My Flash Husband Is My Boss

Chapter 4

Mrs. Vega's voice was cold, aristocratic, with a heavy Italian accent.

"Seth Alessandro, who is this girl? And why is she wearing the Vega family heirloom ring that belonged to your grandmother?"

I had seen her once in a magazine. Vogue's 50 Most Powerful Women. Black Chanel suit, pearls that cost more than my apartment building.

And she was looking straight at me. At my cheap H and M blazer. At my messy bun that Seth had just ruined. At my swollen lips. And at the thick gold band on my left hand.

The heirloom ring.

I thought it was just a simple band he bought at a pawn shop. Now she was saying it belonged to his grandmother.

Seth's hand was still holding mine. He did not let go. He tightened his grip.

Behind Mrs. Vega stood three old men in suits. The board. All staring at me.

"Mother," Seth said, calm but tense. "I was not expecting you. You were supposed to be in Milan until Friday."

"And you were supposed to be married to Isabella Laurent, daughter of Laurent Hotels, not hiding a girl in your office with the door locked," she said, eyes never leaving me. "Who is this girl?"

I wanted to disappear.

"Her name is Elise Monroe," Seth said. He pulled me forward, hand on my lower back. "My wife."

Silence. Dead silence.

Mrs. Vega's eyebrows rose.

"Your wife," she repeated.

"Yes," Seth said, voice cold and final. "Elise Monroe Vega. We were married on Saturday at City Hall at 10 AM. It is legal. She is my wife."

One board member choked. "Mr. Vega, the merger with Laurent Hotels was contingent on your marriage to Isabella—"

"I never agreed to that merger," Seth cut him off. "You agreed to it, Robert. Not me."

Mrs. Vega walked slowly towards me. Every step of her Chanel heels clicked on the marble.

She stopped right in front of me. So close I could smell her perfume.

"You," she said to me, not to Seth. "How old are you?"

"Twenty six, ma'am," I whispered.

"And what do your parents do?"

"My father is a retired teacher. My mother works at a bakery in Queens."

"A bakery. In Queens. And you went to school where?"

"Pratt Institute, ma'am. Architecture."

"Pratt. Not Harvard. Not Yale. Pratt."

Each word was a slap.

"Mother, enough," Seth said sharply, pulling me closer. "You are interrogating my wife like a criminal."

"I am protecting this family," she snapped. "This family has been in New York for three generations. We built half of Manhattan. And you marry a girl from Queens without telling me, without a prenup, wearing my mother's ring that I was saving for your real wedding?"

I tried to pull my hand away, to take the ring off. Seth held it tight.

"Don't," he whispered to me. "Don't you dare take it off."

"Seth Alessandro," Mrs. Vega said. "Did you get this girl pregnant? Is that why you rushed to City Hall?"

My face turned bright red. "No! No, ma'am, we haven't—"

"We have not consummated the marriage yet, Mother," Seth said bluntly. "Elise and I have a one year contract. But I intend to make it forever."

One year contract. He said it out loud. In front of his mother and the board.

Mrs. Vega's eyes narrowed. She was smart.

"A contract," she said slowly, a cold smile forming. "So it is a fake marriage. A business arrangement. Like your father and I, at first."

She turned back to me.

"So, Miss Monroe from Queens, how much did my son pay you to marry him? Ten thousand? Fifty thousand? Tell me your price, so I can double it for you to leave."

I felt cold water over me. She thought I was a gold digger.

Tears burned but I refused to cry.

"I did not marry him for money, Mrs. Vega," I said, voice shaking but clear. "I married him because my fiance cheated on me with my cousin on the eve of my wedding. I was in a wedding dress in the rain, barefoot on Atlantic Avenue. Your son was the only person kind to me that night. He offered me a place to stay. I offered him a marriage. No money involved."

For the first time, Mrs. Vega's cold mask cracked a little.

"You were cheated on," she said, less cold now.

"Yes, ma'am. With my cousin Chloe. The same Chloe who just applied for Senior Designer here. The same girl your son just fired for betraying family."

Mrs. Vega looked at Seth, surprised.

"You fired a Parsons graduate for your wife?" she asked.

"I fired a disloyal person for my company," Seth said. "She happens to be my wife's cousin. That is incidental."

Mrs. Vega stared at us for a long time. At his hand on my back. At my hand in his.

Then she sighed.

"Seth, you are just like your father. Stubborn and romantic when it suits you."

"She is not a broken bird, Mother," Seth said quietly. "She is an architect. A brilliant one. HR hired her because of her portfolio. Not because of me."

Mrs. Vega looked back at me.

"You are an architect?"

"Junior Architect, ma'am. I started today. Floor 48."

"Junior Architect," she repeated. Then she looked at the board. "Robert, leave us. All of you, leave. I need to speak to my son and his wife alone."

The board members left quickly, closing the doors.

Now it was just three of us.

Mrs. Vega sat down in Seth's chair, like she owned it.

"Sit," she commanded.

We sat on the small couch. Seth still holding my hand.

"Elise Monroe Vega," she said, testing my name. "If you are going to be a Vega, you need to understand what that means. Press will follow you. Every woman in New York who wanted my son will hate you. Your past will be dug up."

"I understand, ma'am," I whispered.

"No, you don't," she said sharply. "But you will. I will give you a choice. Because unlike my son, I am fair."

She leaned forward.

"Choice one. You take one million dollars. You sign divorce papers now. You leave New York. Never come back. Never contact my son again."

One million dollars. My knees went weak.

"Choice two," she continued. "You stay. You remain married to my son for one year, as per your contract. But you will be trained as a Vega wife. You will attend galas, charities, board dinners. You will learn how to speak, how to dress. And after one year, if you both still want divorce, I will let you divorce quietly with two million dollars and a good reference."

Two million dollars and a good reference.

Seth's hand tightened painfully on mine.

"No," he said, low and dangerous. "She is not taking any money. She is my wife. Not an employee you can pay off."

"She is not your wife yet in the eyes of this family, Seth," his mother said coldly. "She is a girl in a cheap blazer wearing my mother's ring. She needs to earn that ring."

She looked at me.

"So, Elise from Queens. What is your choice? One million now and you run. Or one year as a Vega and maybe two million later?"

I looked at Seth. His eyes blazing, telling me to say no to both.

I looked at Mrs. Vega. Her eyes testing me.

I thought of my tiny Brooklyn apartment with a leak. My parents' small house in Queens.

I took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Vega," I said, voice no longer shaking. "I respect you. But I did not marry your son for one million or two million. I married him because he was kind to me when the world was not. I will stay for one year because I signed a contract. Not for your money. I will work as Junior Architect because I earned that job. And I will wear this ring because your son put it on my finger, not because you gave permission."

Silence.

Then Mrs. Vega smiled. A real smile this time, small but real.

"Good answer," she said quietly. "You have spine. My mother who owned that ring, she also had spine. She came from Sicily with nothing."

She stood, walked to me, and took my left hand with the ring.

"This ring is not just gold. It is a promise that Vega women do not leave when it gets hard. They stay and they fight. If you want to be a Vega woman, you will need to fight. Especially next week."

"Next week?" I asked.

"The Vega Annual Gala," she said. "Five hundred of New York's richest people. Press, cameras, live stream. Isabella Laurent will be there. Your ex fiance's family was invited because Daniel's father is a small investor. Your cousin Chloe will be there with them. And you will be there as my son's wife. Officially presented to New York for the first time."

My blood ran cold. A gala. Five hundred rich people. Chloe and Daniel. Live stream.

"And one more thing," Mrs. Vega said, looking down at my stomach. "Are you sure you are not pregnant? Because my son looks at you like a man who has already made you pregnant in his mind. And at the gala, if you faint or vomit, the press will say you are pregnant. Then you will have to be pregnant. Do you understand?"

I froze. Pregnant? We had not even slept together.

But Seth's hand was on my stomach now, protective, possessive.

"Mother, don't scare my wife," he said, but his hand did not leave my stomach.

Mrs. Vega smiled, a knowing, dangerous smile.

"I'm not scaring her, Seth. I'm preparing her. Because at the gala, I will announce that my son is married. And the whole world will be watching to see if his new wife from Queens faints."

She walked to the door, then turned back.

"Oh, and Elise. Wear something better than H and M. My son's credit card has no limit. Use it. You are a Vega now. Dress like one. The gala is in seven days. Don't embarrass me."

She left. Click.

Silence.

Seth and I sat on the couch, his hand still on my stomach, my hand still wearing his grandmother's ring.

"Seth," I whispered, heart racing. "What did she mean, if I faint I will have to be pregnant?"

Seth closed his eyes, jaw tight.

"My mother is planning something, Elise," he said quietly. "At the gala, she will test you. And if you fail, she will force us to have a baby. A real heir. To make our fake marriage look real to the board and to stop the merger with Laurent."

He looked at me, eyes serious and dark.

"So we have seven days, wife. Seven days to learn how to be married. Seven days to learn how to touch each other without fighting. Seven days to convince New York we are in love. Because at the gala, if we don't convince them, my mother will make sure you leave that gala pregnant. One way or another."