CHAPTER 2: WHAT IF

Charlie came into my room, and we had a hushed chat about what was going on.

I felt completely out of the loop. While Mark, my dad, and John seemed to have all the facts, I was left in the dark. Mark had filled me in, and it seemed likely he got the details from his dad due to their recent bet. My head was pounding.

As everyone else discussed the situation, I struggled to concentrate. Despite my efforts to stay focused, it felt like being in my Friday math class, where I couldn't answer anything correctly. My dad gently shook my arm to get my attention, but I couldn't snap out of it.

"Yes?" I replied, my eyebrows still furrowed in confusion.

"How much did you catch of that?" My dad inquired. I shook my head, feeling slightly embarrassed because he probably mentioned something to me. John looked annoyed, but Mark just chuckled. "Well, I made a bet with John here, involving my business, or more precisely, your inheritance. He can only claim what's rightfully his if he or one of his family members marries you." My eyes widened in shock.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaimed. "You wagered MY business and potentially my future wedding. So, I guess 'future' isn't really relevant anymore." I wasn't sure why I was agreeing to this, and both John and my dad seemed surprised by my response. Mark glanced up from his phone, his face showing surprise too. I wasn't exactly shocked, more like illuminated.

I wasn't entirely on board yet, but I knew I would be. I didn't want my dad to lose the business he had worked so hard to build, only to hand it over to John, who seemed to care only for himself. I agreed to hear the terms to see if I could comply. I'd do anything for my dad, as I've mentioned before.

"Any conditions? Or is this a full-on surrender?" I attempted to make a dire situation a bit more bearable. I think that's the term – bleak, at least. Right now, I wasn't eager to get married. I didn't think Mark was either, but he was going along with it to please his dad, just like I was. Even though it was clear he didn't particularly like his dad, he still sought his approval. My head was throbbing again.

"No, not exactly," John replied, pulling something from his briefcase that was unfamiliar to me – around 10 pages.

"What's that?" I asked, and he handed it over. I glanced at the first few lines. "A marriage contract?" Mark seemed attentive.

"A what?" He looked as shocked as I was.

"It's the agreement for the marriage. There are a few other clauses too, similar to what Yanna mentioned," John explained. It didn't appear to be directly related to my dad. He was just overseeing things. Or perhaps not, as John was the one in control, dictating everything.

"A traditional wedding?" I read. There was a note scribbled beside it. "White dress, flowers, wedding rings, vows. Guests, cake, and many more elements." The list of tasks seemed extensive.

Mark leaned over to inspect the paper. "Engagement ring shopping. Yanna selects her ring. Mark covers all expenses. Completed before the wedding... When is that?" I sensed his interest in the wedding. Our wedding, I presumed.

I searched for the date, and there it was. Oh boy. "The 18th? In just two months!"

"Yes, I realize it's short notice, but I have a team of planners who can assist," John tried to reassure, but nothing eased my concerns.

"I have school. I can't plan a wedding or go engagement ring shopping. I'm not even 18. Sure, I agreed, but why does it need to be so grand and rushed?" I already knew the answer to that. Two millionaires wanted their businesses to gain attention. Cue another song from The Sound of Music. At least I was managing, somewhat.

I recalled a Romero family tradition and turned to my dad, curiosity in my eyes. His reaction was quite a contrast, his eyes widening. It used to anger me, but now it just brought a sense of sadness. You see, it's a tradition for all the Romero women to wear the wedding dress their mother wore. Sadly, my grandmother's dress was ruined, so that tradition ended there. However, my mom's dress remained in great condition, or at least I hoped so. Wearing her dress was something I've always dreamed of, and no matter what, I needed to have that dress.

"How do you feel about it?" I asked, with a hint of longing.

John chimed in with a suggestion, "We could find a dress at a bridal shop. With my connections, we might even secure a spot at Kleinfeld."

"No, it has to be my mom's dress," I replied firmly as I got up. "Without that dress, I can't go through with this marriage. It has to be that specific one."

John seemed perplexed by our agitation. I was starting to understand why he was so unpleasant.

"We have a tradition," my dad finally spoke up. "In the Romero family, it's customary for the women to wear the wedding dress their mother wore. But that dress is not here; it's with her mother." He paused, then continued, "In Manhattan."

My eyes widened at the revelation. "Do you know where she is?" I asked quietly, my tone laced with a hint of disdain.

He nodded in response. "Yes, she reached out to me about two years ago, just to check in. I can give you her phone number and address if you want."

I nodded back, my voice barely above a whisper, nerves coursing through me. What if she didn't send the dress or, even worse, didn't want to come?