downtown, the kind where a three-course meal cost more than what our old rent used to be. Sure, the food was lovely, the atmosphere romantic, and the chandeliers probably imported from some castle in Europe. But I didn’t need all this. I would have been fine cooking dinner at his place, maybe something homemade and warm, something that smelled like real comfort. But he insisted on going out, insisted on treating me. So I had done what I always did—I put on the pretty dress, curled my hair into a soft updo, and painted on the makeup he liked. I had even taken a dozen photos, a mix of solo shots and some with Robert. As expected, he encouraged me to post them on I*******m, flashing his practiced, camera-ready grin.

And just like always, the messages came flooding in. I could see the notifications ticking up, one after the other. People telling me how lucky I was, how I was living a real-life Cinderella story. Girls saying they wanted to be me. And in some ways, they weren’t wrong. But what none of them understood was that I hadn’t asked for the glamour. I hadn’t dreamt of this kind of spotlight. I just wanted to feel like I was truly building a life with someone who saw me—not just someone who could give me things.

Robert leaned forward, catching my eye again, that charming smile of his still fixed in place. “I wanna marry you, baby. All the other stuff doesn’t matter to me.”

I should have been flattered. I really should have. But still, deep down, I wished he cared just a little more about the actual wedding. About the little things that meant something to me.

“I was thinking,” I said, my thumbs starting to scratch against one another, a nervous habit I’d picked up long ago. “That maybe my brother could give me away?”

I had no interest in seeing my father again, no desire to let him be part of this day. After Mom left him, Jeremy and I had gone completely no-contact. There was nothing left to salvage with a man who had done nothing but torment us, who had made our lives a living hell.

“I think that he would appreciate the gesture,” I added after Robert didn’t respond right away. “And you know how I feel about my dad, so I thought it would be a great idea. It would mean a lot.”

Robert gave me the kind of smile he usually reserved for negotiations—measured, careful, the kind that made me feel like he was trying to sell me something. “While I love that idea, baby,” he said smoothly, “have you thought about letting my dad walk you down the aisle?”

Of course I had. I’d thought about it more than once. Steven was kind, generous, and had welcomed me into their family with open arms. But still, something about it felt wrong. It felt too performative, too symbolic of something I didn’t agree with—like I was being handed off from one man to another. I didn’t want to feel like I was being auctioned off. I wanted to feel like I was walking toward the man I loved, not being gifted to him.

“I know he’d love to do it,” Robert continued, probably sensing my hesitation. “And you know he wants to be in the pictures. You’re gonna wear a beautiful dress—you want those photos to look perfect, right?”

I swallowed hard, eyes dropping to my hands again. My thumb had found a patch of loose skin, and I scratched at it absentmindedly until a small flap tore free, revealing a bubble of blood. The pain was sharp, but dull in the face of everything I was trying to process.

Because the truth was, I had already imagined it—asking Jeremy to walk me down the aisle. I knew he would say yes, even if he didn’t like Robert. He would be there for me, a solid presence at my side. Jeremy would walk tall and proud, wearing an expensive suit, probably one that outshined even Robert’s tux, just to make a point.

“He would dress up,” I said softly, thinking it more than meaning to say it aloud. He would look sharp, serious. Protective.

“I’m sure about that, baby,” Robert replied, though his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “But I think we should let my dad do it. We’ll still invite Jeremy and Sophie, of course.”

I nodded slowly, feeling that sting of resignation. My eyes dropped again to the thumb I’d abused, where the blood now formed a little dome. It looked angry, raw. Like it was asking me why I’d hurt it like that. Why I was giving in so easily.

“Okay,” I whispered, forcing myself to look back up at him and smile. It felt stiff, but I hoped it looked convincing. “I’ll ask Steven if he would do it.”

Steven was a great man, no denying that. When Robert introduced me to him, he welcomed me instantly. He offered help before I could even ask—offering to pay for college, though it wasn’t needed thanks to scholarships and Jeremy’s support. Then he’d offered me a car, which I declined since I didn’t have a license and didn’t really need one. But still, the offers were sincere, generous.

It wasn’t about whether he was good. It was just that he wasn’t the one I wanted beside me in that moment. But sometimes, in this life, wanting something wasn’t enough.

All the nights I had spent at their home, everything had always seemed perfect—too perfect, almost like stepping into a staged version of what family was supposed to look like. Steven always made a point to ask me about school, about what I wanted to do with my life, and he would give me the biggest, most reassuring smile when I told him how excited I was about the future Robert and I were building together.

“He’ll be thrilled, baby, I just know it,” Robert beamed across the table, just before he took a long sip of the expensive wine he had ordered without even glancing at the price. “Now, what about food? What would you like to eat after marrying the man of your dreams, huh?” he added, shooting me a wink that was clearly meant to charm, and honestly, it did.

The rest of the night carried on like that. I told him about the things I envisioned for our wedding, and he would, in turn, gently steer the idea in a slightly different direction—usually toward something more refined, more upscale, more “appropriate” for a wedding at our level. Still, I couldn’t say it upset me too much. Through all of that, I felt like we were moving in sync, like we were navigating this big life decision together, shaping it into something that belonged to both of us.

As we discussed the flowers, the menu, even the first dance, I found myself getting more and more excited. The nerves I’d carried with me all day slowly melted into a kind of peaceful anticipation. We eventually landed on a decision to keep it clean and elegant with white roses. I had initially wanted soft-colored peonies—something delicate and romantic—but Robert had suggested orchids, which felt a little too sleek and modern to me. After talking through it, roses became our common ground. They were timeless, they were classic, and they would make the entire venue look like something out of a dream.

Robert, unsurprisingly, had the most input when it came to the menu. He had attended weddings like this before—several, in fact—and seemed to know what worked and what didn’t. Meanwhile, I sat there across from him, completely content with the idea of sharing a slice of lasagna and some tiramisu under twinkling lights on our wedding night. But he quickly made it clear that our wedding couldn’t be that simple. Not when people would be expecting a certain level of sophistication.

He explained the structure to me: cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres, a formal seated dinner, and then cake and dancing. Apparently, hors d’oeuvres were an essential part of a modern wedding. He listed mini lobster rolls, some kind of dish involving caviar—which I knew only from the price tags at the store—and a selection of luxury liquor to pair with them. Then, he walked me through the appetizer options, followed by the guests being given a choice between soup or salad, and finally, four main courses. Four. It sounded excessive, even absurd, but I nodded anyway, trying not to look as overwhelmed as I felt.

I asked about the cake, hoping maybe that was one part I could cling to without compromise. Would we be having one of those big, elegant wedding cakes with layers upon layers and delicate piping like the ones you always saw in movies?

“If you want that, baby,” he said, reaching across the table to brush his thumb over my knuckles with a soft smile, “then we’ll go cake tasting and get you the perfect one, okay?”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. That part—cake tasting—actually sounded fun. Exciting, even. It was something tangible, something real. Something I could enjoy without worrying if I was choosing something that would meet other people’s expectations. I had spent countless hours scrolling through P*******t boards filled with wedding inspiration, and if there was one thing those weddings had in common, it was a cake. Big, beautiful, multi-tiered cakes that looked too good to eat but too delicious to resist.

After dinner, Robert drove me home. He didn’t ask if I wanted to come back to his place, and I didn’t press the issue. I knew we usually stayed at my apartment, especially when Ana wasn’t home, but still, I wanted to see his space more often. It wasn’t just curiosity—I wanted to feel like it was my home too. I would be moving in soon, after all, and I wanted to feel like I belonged there, not like a guest with a suitcase by the door.

I didn’t want to seem desperate or needy, didn’t want him to think I was asking for something he didn’t want to give. But in my heart, I wanted him to want me there. I wanted him to want to share his world with me. To show me around, to tell me stories about the things he owned, to walk into the kitchen and see me standing there barefoot, cooking dinner while he loosened his tie and smiled.

But instead of saying any of that, instead of sharing those vulnerable pieces, I just sat beside him and smiled. I played the role of the understanding fiancée, the kind of woman who doesn’t push too hard.

“Should we have lunch on Wednesday?” I asked him, breaking the silence. “Professor Baylor is still on leave, so I have a long break between classes. Maybe we could go out, or I could bring something to the office?”

Robert’s eyes stayed focused on the road, his face awash in the red glow of brake lights from the cars ahead of us. “We don’t usually meet up on Wednesdays, baby,” he said casually, almost as if by habit.

“I know,” I replied quickly, nodding. “But I was just thinking maybe you could take a slightly longer lunch break, and we could have a bit more time together.”

I wasn’t trying to guilt him into it. I knew he worked hard, that his job demanded a lot from him. But I also knew he needed breaks, and I liked to believe that spending time with me helped him unwind. If it made his day a little better, then I would happily pack a lunch or hop on the train for a quick bite.

He tilted his head from one side to the other, stretching his neck like he was working out some tension. “Sure,” he finally said, nodding slowly. “Let’s go out and grab some lunch.”

I smiled, feeling like I had won something small and meaningful. So I leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek. And when I pulled back into my seat, I saw the corner of his mouth lift into a smile, like whatever pressure had been building between us had momentarily eased.

And in that moment, with traffic creeping around us and the hum of the city outside, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—we were going to be okay.