The Billionaire's Proposal (Breckenridge Book 3)

Chapter 1

I’m done.

I did it, no matter the obstacles and all the long hours when I thought I would give up. I am so done. A giddiness fills me, and I tamp down the urge to squeal.

I am done!With a smile I can’t hide, I click the submit button and let my exam answers speed through the ether to the instructor. She will probably grade them tonight, and after that, I will officially be the latest fashion design graduate from the International Fashion Academy in Paris. Not only that, but I’ll be able to appreciate that extra line of fancy calligraphy on my diploma, too, a side note of my extra studies being completed.

I’ve busted my butt for years to maintain good grades for my bachelor’s in fashion design, but I went the extra distance to complete the university’s bridal program on top of it. And it’s coming to a close at last. All those days of studying, all those nights of perfecting projects. Those will be nothing but distant memories.

“Finished?” the instructor asks as I head toward the door.

I nod and smile wider, so much so that my cheeks start to ache. “Yes. Yes, I am.” I couldn’t be prouder of myself, but it’s not the time to dally and share more than a hug with her as she wishes me well. Taking the last exams for my classes was only one thing on my list today. The tasks I’ve got lined up for this afternoon are just as important and pressing.

I leave the room with lifted spirits, high on the success of simply getting to this point. My heart has always been in design, and my passion has never wavered from the exciting blank canvas of designing bridal gowns. Some of the courses I took weren’t as fun, but I trudged through them all to reach this point. No one enjoys electives and the other junk that supposedly makes an education more well-rounded, but those days are over. I won’t have to put up with annoying classmates. No more early test times. No more logging in to check if assignments have been graded with the steady stress of aiming for perfection. I won’t miss being a student, but as I hurry down the hall to exit the large, old building in the heart of Paris, I’m happy I’ve put myself through it.

Now, I’ll have the credentials to back myself up. I won’t just be another girl who likes to look at pretty dresses and boast that she could make them. I can prove that I’ve studied it extensively and met the approval of other trusted designers. And if I have any chance of making my real dream come true and one day, have my own wedding gown shop, this is the first hurdle cleared.

Get my degree: check.

Get married so I can have access to my trust fund and use the billions waiting for me there as a capital investment to make it happen…That’s next.

Without giving myself a chance to catch my breath from the whirlwind of emotions, I hurry home to hop in the shower to get ready for my wedding. It won’t be one of my dreams. Not even close. In just forty minutes, I’ll be eloping with my boyfriend, and that’s close enough.

It’s a roller coaster of high emotions that fuel me to hustle. After the anxiety and suspense of preparing for and taking my final exams, the happiness of finishing them should have filled my soul. I can’t take a break now, though. I’ll congratulate myself later. As I rush through a shower, I push aside the need to relax. I can’t sit down and truly feel at ease until I’ve seen this appointment through.

Thinking of my marriage as an appointment seemed cold, but I was limited in my choices. My mother has attempted to dominate my choices pertaining to my future, and this is the one way I could wrest some control back in my favor. It’s pretty simple, really. I can only obtain the money my father left me once I’m married, and since I’ve never seen eye to eye about the men my mother wants me to be aligned with, setting up a time and date to marry Owen at the courthouse is the wisest idea I’ve entertained yet.

Owen Talbot is the sort of man any woman would be lucky to get hitched to. “Mrs. Owen Talbot.” I test out the name again as I grab the hanger from my closet for my outfit. ”Mrs. Claire Talbot.”

I can’t help the grimace in my reflection as I pull my smart white Chanel dress on. It’s not a gown, but a skirt, one-third of the pantsuit-like ensemble that will work for today. I don’t need anything fancy since we’re doing this with a business approach, just at the courthouse like it’s a transaction of names and titles.

After I put my blouse on, then shrug my arms through the sleeves of the chic jacket, I try it on again.

“Mrs. Claire Talbot.” I wince again. It sounds as awful as I feel. I’m sure I’ll get used to it one day, but it’s not this one. I’m full of nerves, and the only way I can combat them is to think again that this is my only solution for getting my mom off my back.

This whole thing is my idea, so I’ve got no right second-guessing anything now.

“Mrs. Talbot.” That’s not any better, but I can’t afford to waste another minute in front of the mirror like this. I’ll be late to get to the courthouse, and when my phone rings, I sigh and answer on speakerphone so I can multitask to touch up my makeup as I speak to my cousin.

“Hi, Dalton.”

“Hey, Claire. How’d the last classes go?” His deep voice fills the room, reminding me how empty it is, and I wish he could be here. I always feel less alone when we chat. He is the only family I’ve ever embraced. My mom is impossible to tolerate. I have no siblings, nor does he. Dalton is the only connection I can ever count on, and it touches a small part of my heart to know he has me and my tests on his mind.

“Fine. They went perfectly fine.”

He chuckles. “Of course, you’d say that.”

“Because I studied my ass off to be able to say that.”

“No doubt about it, overachiever. I hope Aubrey and I can fly out and come to your graduation next week.”

I roll my eyes as I touch up my lipstick. I’d love to see him and meet his girlfriend, but not like that. Since I told Dalton about my plans to elope with Owen, my cousin has been against it. Even his best friend, Caleb, who’s like another brother I didn’t have, advised me to reconsider marrying Owen like this.

I dismissed their concerns since they’ve both met the loves of their lives in the last year. Dalton means well, but he sees everything through rose-tinted glasses right now, so an elopement might sound unromantic to him. He’s so fortunate to have the freedom to be romantic and do as he pleases, though. I do not.

“Dalton, this is France. They don’t have big, elaborate graduation ceremonies like they do in the States.”

“Well, we’d love to come and celebrate regardless.”

I shake my head.

“And maybe talk you out of eloping…”

“Not gonna happen,” I argue airily. “Because in a half hour, it’ll be done and over with.”

He huffs. “Done and over with? That’s no way to view your wedding.”

Says you. He just doesn’t get it, but it’s impractical of me to expect him to.

“I’m going to be late, Dalt.” I reach for my phone and hurry out the door.

He sighs. “All right. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yep.” I hang up quickly and leave my apartment. I don’t have time to hear him out. Neither of us has time for me to explain my reasoning. And I’ll miss this appointment if I try to do either of those.

I reach the courthouse soon enough, but I’m the only one there.

No worries. I check the time, nodding to reassure myself that it’s cool. Owen has ten minutes yet. He’s punctual to everything, but maybe he’s taking a while to get here because it’s such a big day. For him.

I’m so hooked on thinking this is just another way to do business, but as I pace, I remind myself that things aren’t as bleak as Dalton might worry. I do like Owen. He’s a great guy. We’ve had fun dating. Since I suggested eloping, he’s been excited about it. We’re both young, and while he’s already graduated and working in finance, I’ve only just completed my studies. I know he’s enjoying the optimism of having his whole future right before him, there for him to grasp and enjoy.

Another glance at the clock shows that eighty-six back-and-forth paces equals eleven minutes. Still no Owen. With one minute past the hour, that’s officially late for him, and that doesn’t make sense.

I pull out my phone and swipe past the notification reminder of my mother’s voicemail I had yet to find the patience to listen to. Calling Owen, I resume pacing.

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of—”

I hang up, not in the mood to leave a message about getting here as soon as possible. Already, a thread of worry sneaks under my skin. He’s never late. Is that a sign?

I shake my head and take a seat to wait.

Maybe I forgot about a rescheduled appointment he had to take.

Or he might be nervous.

While Owen is punctual, he can be clueless with directions. I bet he thought we were going to a different courthouse.

Multiple excuses filter through my mind, but I refuse to nag and scold him to get here. I’ve never been the kind of girl to chase down a guy. After my mother’s high-handed approach to my life, the last thing I ever want to do is dictate another’s actions.

So, I wait.

And wait.

And I wait some more.

Once the minute hand has made a complete circuit around the clock, I sigh and get up. I refuse to run after Owen and drag him here, but his no-show is telling. He’s either ghosting me or unable to make it, and I won’t know which if I sit here alone any longer.

Dejected and disappointed, I head home. Today’s been such a trip of ups and downs, but now a sinking confusion fills me. My stomach twists and my heart starts to throb. Stress is taking its toll on me. I worked myself up, cramming for my last test, and now it feels like too many unknowns linger in my mind, and I fear what answers I might find at home.

If he’s even there. If Owen can’t find the determination to elope at the courthouse, maybe he’s ready to give up on me altogether. With that dreadful thought, I take the steps up to the flat I share with him. I’m tense. My muscles ache, and when I catch myself grinding my teeth, I try my hardest to loosen my jaw and focus on simply breathing as steadily as I can. Going into the exam room this morning hadn’t caused this intense fear. As I open the door to the apartment, I hold my breath and wonder if my last-ditch attempt to get my mother out of my life will fail.

Owen stands there. He looks up as I enter the apartment and close the door behind me.

Without a word, he stares at me from the doorway to the bedroom, pausing from shoving his things in a bag.

He’s packing. Leaving with no intention to be at my side as my husband.

Dammit.