prologue
Iris
I kept remindingmyself that I was doing this for my family’s legacy. I had set this entire plan in motion a year ago and it was finally going to pay off. All I had to do was show up, marry the guy in front of his family, and then we could talk about my return to the farm.
Simple and easy.
My wedding dress hung on the back of the door of my hotel room. It was ivory, simple, mid-lengthen with a slight flair at the waist, a slit that was borderline inappropriate—if I moved the wrong way—and sleeves that hung off my shoulder. I felt sophisticated in it. My hair was curled, and I had on minimal makeup. All that was left to do was put the dress and shoes on, but that felt like the final nail in the coffin that I wasn’t ready to succumb to just yet.
I was going to be a married woman by the end of the day, but I held on to these last minutes of freedom like they were my lifeline. My phone sat in my hand as I yearned to call one of my brothers or anyone, so they knew what was happening. Getting married alone isn’t how I thought it would happen. I reminded myself for the hundredth time that I was doing this fora reason. My endgame was to keep my family farm in our family, obviously not completely in our family, but sometimes we have to pivot and do our best with the shit cards life dealt us.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, centered myself so that I could get through this day with the Yarbroughs. The dress fit like a glove, tight in all the right places, but still elegant and demure. I didn’t shop with my future husband in mind, but I wanted him to admire me at least a little.
Hell, I wish he would kick himself in the ass for being such an asshole for the last couple of months since we had found out we were marrying each other.
Considering it was my wedding day I treated myself to a driver to get me to the courthouse and she was sweet enough to compliment me. It gave me the boost I needed to get out of the car and walk up to the family waiting for me.
Mr. and Mrs. Yarbrough were standing on the steps with their oldest son, Brooks, who I wished I was marrying, looking absolutely gorgeous in his suit. He was almost ten years older than me, but kind, responsible and he didn’t ignore my calls. Brooks was the kind of man I could see myself marrying while I ran the farm. He was a hard worker who knew what a hard day's work was like, and he wasn’t afraid to put the time and effort into doing what needed to be done, unlike his pain in the ass brother.
My driver was sweet enough to help me out of the car. The April weather in Lubbock was perfect on this Friday, not a cloud in the sky, and a cool seventy degrees.
“Thank you,” I said, exiting the car.
She squeezed my hand and wished me good luck. I adjusted my dress, giving myself a second before going up to say hello to my future in-laws. I looked up, Brooks held out his hand, waiting for me. A blush quickly ran up my neck from his attention. The Yarbrough men were handsome, too handsome, disarming mewith their charms and good looks while I had grown immune to their father. Brooks and Nash still seemed to catch me off guard more than I liked with their dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and height. They looked so similar, but Brooks had that boy next door look and Nash was ruggedly handsome, like the boy you made bad decisions with after you snuck out of your room to meet with him.
“Thank you,” I said, placing my hand in his.
“You look stunning, Iris,” Brooks said softly.
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my gaze down as my blush surely deepened.
We walked up the steps in silence to his parents as I took a quick look around for my husband-to-be, wondering if he was going to show up.
“Interesting choice for your dress, darling,” Mrs. Yarbrough said, giving me air kisses sweetly.
This woman had a knack for saying the most horrible things with a smile on her face, like she was complimenting you.
“Thank you, I was gathering inspiration from your era,” I said, not willing to play nice.
Brooks coughed as Mrs. Yarbrough narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at me. I gave her my sweetest smile, sweeter than the molasses she used in the pies she pretended to bake.
“Nash seems to be running late, but after the nuptials are finished, I thought we could go have a nice dinner to celebrate,” Mr. Yarbrough said, checking his watch.
“That sounds lovely,” I said, hoping Nash had other plans.
Sometimes I didn’t know what was the lesser evil, Nash or his parents. The unknown made me nervous, and I hated that I had to rely on these people.
“You did tell your brother that today was the day?” Mr. Yarbrough snapped at Brooks.
“I talked to him this morning,” Brooks said calmly. “He was coming in from Dallas.”
“Leave it to your?—”
“Son of a bitch!”
We turned around to see Nash Yarbrough at the bottom of the stairs on the phone, looking furious. “I said I would be there,” he snapped, ending the call.
He ran his hands through his longish blond hair that curled up at the collar of his shirt, looking like he had just walked off a photo shoot for a rodeo magazine. Leave it to Nash to show up to our wedding in black wranglers—that looked like sin on those thighs and ass—a black button down and black boots, holding a black Stetson with goatee, I’d hate to admit looked good. Was this man trying to intimidate me in black or was he making a statement that this felt like a funeral?
