I Married His Uncle

Chapter 2

The heat inside the car wrapped around me. Alexander didn't ask where I was headed. He didn't ask what had happened. He quietly handed me a clean handkerchief. That was when I realized I couldn't stop trembling.

Sleet pattered against the window. I stared at the handkerchief in my hand, and memories flooded back. They carried me to the first time Henry and I met.

It had been an autumn auction three years earlier. A vase shattered into three pieces failed to sell. I was the only person who placed a bid. As everyone was leaving, a man stepped in front of me. He was tall, with a smile that reached his eyes.

"Name your price. I'll pay twice as much."

"Why do you want it? It's broken. It isn't worth anything."

"Then why did you buy it?"

"Because I could still see its beauty."

He blinked in surprise, then tucked his bidding paddle into my hand.

"Then it's yours. All I ever saw were the broken pieces."

Later, I learned he was Henry, the only son and heir of the Foster family.

He spent the next three months chasing after me. The rich kid who never stuck with anything actually read Ceramic Restoration Techniques cover to cover just so he'd have something to talk about with me.

Every day at three in the afternoon, Henry showed up at my studio carrying a cup of hot cocoa.

One night, I stayed late repairing porcelain. When I looked up, he had fallen asleep at the little table beside me. He was still holding the glaze formula he'd copied for me. His messy handwriting had blurred into dark ink stains. I took a picture and made it my phone wallpaper.

When my mom was going through chemo, she mentioned she was craving cupcakes from a bakery across town. Henry waited in line for two hours just to bring them back, every single one still perfect.

My mom squeezed my hand and said, "That boy's crazy about you. It's written all over his face."

Never in a million years did I think someone like him would fake bankruptcy after our engagement just to put my love to the test. What shocked me even more was the reason behind it. I didn't piece that together until three days later, after hearing it from Felix.

Henry's mother, Caroline Foster, had spent years telling him that a girl from a family like mine could only have one reason for marrying into the Foster family: money.

Henry fought with her over it again and again. In the end, he said, "I'll prove you wrong." The one who paid for that promise was me.

My mind drifted back to our engagement dinner.

Caroline held my hand with a flawless smile. "The Foster family doesn't judge people by their background, but we do draw the line at people with an agenda."

Every pair of eyes at the table landed on me.

Beneath the table, Henry laced his fingers through mine and said firmly, "Mom, Cora's the only woman I'll ever marry."

Back then, those words moved me to tears. Looking back, they had an expiration date of three days.

Then I thought of someone I hadn't allowed myself to remember for years, Mr. Foster.

Four years earlier, my father had been set up. He was accused of swapping a priceless antique with a fake during a restoration. A craftsman who had guarded his reputation his entire life lost it overnight. Six months later, he passed away.

I was 24. Everywhere I went, I was known as the fraudster's daughter. No restoration studio would even let me through the door. Then a lawyer contacted me on behalf of Mr. Foster. He wanted me to restore a rare porcelain cup that had been broken into seventeen pieces.

For the next two years, we knew each other only through letters.

Every week, I mailed him my restoration notes. Every week, he mailed back a page filled with comments. His Copperplate script was flawless, and his observations were more thoughtful than most love letters. He spotted every detail. The glue was too thick. The color blend was slightly off. The day the cup was restored, its ownership records were released, and the case against my father fell apart.

It was Mr. Foster who gave my father his name back. The cup had belonged to his mother.

He invited me to dinner to thank me in person. I was so excited that I brought the boyfriend I'd been dating for three months.

"Mr. Foster, this is my boyfriend, Henry."

The man across from me slowly set down the cup and studied me for a long moment. "Henry?"

Henry looked just as stunned. "Alexander?"

The dinner couldn't have gone better.

Alexander was warm and gracious from beginning to end. He congratulated Henry and me and said we were perfect for each other.

After that night, though, his letters changed. They shrank from full pages to three short lines. The detailed notes in elegant Copperplate script became a polite, "Very nice."

I assumed work had kept him busy. Six months later, Henry and I got engaged. Alexander gave us the rare porcelain cup as our engagement gift. Tucked inside the brocade box was a card.

May every year bring you peace, and every dream come true.

There was no signature.

Eight months later, Alexander left the country.

He disappeared for eight months without a word.

I kept telling myself he was busy. Then his car pulled up in front of me.

"What are you going to do now?" Alexander asked, pulling me out of my memories.

My throat tightened. "Why were you there?"

"Prospera Culture belonged to me."

I looked up sharply. Prospera Culture was the company that had bought my studio.

"I had them put the plaque back." His eyes stayed on the road, his voice steady. "The equipment was untouched. Every box of materials was still there. I held the contract back, so it could be canceled at any time. Your studio hadn't lost a single thing."

My eyes stung without warning. I hadn't cried when debt collectors pounded on my door. I hadn't cried when my mother was frightened into heart palpitations. I hadn't cried when I signed the transfer papers.

But a single sentence of his broke me completely. I turned my face toward the window so he wouldn't see.

Alexander reached over and turned the heat up another notch. "Cora, whatever happens, I've got you. I'll handle it."

Two days earlier, Henry had held me the same way. I had said, "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

That was when I realized what truly set people apart. It was never the promises they made. It was everything they had already done before making them.