Last Minute Bride

"Damn it! I am so late!"

A sharp curse escaped Clara’s lips as she threw her body weight against the heavy glass doors of Ruby’s Diner. Her heart was hammering violently against her ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm that echoed the absolute chaos her life had become. She stumbled slightly as the door gave way, aggressively chewing on a piece of spearmint gum to mask her nerves. The diner was bustling with the mid-morning rush, clinking coffee cups and low chatter filling the air. It was the perfect secluded yet public spot for a blind meeting, but as her anxious gaze swept over the vinyl booths, the person she was looking for was nowhere in sight.

Panic immediately began to claw at her throat. She glanced down at her wristwatch. It was already a quarter past ten in the morning. Was she too late? Had he already left?

Muttering under her breath, she retreated hastily, weaving through the crowded tables until she pushed into the cramped confines of the women’s restroom. Locking herself inside a small stall, she dropped the toilet lid and sank onto it, pulling out her phone with trembling fingers. She needed to ground herself. She swiped the screen to reread the crucial, lifeline of a message from her best friend, Tessa.

*‘Clara. Meet this man at Ruby’s Diner tomorrow morning at ten. Don’t be late. He is a struggling model. Needs a place to stay. Don’t get carried away by his looks, honey. He is gay. ;-) He is ready to marry you. Go for it, honey. All the best.’*

This unknown man was Clara's absolute last hope. Her silly friend hadn't even managed to share a picture of him because she had to catch an urgent flight to Paris last night.

Clara tapped the screen, playing the quick voice note Tessa had left just before boarding. *‘Clare. Don’t forget to meet him tomorrow morning. I need to travel urgently. Mom is sick and admitted to the hospital. Arthur will be there at ten sharp in a navy blue shirt. He is a very punctual guy. All the best.’*

Except the supposedly punctual Arthur was nowhere to be found. Exhaustion and a deep, simmering anger weighed heavily on Clara’s shoulders as she stood up and walked out of the stall to wash her hands. She gripped the edges of the porcelain sink, staring at her pale reflection.

The devastating betrayal by her childhood sweetheart and ex-fiancé, Derek, alongside her deceitful younger step-sister, Brianna, had left her completely shattered. They had lied, cheated, and drained her emotionally and mentally. She fundamentally needed a husband of convenience to salvage her shattered pride. She needed to legally bind herself to someone, anyone, to reclaim her life.

"God! I need this man," Clara muttered fiercely to the mirror, splashing cold water on her face. "I need to show Derek exactly who he is messing with."

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Clara stepped back out into the bustling dining hall, her green eyes scanning the room with renewed determination.

Her gaze abruptly halted, snagging on a breathtakingly handsome man seated at a quiet corner table. He was tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of a crisp, perfectly tailored navy blue shirt. He wore a clearly branded, expensive suit jacket slung over the back of his chair, completely contradicting the 'struggling model' description. His head was currently bowed, his long fingers flying expertly across the keyboard of a sleek laptop.

Assuming this Greek-God-like figure had to be her target—perhaps the expensive suit was borrowed for an upcoming audition—she approached the table. With every step, she felt completely stunned and disarmed by his flawless, chiseled features.

*Oh, thank God! Thank God! He is here! Thank you, Tessa,* she mentally chanted, sending a silent hug across the ocean to her best friend.

Clara stopped at the edge of his table. When he didn't look up from his screen, she hesitantly tapped her knuckles against the wooden surface.

The man finally raised his head.

Holy cow.

Clara actually forgot how to breathe. She blinked rapidly, wanting to pinch herself to remind her exhausted brain that she wasn't dreaming. Damn you, Tessa! Why didn't you mention that he was insanely, smoking hot? It was almost a cosmic joke that a man this handsome was gay!

"If you are done checking me out, I have work to do," a deep, resonant voice broke her momentary trance. The words were laced with a cold, unbothered arrogance.

His icy blue eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity that made her shiver. My God, he was practically a movie star. And he was just staring at her, waiting for her to speak. How completely dumb she must look right now.

"Umm. I... I am Clara Whitmore. I..." she stuttered, her usual confidence evaporating under his chilling gaze. Feeling like an absolute fool, she extended her hand across the table, expecting a polite handshake.

Instead of reaching out to take it, the man merely kept his hands near his laptop, placing a clenched fist under his sharp jawline. He kept staring at her.

A wave of unease washed over Clara. This guy was undeniably smoking hot, but he also seemed like a certified asshole. Still, she couldn't afford to be picky. He was her only hope.

Refusing to be deterred by his freezing demeanor, Clara pulled her hand back, plastered on a bright, determined smile, and slid boldly into the seat directly opposite him.

"Listen, Arthur!"

When she called him by that name, the man’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows twitched, and he eyed her as if she had completely lost her mind. She ignored it. He did look remarkably like Henry Cavill, but she definitely wasn't going to inflate his ego by telling him that.

"Tessa must have told you about my need to marry someone," Clara pushed forward.

"Excuse me?" A subtle, unreadable flicker of interest suddenly shimmered in the depths of his icy blue eyes.

"Listen, Arthur. Let's just lay all our cards on the table," Clara launched into her desperate pitch, leaning forward. "Tessa told me everything about you. I have got this tiny, dinky apartment. It has a small bed. You can take the bed if you want, and I will gladly manage on the couch."

She saw she had his attention now. Emboldened, she reached across the table and placed her hand gently on his firm forearm.

"Right now, my finances are temporarily frozen. But once I recover my money, I promise I will pay you handsomely. I can also help you with your struggling career. I’ve got folks in the modeling industry."

She prayed she didn't sound as utterly desperate as she felt. For the first time since she sat down, she noticed a minuscule crack in the ice of his stare. He glanced down at her small hand resting on his arm. She could have sworn she saw a fleeting trace of warmth in his expression, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"So, what do you say?" Clara pressed, realizing he was silently calculating her words.

"When do you want this marriage thing... Miss?" he asked, his deep voice dangerously smooth.

"Umm. It’s Clara. And, as soon as possible. Whatever suits you."

He raised a sharp, dark eyebrow, his gaze turning assessing and bold. "How about now?"

"Now?" Clara gasped, her eyes widening. She hadn't expected this to be so unbelievably smooth. It was a literal wish come true.

He nodded firmly. "Yes. If it’s now… I am in. Otherwise deal is off."

He snapped his laptop shut, his entire demeanor shifting to one of decisive action. Clara was thrilled and utterly relieved. She agreed without a second of hesitation, jumping up from her chair. As she rounded the table, her hips swaying slightly in her rush, she caught him giving her sexy legs a blatant once-over. She didn't give a damn right now. She was getting exactly what she needed.

The next two hours were an absolute blur. Utilizing connections that seemed suspiciously fast and powerful for a struggling model, the man managed to secure a priest, two witnesses, and the legal marriage documents in record time.

Standing outside the registry office on the bustling street pavement, the surreal deed was officially done. The sun glared off the passing cars. Clara clutched her tote bag, her mind racing a million miles a minute. They had arrived via a cab that she had paid for, and now reality was crashing back down on her.

"Where will you go now?" he asked casually, watching her dig frantically through her bag.

"Right now, I have got a desperate job interview, Arthur. Wish me luck," Clara said, finally fishing out a pen and a crumpled piece of paper. She hastily scribbled down her address against her bag and handed it to him.

"Here is my address. Collect your belongings and crash at my place! I will wait for you."

Shooting him a final, bright smile, Clara turned on her heel and sprinted off toward a nearby cab stand, her heels clicking rapidly against the concrete. She was completely unaware of the intense, bewildered stare the man aimed at her retreating back. He simply couldn't believe what she had just made him do.

Left standing alone on the sidewalk, the man watched the yellow cab merge into the busy city traffic. Just then, his cell phone started ringing from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled it out and casually answered.

"Vance! My friend! Where are you, man?" The voice of his friend, Nolan, echoed through the receiver in a state of frantic panic.

"Nolan. What happened?" Vance asked smoothly.

"Nothing happened yet, but something definitely will if you don’t marry before this evening! Your old man is getting agitated, and Vanessa’s phone is not responding. I know she was strategically arranged to marry you for ten million dollars today. But I think if she is ruthlessly demanding twenty million, then better give it to her! We don’t have any other option."

Vance listened to his friend's hyperventilating rant with chilling calmness. When Nolan finally paused, Vance spoke, his tone dripping with sheer indifference.

"There is no need for Vanessa anymore. Fuck her and her extortionate payment. By the way, I just got married."

"You did what?!" Nolan choked out, sounding utterly dumbstruck.

"I got married," Vance repeated, completely unbothered. "So now my old man shouldn't try to snatch away my position as the CEO of the Kensington Company. I am sending you a snapshot of my marriage certificate via WhatsApp right now. Show it to my old man." A trace of dark sarcasm colored his voice.

There was a beat of heavy silence on the other end. "How did you manage it, man? Who is the girl? How much astronomical price are you paying her?"

Vance Kensington allowed an amused, genuinely entertained smile to touch his lips. He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper bearing a shoddy apartment address.

"That’s the best part, Nolan. I am not the one paying her. She is the one promising to pay me. Oh, and she’s offering a place to live."

"She is doing what?!" Nolan coughed violently, clearly choking on his beer while trying to stifle his laughter.

Vance chuckled and disconnected the call, effectively neutralizing his father's ultimatum in one bizarre morning. It seemed his daring, last-minute bride knew absolutely nothing about him. He dialed another number.

"Where is my car, Simon? Bring it here."

"Yes, Sir."

Less than two minutes later, a gleaming, Napier green McLaren P1—a million-dollar marvel of engineering—glided smoothly to the curb, drawing the stares of every pedestrian on the block. A uniformed chauffeur immediately stepped out, bowing respectfully as he took the laptop bag from Vance's hand.

"Arrange a low-key car as a temporary arrangement, Simon," Vance ordered smoothly.

After instructing his chauffeur, Vance Kensington slid into the luxurious, custom-leather backseat, his mind entirely relaxed. The suffocating, impossible task of his arranged marriage that had loomed over him just this morning had been magically resolved in the most unexpected way.

He leaned his head back against the headrest. He knew absolutely nothing about the fiery girl who had just legally bound herself to him, but she was supposed to be the one getting paid. She seemed daring, and he was thoroughly, helplessly intrigued to know more about her. She had wildly confused him for some unknown 'Arthur.' But in this utterly bizarre twist of fate, the poor Arthur had just lost out by a fraction.