The older woman must have noticed, and added, “Don't be so scared. He's tough on the outside and soft and sweet on the inside."
"Oh, thank God," Trinity murmured, emotions running through her at lightning speed.
"But I am worried...for the three of you. Your reasons may be acceptable, but I don't want to see him hurt, or you for that matter," the older woman continued on a more serious note.
"I would never hurt him," Trinity replied, unsure if it was even possible.
"You can, girl, but you won't. I see that now, but mistakes happen. So I have a proposition for you." Celia looked her straight in the eye.
"I'm listening," Trinity replied, and the out of control feeling churning up her stomach again.
"Why don't you stay with me instead until you get on your feet again?"
She thought about it for one split second, sorely tempted. But she turned to find her daughters inquisitive eyes, obviously trying to follow the adult conversation.
"Ah..." How was she going to explain it to Miranda?
Celia followed her gaze and guessed the problem in her own way. "Don't stress yourself, girl, it was just an idea, and I’d hate to see the two of you get hurt when other things could have been done."
"I understand and thank you for offering help to me."
"Cheer up, he brought you home and I dare say you are better than those stick-thin girls that his grandfather has been throwing at him for years."
With her own brand of approval tacked to the union, Celia drained her cup, patted Miranda as she collected her milk, and headed to the kitchen sink.
???
Changes came at her right and left — just when she believed she was done, something cropped up to surprise the shit out of her.
Cussing in her mind was still cursing, she decided, biting her lips as she stared into the mirror.
The ceremony was hardly a large affair, smaller than her first wedding day, and even that had been small — just the two of them and close friends.
This one was much smaller, yet she couldn’t help but to feel panic. Not running yet, but running a low-grade panic fever, like she couldn't decide which direction she was supposed to bolt in…
Trinity smoothed the pale peach gown across her stomach and exhaled.
She had not gotten used to the efficient, soundless minions that had transformed her empty room into something vaguely familiar in a matter of minutes, or the fact that the fairies made the dirty clothes hamper stay empty while its contents reappeared, clean and ironed in their closet — all courtesy of Michael’s servants.
And now she was wearing a gown that she did not pick for her wedding day with elegant shoes of the same design. Even her makeup and hair were taken care of by a silent stylist who had come and gone so fast her head was still twisting.
But that was not the extent of this rollercoaster ride…
She could not quite get over the fact that she now had her own lawyer, which Michael insisted, and signing a prenup without reading a word of it.
Now she was going to marry a man she hadn’t even known for a full week, and having met his grandfather and only relation seconds ago.
Celia may have warned her, but nothing could have prepared her for the whirlwind that blew in with Michael’s grandfather.
Michael Harper Senior, or Michael Harper the first, was an intimidating figure. He looked like his grandson minus the silver-grey eyes, since his were blue and just as shrewd. One look at Trinity and she knew he considered her subpar. No words spoken to that effect, and he had made conversation, but something light. She could not remember her replies since the nervous jumping in her stomach stole her senses.
But he had been kind to Miranda and for that reason she was grateful. She was content with her decision every time she saw her daughter smile, every time she heard her laugh, and every time she saw her being good the little girl she really was.
She just doubted her decision every other time in between those moments.
The knock at the door startled her and she recoiled at the sudden noise.
"Come in…" Her jittery nerves reflected in the tone of her voice.
