Chapter 2

The bells of St. George’s Church in Hanover Square pealed with magnificent grandeur. In the bridal dressing room, Lady Elizabeth Harrington beamed with pride as she gazed at her chosen daughter-in-law.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, Elena, darling. Beautiful and so full of grace,” Elizabeth praised, her eyes misting with tears.

Elena Vance turned slowly toward the full-length mirror. The haute couture wedding gown-crafted from pale white silk by a renowned Savile Row designer, swathed her full, heavy figure.

“Thank you, Mother. It is all thanks to your flawless taste,” Elena replied, offering a faint, polite smile. Her expression remained guarded, entirely devoid of a new bride’s radiant joy.

Up at the altar, Liam Harrington stood tall and rigid in a black morning suit. But when the heavy church doors swung open and Elena began her slow, deliberate march down the aisle-her gait heavy due to her size-Liam’s gaze locked onto her. For a split second, his heart did a strange, erratic flutter.

“She actually looks … beautiful,” Liam thought against his will, staring at the creamy expanse of Elena’s porcelain skin, which seemed to glow beneath the church’s crystal chandeliers. Her unadorned face looked incredibly clean, almost luminous.

Instantly, however, Liam’s bruised ego rebelled. He subtly averted his gaze, disgusted by his own reaction. “Damn it, what am I thinking? She’s still just a boring, rigid cow. If it were Chloe standing there with her tight, voluptuous body and a plunging neckline, she would be a thousand times more intoxicating than this walking lump of meat!”

When Elena finally halted by his side, slightly out of breath, Liam held a rigid, practiced smile for the crowd and whispered through his teeth, “Smile wider, Elena. The Daily Telegraph cameras are on your right. Don’t let the press think I married a grieving pet elephant.”

“I am smiling, Liam. Just focus on your vows so we don’t have to do this twice,” Elena murmured stiffly, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“I take thee to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward …” Liam’s voice rang out steady and convincing before hundreds of London’s high-society elite. In his heart, every syllable was a calculated lie. Elena recited her vows in return, her voice as flat and cold as ice.

By nightfall, the lavish reception at Claridge’s had drawn to a close, and the newlyweds returned to Harrington Mansion. In the formal dining room, the long oak table was bathed in the romantic, warm glow of silver candelabras for an intimate family supper.

“I still can’t stop smiling when I picture the two of you at the altar. It truly is the wedding of the year,” Lady Elizabeth beamed, taking a delicate sip of her Earl Grey tea.

“You’ve said that five times tonight, Mother,” Liam remarked blankly.

“And I shall say it ten times more,” she countered happily.

Lord Richard chuckled softly. “Let your mother enjoy the moment, son.” Then, turning his attention across the table, he asked, “How are you holding up, Elena?”

“I am doing well,” Elena replied, offering a sweet, flawless smile.

Liam’s father tapped his unlit cigar gently against the table. “Our business enterprises are perfectly stable, and the arrival of an heir will solidify everything. Your mother and I simply cannot wait to hold our first grandchild.”

Liam, who had been lazily swirling the whiskey in his glass, let out a bored, quiet scoff. He glanced at Elena sitting beside him, intentionally shifting his weight away so his arm wouldn’t graze her thick shoulder.

Whatever fleeting admiration Liam had felt in the church that afternoon had completely evaporated. Elena had already changed out of her gown and into her usual attire: a loose, shapeless sage green maxi dress that buttoned tightly to her throat, devoid of any allure.

“We will do our very best, Father, Mother,” Elena spoke up, her voice smooth and composed. “We know exactly what our responsibilities entail from here on out.”

Elizabeth smiled in sheer satisfaction. “Splendid. Liam, look at your wife-she is so mature. You need to curb your late nights in Mayfair and dedicate your focus to Elena.”

“Of course, Mother. I will focus entirely on my … responsibilities,” Liam replied, his voice dripping with a sarcasm meant only for Elena’s ears.

An hour later, they finally stepped into the expansive master suite, dominated by a grand four-poster bed draped in rich silk sheets. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut, Liam’s mask of civility shattered. He ripped off his suit jacket and flung it violently onto an armchair.

“I’m taking the bed. You can sleep on the sofa,” Liam barked coldly, gesturing toward a long velvet settee near the fireplace. “A body as stout as yours needs the exercise anyway. Sleeping in tight quarters might actually help you burn some fat. Or, if you find that spot too small to accommodate your massive size, the maids can lay a pallet on the floor for you.”

Elena, who was in the middle of unpinning her pearl earrings at the vanity, paused. She turned around with agonizing slowness, her clear, sharp eyes boring into Liam without a hint of insecurity.

“And why exactly should I be the one sleeping on the sofa?” Elena asked flatly.

Liam’s brows knit together, his temper flaring at the defiance.

“Because this is my room, in my family’s house. And under the terms of our contract, I am the one controlling this marriage, Elena. Get some perspective. I’m being generous enough not to banish you to the stables out back.”

Elena walked toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps, completely unfazed by his intimidating glare. Without hesitation, she sat right down on the edge of the mattress.

“Listen to me, Liam,” Elena said, her voice dropping into a commanding, unyielding register. “In my parents’ house, I was cherished like a princess. Every comfort I ever required was provided to the highest standard, and I have never known a day of deprivation. So why, upon entering your home, should I subject myself to the torture of an uncomfortable sofa or the floor?”

Liam’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief at her audacity. “Are you … dare you defy me?”

“I am merely being logical,” Elena cut him off smoothly. She shifted her full weight onto the plush mattress, pulled the heavy duvet up to her chest, and settled in.

“Our contract governs a fraudulent pregnancy and a divorce, not my right to a comfortable bed. If you cannot stomach the thought of sharing a mattress with me, then it is you who belongs on that sofa, Liam,” Elena added carelessly.

“Elena!” Liam snarled.

“Alternatively, you are more than welcome to storm out and spend the night in Chloe’s bed,” Elena continued, rolling over to present her back to him. “That is, assuming you have the courage to explain to your mother tomorrow morning why the groom abandoned his bride on their wedding night.”

Liam froze in his tracks. Elena’s quiet threat struck a nerve with lethal precision. If he walked out, his mother would launch an investigation, and his grand design with Chloe would crash and burn before it even began.

With a volatile rage simmering in his chest, Liam lunged forward and yanked a pillow from the bed with a violent jerk, nearly dragging the entire duvet with it in his fury.

“Don’t you dare think you’ve won anything just because your massive frame can hijack a mattress, Elena,” Liam hissed, his eyes flashing with absolute venom.

Elena didn’t bother to reply. She simply adjusted her heavy frame into a comfortable position against the plush pillows, treating him as though he were nothing more than a passing draft of wind.

Liam muttered a fierce string of curses under his breath. Stomping across the room, he threw himself onto the velvet sofa, which was entirely too short for his long legs. He was forced to curl his body into an agonizing, cramped fetal position.

As Liam lay awake in the dark, consumed by a raging, suffocating resentment toward his plus-sized bride, Elena peacefully drifted off to sleep in the center of the luxurious bed.