Chapter 29
GRACE
Ben and I walk hand in hand down the sidewalk, sunlight catching in his hair, our fingers laced like they’ve always belonged there. We’ve decided to make a genuine go of this. Not a Vegas fantasy.
A life.
But first… I have to tell my mom. My mother, who only has one child. Who didn’t get to be at her daughter’s wedding. Who deserved to be. Yet I cheated her out of the experience.
My stomach lurches as we step inside her small living room, and not because it’s the first time Ben is witnessing the true Elvis hysteria that is my family home, but because I’m so ashamed of disappointing her.
She looks up from her chair, and her face brightens as she sees me. “Graceland.” And then she sees him. “Oh my goodness,” she says softly. “Who is this handsome man?”
He steps forward, instantly polite and gentle. “Hello, Ms. Montgomery. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Ben. Grace has told me so much about you.”
She reaches out for his hand like she’s known him forever. And just like that, I have no doubt my mother is as in love with him as I am.
“Mom. I met Ben a few months ago. He helped me with my truck when it broke down and we developed a friendship. Then, we…” How do I even explain this? I mean, I still can’t believe the direction my life has turned.
She blinks up at me expectantly.
“We’ve only been together for a short while, but we knew right away it was the real thing. So when we both happened to be in Las Vegas on business, one thing led to another…” Taking Ben’s hand in mine, I extend them to her so she can see our wedding bands.
She lets out a little gasp, her expression not giving anything away. “Sit, sit, you two. I want to hear everything. Don’t leave one thing out.”
Ben jumps right in, telling her all about the hotel fountains, the helicopter, the dancing, and the chapel named after Graceland. He shares that we created a Viva Las Vegas bucket list and my mother grins from ear to ear.
She never once looks disappointed. But that’s my mother. Only ever wanting what’s best for me. Never once considering what she might want in the equation. Not even for a second. Because that’s her way. She’s always put me before herself. And that’s when it hits me.
Hard.
Tears spill down my cheeks before I even realize I’m crying.
“Honey,” she says softly. “What’s wrong?”
Ben turns to me, eyes full of concern. “Baby?”
“I’m so sorry we did this without you, Mom. It… well, it…” My words collapse into sobs.
Before I can catch my breath, Ben’s arm wraps around me, pulling me against his chest.
“It was my fault,” he says gently. “I’d just watched Viva Las Vegas. We visited the Hoover Dam, swam at the resort, and went dancing like we were living our own version of the movie. When we drove past the Graceland Wedding Chapel with the Elvis impersonator, I practically begged her to marry me.”
I look up, expecting disappointment masked in gentle reassurance. But instead, my mother is glowing.
Glowing!
“You had Elvis marry you?” she asks, eyes shining.
“Yes, ma’am. I even have a picture.” Ben crouches beside her chair and pulls out his phone. They lean in together, smiling so brightly I swear the Rockefeller Christmas tree couldn’t outshine them.
And suddenly I’m crying for a whole new reason.
“Aww.” Ben laughs softly. “Come here, Mrs. Banks.”
“Mrs. Graceland Montgomery Banks,” my mother tries on for size. “It has a nice ring to it.”
An hour later, Winnie bursts through the door, squealing like someone who just won the lottery.
If only she knew.
Ben offers to take us all out for dinner, but Mom insists we do it properly. She and Winnie want a real celebration. Ben and I promise to come back this weekend for dinner and a small cake, the four of us together.
As we head for the door, a thought suddenly hits me.
Ugh. Do I need to look up what Elvis had at his wedding?
Hell, Mom and Winnie are probably going to be serving peanut butter and banana sandwiches for dinner, to celebrate Elvis style.
Poor Ben. If only he realized what he was getting himself into marrying me.
Yet, somehow through all the laughter and tears, my heart has never felt more at home.
Sunlight slips through the sheer curtains, painting soft gold across the bed. I wake up warm.
Not just physically, but emotionally. The kind of warm that settles into your bones and makes the world feel safe before your eyes are even open. This feeling is new. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
There’s an arm around my waist. A steady heartbeat behind me. For a long second I lie still, listening to Ben breathe, letting the reality drift in slowly.
I’m married. To him.
My lips curve into a sleepy smile. I tilt my head just enough to look back at him. His hair is a mess, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted like he forgot to close it before falling asleep.
My heart does an actual flip. I carefully slide my hand over his arm, tracing lazy circles, and he stirs.
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “You’re still here.”
I laugh softly. “I live here now, remember?”
His eyes blink open before he focuses. And then he gives me that dreamy, magnetic smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Banks.”
My face stretches under the strain of my happy grin. “Good morning, Mr. Banks.”
He pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair. “I had this horrible fear I’d wake up, and it’d all be a dream.”
“I think I had the same nightmare,” I admit.
We lie there for a few minutes, just enjoying the warmth and security our closeness provides. That is until his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.
I snort. “Real romantic, old man.”
He groans. “My pretty young wife is judging me already.”
“No. I’m thinking you need breakfast.”
He perks up. “I make an excellent pancake.”
“You grew up rich, and still learned how to make pancakes?”
“Listen, love and crazy chemistry may have built this marriage, but pancakes are what will sustain it.” He chuckles, placing warm kisses along the side of my neck.
We shuffle into the kitchen, still tangled up in each other, and he insists on cooking while I sit on the counter in one of his shirts. It’s way too big for me. But I think it might be my new favorite loungewear.
Flour ends up on Ben’s cheek. I try to wipe it off and somehow get it on his nose too.
He squints at me. “You’re sabotaging me.” He kisses me all soft and sweet, his hair still gorgeously rumpled from sleep. He leaves flour on my lips in return.
We both burst out laughing.
Later, we sit at the table with coffee and pancakes, legs tangled beneath it, sunlight spilling across the floor. This still feels more like a dream than reality. “You have no idea how much I wanted this,” he says.
“What?”
“A soulmate I could share coffee with each morning.”
I trail my fingertips over his dark stubble until that little dimple pops from his left cheek. “Well I never imagined a life like this was possible. Marrying a handsome man who’s so loving and supportive. I hit the husband jackpot in Las Vegas.” I giggle.
Ben reaches for my hand, thumb brushing my Ring Pop, now covered in flour.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I don’t exactly know what forever looks like for us.
My job may take me on the road while you have to stay here with your mom and attend school.
But I never want you to doubt you’re my priority, Grace.
None of it would mean anything without you. ”
I squeeze his hand. “Good. Because now that I’ve finally found you, I’m not giving you back.”
Ben
We finally head out for dinner to celebrate our nuptials. It’s like our own private reception. On the way into the restaurant, I ask Grace if there’s a chance that Winnie could stay with her mom again, long enough for the two of us to go on a weekend honeymoon.
“Sure. I think we could make that happen.” Her smile is so wide it makes me stop in my tracks. Leaning in, I give my gorgeous wife a kiss.
From the moment we step inside Shagbark, I feel an excitement in the air. I’d heard Milton mention this place and knew I needed to bring Grace here.
The dining room combines rustic charm and refined elegance. There are rich wood accents echoing the shagbark hickory tree that inspired the restaurant’s name, and handcrafted tables and earthy ceramic dishes make the space feel both authentic and intimate.
Light fixtures hang like glowing lanterns, softening the room with golden warmth, while hunt-inspired artwork and artful details whisper of Virginia’s natural beauty. Every table has that sense of anticipation, as if everyone knows they’re about to share not just a meal, but an experience.
I’ve heard menus here change with the seasons, pulling in the freshest local ingredients from farmers and fishermen alike.
You might find perfectly seared pork chops, vibrant fried green tomatoes with a crisp bite, or a rich, short-rib gnocchi that melts with every forkful.
I’m simply excited to see what they offer.
In the bar area, conversation seems to flow easily to the many patrons crowded around it.
In the main dining room there is low lighting, the soft clink of glassware, and servers drift about attentively without being intrusive.
This place feels romantic and alive. Much the vibe I’m going for with the revamp of the restaurant at the Lake Anna property.
Yet it’s not the understated elegance and aroma of the place that has me stuck to the floor in shock. It’s the look of panic on Grace’s face.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s my ex.” Dropping her hand, I wrap my arm around her, pulling her tight against me. She’s almost vibrating with anxiety, nearly as much as when we were at her mother’s, and she was sobbing.
What the hell did he do to her?
“Gracie.” I turn to look her in the eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. Not physically.”
Jesus. Is she not over him? I’m almost afraid to ask. “Then what?”
“He was a bum. He told me he worked in construction. Never had any money. Didn’t own a suit to go anywhere nice.” Her voice is tremulous. Her body quaking as if she were standing in a foot of snow naked.
“He was always taking trips on someone else’s dime. When we broke up, he packed up most of my things, including my car, and left me with nothing but debt and that ridiculous excuse for a truck you found me with on the side of the road that day.”
My ire continues to boil the more she speaks.
He’s clad in a nice suit and tie, sipping what appears to be scotch while the man next to him is chatting up a young blonde.
I can’t make out his friend, as his back is to us.
Yet I’m assuming it’s her ex that has her so rattled.
As much as I hate seeing her this way, I need to hear this.
If nothing more, so I can reassure her she’ll never have to deal with the likes of him again.
“I’m sure he figured I’d never have the money to come to a place like this.”
I glance back at her, unable to understand the expression on her face. She doesn’t seem angry. I mean, I know she is. But this is something else entirely.
“I’m sure he didn’t think I’d figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
“The guy he’s with. That’s Victor. The photographer.”
I do a double take. My eyes narrow.
That motherfucker.
Grace
Humiliation settled into my very bones on the drive home. There was no sense trying to salvage the evening. My appetite plummeted the moment I saw the two of them together and the horror that is my life came into focus.
This situation with the photos wasn’t the universe conspiring against me.
It was Brad. And Victor.
Seeing them together made it all click into place in the ugliest way possible. Like someone finally shined a light on all of the dark corners. All of those places where I’d felt eyes upon me.
Brad didn’t just disappear. He waited and watched in the shadows.
And once he realized how thin my life had worn, how frayed everything had become, he must’ve decided the timing was finally right.
Convincing Victor to make his move. To dangle an offer in front of a girl who was already standing on shifting ground.
I was an easy mark.
Ben never once made a scene. Not even when I could feel myself shrinking into his side. Instead, he gathered me closer, angling his body toward mine like a shield. Instead of retaliation, his attention was so fully on me it felt like he was trying to block the world out with his presence alone.
He murmured reassurances into my ear, promises he’d already given at the altar. That he’ll take care of everything, that he won’t let anyone hurt me. And somehow that made the tears sting even more.
Because he shouldn’t have to. No husband should start his married life off this way. With everything on his plate right now, he doesn’t need this.
Thankfully he left to meet his friends, claiming he was eager to share our impulsive nuptials with them. But I know the truth. My new husband was trying to give me what I needed. The space to lick my wounds.
I’m grateful for the quiet. For the ability to fall apart where no one can see me do it. Even this beautiful, loving, supportive man who asked me to be his forever Valentine.
I curl into myself on the edge of the bed and finally let the sobs come, pressing my sleeve to my mouth like it might keep the sound from escaping. This isn’t me. I’m not the girl who folds into herself when life gets hard. I’m a dust yourself off and get back to it kinda girl.
I think about the day I danced around my nearly empty apartment while Kelly Clarkson belted out Stronger, my fists punching the air, my heart pounding with the certainty I was going to be okay. I held my head high. I believed in my own resilience.
But knowing I was watched, that I’d been targeted, knocks the wind out of my sails.
Sniffling, I bitterly swipe the tears from my face, staring off into space. I’ve tried so hard. So damn hard. And still I always feel like I’m one wrong step from losing everything. Like the world isn’t quite solid beneath my feet.
I want to believe the future I have with Ben could be real.
I want to trust the warmth in his eyes and the steadiness in his voice are more than just a beautiful pause in a difficult life.
But this is utterly humiliating. Starting my married life with this accomplished older man who could have anyone, knowing I seem to bring nothing but chaos and complication at every turn.
I didn’t want a fairy tale. I meant that when I said it. I wanted something real.
But this feels a little too real. Painfully real. And a small, frightened part of me worries it’s more than even this amazing man is willing to take on.