Christmas with the Silver Fox Billionaires: Chapter 10

“Inow pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declares. “You may kiss the bride.”

The wedding ceremony is finally over.

The forty guests present all clap and cheer as Terrence kisses Katrina. Sheila’s eyes are filled with tears—though I’m not sure if those are tears of joy or grief. She just handed her precious boy off to another woman, and Sheila’s not the quitting type. She’s clapping, though, and wishing them the best.

“She’s going to be miserable,” Cole mutters.

He and his brothers stand farther at the back, close to Jamie and me, while William Morgan makes his way over to congratulate Terrence and Katrina, along with other members of their extended family.

“Who? Katrina?” I reply. “I know.”

“Sheila,” Cole says and chuckles dryly. “If I were Katrina, I’d keep a hand over my drink at all times when Mommy Dearest is around.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Outside, a blanket of pure white covers the ground, the old pine trees of the neighboring forest donning their best winter garb. The sky is a dull, cold grey. It resembles the look on Sheila’s face as she glances our way.

Once the congratulatory part of the wedding is over, Sheila and William urge everyone to head to the ballroom.

“The other guests are starting to arrive,” Katrina says, glowing with pink cheeks and all the joy in the world. Unfortunately for her, I know it won’t last.

Terrence keeps her close, though his gaze keeps wandering back to me for some reason. I recognize the hunger in his eyes, and it makes my stomach turn as I lean closer to Cole. I know my layered, champagne-beige dress is hugging my figure in all the right spots, but his focus should be exclusively on his bride.

“It’s a circus, anyway,” Toby mutters, watching the others walk out of the greenhouse, following the bride and groom.

“It’s their circus,” Cole reminds him. “Once today is over with, we can go back to business as usual.”

Asher shakes his head. “Only for a couple of weeks while those two are on their honeymoon. Terrence will come back and keep vying for his spot in Dad’s will.”

“I’ll be here to receive him,” Cole replies. A muscle ticks in his stubbled jaw.

My fingers itch to run along that stern edge before they get lost in the richness of his salt-and-pepper hair. My eyes meet his—wild spheres of blue and grey whose intensity I drown in, until William’s voice startles me with its warm, familiar rumble.

“Congratulations on a job well done, Willow,” he tells me. “Both of you, actually,” he continues and shakes Jamie’s hand. “It came out beautifully, and I saw the ballroom, too. It’s different from what I remember, but it’s wonderful. It made the kids happy, and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I’m glad you’re happy, as well.”

“I never liked the way it ended between you and Terrence, but I’m glad you landed on your feet and handled this event so honorably. I’m impressed.”

“Willow is a professional through and through,” Cole says.

William frowns slightly, his left hand balled into a fist.

Asher is the first to notice. “Are you okay, Dad?”

“Just tired. I think that’s it for me. I’ll get Ian to help me upstairs,” William replies, then motions for Ian. “You all go in there, though. Have fun. Eat the food. Drink the booze. I’m pretty sure it all came out of my pocket.”

Toby laughs, but I can still see the concern in his eyes. “You’re just miffed you can’t wrestle Uncle James over the eighteen-year-old scotch, old man.”

“You’re damn right,” William chuckles, letting Ian escort him out of the greenhouse.

I’m touched by his words. He’s a good man with good principles, and I know he raised his sons right, too. It’s obvious. The difference between the Morgan brothers and Terrence is immense. I genuinely feel sorry for Katrina. As much as it hurt when it happened, I find myself feeling grateful for the way Terrence broke it off. He saved me.

And Cole, Asher, and Toby arrived to remind me that I’m worth so much more.

The reception is as boring as I knew it would be, judging by the guest list alone: rich folks from all over New York, dressed impeccably and armed with the standard talking points—the weather, the stock market, the Hamptons’ next golden couple, the Ivy League academic standards, that article in The New Yorker, and a few good words here and there about the wedding itself. It’s stuffy.

I overhear bits and pieces, mostly praise over the décor and the menu. It’s nice and reaffirming, for sure, a testament to the quality of our work. What’s even nicer is that the Morgan brothers have barely left my side this whole time.

“You really did pull off one hell of an event,” Cole says.

“And on such short notice,” Asher adds.

“It helped that the couple’s family had so much cash to burn.” I laugh lightly. “Lots of last-minute orders just before Christmas tripled the budget.”

Jamie takes another sip of his champagne. “But we showed them, didn’t we? I already gave out half of my business cards tonight.”

“That’s great news, right?” Toby asks.

“It is. There’s a growing chance that we’re going to be packed with wedding events and engagement parties for the next year, maybe even the next two years, if they all come through,” I say.

“Provided they’re not all last-minute nightmares like this one,” Jamie mutters.

I clink his glass and give him a confident wink. “Sheila thought she could break us, but she failed. We’ll handle whatever comes our way.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cole says. His gaze follows Sheila across the room as she glides like a goddess in silver, drinking champagne and accepting congratulations. “It was your sink-or-swim moment, Willow, and you swam.”

“One thing that’s been bothering me for a while, though, is why she used her own son’s wedding for this? What was her endgame?”

Asher offers a subtle shrug while his hand rests comfortably on the small of my back. “She tried to ruin your business reputation. She cost you some clients. She got you desperate enough to work this wedding because you would either succeed or fail miserably. In her sick mind, success means you owe her. Failure would’ve meant a miserable bride like Katrina hating you even more. Sheila doesn’t take her son or her daughter-in-law’s feelings into consideration, only her personal agenda.”

“Well, Sheila’s in for an unpleasant surprise, then, because I don’t owe her a thing,” I say. “And this wedding is proof that our agency is awesome. Everybody here knows it now, too, so she can’t badmouth me to anyone, not anymore.”

“Don’t think for a second that she’s done giving you a hard time,” Toby says. “You’re ours, Willow. And if there’s one thing Sheila hates more than seeing you happy and thriving, it’s seeing us happy and thriving.”

“That sounds ominous.”

I gulp down the rest of my champagne and give my empty glass to Jamie for a refill. He makes his way to the bar, chatting up a few more guests along the way. He’s so charming and talkative, he needs to hand out a couple of cards before he even reaches the bar counter.

“I don’t think I could’ve pulled this off without him,” I tell Cole.

“Jamie’s a badass, I’ll give him that. He’s quite the diplomat, too. He held his own with Sheila more than once, and he was firm during the price negotiations,” Cole says.

“I was so nervous at first,” I reply.

“Speak of the devil,” Toby warns.

We all see her approaching our group.

Behind Sheila, the reception unfolds. Champagne rivers flow from intricate ice fountains. Chocolate pours hot over platters of fresh fruits, while bartenders mix Christmas-themed cocktails in stainless steel shakers before pouring them into perfectly chilled martini glasses with salt-crystal-coated rims.

It’s a winter wonderland for the rich: silver sparkles and white tulle, classical music and white poinsettia blossoms bursting across the walls, lights twinkling from ornate icicles, and a fine, subtle fragrance of pine and winter spices floating through the air.

Sheila stands out with her bright red curls and dazzlingly tight silver sequined dress as she glides towards us with two glasses of champagne. One is for her, and one is for me, apparently.

“Congratulations on a job well done, Willow,” she says, her smile faker than her veneers. “You truly outdid yourself.”

“Thank you,” I reply, unable to mimic the same. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

She steals a glance at Cole, a shadow briefly darkening her face, before she shifts her focus back to me. “My happiness is beside the point. My son is thrilled, and Katrina is a glowing bride. The event was just gorgeous from top to bottom. I would’ve gone for the roses for the bouquet, they’re classier, but I couldn’t argue with the bride on that.”

The falsetto laugh tells me everything I need to know. Sheila had no idea Katrina would be carrying the lilies for her bridal bouquet until she walked down the aisle. I saw the look on Sheila’s face. She didn’t like it.

“You’re absolutely right. You can’t argue with the bride’s wishes,” I reply.

She takes another look at Cole, blatantly ignoring Asher and Toby. I find it odd. But then she smiles my way again. “I was hoping we could bury the hatchet. You proved your professionalism, despite the personal issues, and my son is now happily married to the woman of his dreams. No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings for what, exactly?” I ask, my tone as flat as death.

“For the harsh words that were said perhaps, for the collateral damage your business incurred after Terrence broke off your engagement, for how it must’ve all felt. And then for you to organize this event, it couldn’t have been easy, but you rose above.”

“I always rise above, Sheila. Don’t worry.”

She nods, but an insidious smile stretches across her red, glossy lips as she measures me from head to toe. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, honey. If you drop about thirty, maybe forty, pounds, I’ll be more than happy to introduce you to some of the finer men of New York. My bridge club ladies have some of the city’s hottest bachelors for nephews and grandsons. A self-made woman like you deserves the best shot.”

“I’m trying to figure out what sort of gift one needs to be able to mask an insult underneath all that fluff,” I retort and take a sip from my glass.

Welcoming the slightly fruity, bubbly liquid down my throat, I wait for Sheila to flutter her eyelashes in faux confusion. Beside me, I can already feel the Morgan brothers becoming tense, like walls that are about to close in on her. She senses the shift in the air between us, as well.

“Whatever do you mean?” Sheila asks me. “I was just saying⁠—”

“You were just saying that I’m too fat to be with what I assume you consider a high-quality man,” I boldly interrupt. Having Cole, Asher, and Toby beside me fills me with incredible confidence. “But you ignore the fact that I’m already in the company of three of the city’s most desirable men, right here, right now. I don’t need to look like someone else to be with a good, high-value man. In fact, by being myself in every aspect of my life, I’m not with one, or two, but with three of them. And that, Sheila, makes me the luckiest woman in this ballroom.”

Sheila’s jaw drops to the floor. The anger in her eyes is damn near palpable. It makes my skin crawl, but I keep my chin up, not regretting a single word that came out of my mouth. Asher’s hand adds pressure to my back, as if to remind me they’re still here and I’m safe.

“It was just a piece of well-meaning advice, Willow. You don’t have to get so defensive about it,” Sheila scoffs. “You do you and see how that works out. But when you’re ready to take things to the next level, I’m here. I doubt the Morgan brothers are the marrying type.”

Sheila walks away, hips swaying, as she blends into the swelling crowd.

The party comes back into focus with its twinkling lights and spicy smells. The dinner is precisely what the menu promised: seven different courses, each finer and more extravagant than the last, molecular gastronomy reinventing some exquisite French dishes into spectacular new forms. The plating is gorgeous, too, and the wine pairing just brings every taste to a whole new level.

“My God, this is the third course,” Jamie groans and takes another sip of water. “How the heck am I going to make it to the seventh?”

“It’s not a lot of food, if you look at it,” I quip, nodding at my plate as the waiter sets it down in front of me.

Jamie frowns slightly when he notices that my plate has a couple of extra shrimp on top of the black rice bed. “I love shrimp,” he mutters.

“Have at it; I’m not a huge fan,” I laugh, watching him spear each morsel to transfer it onto his plate.

“There was a non-fish option, too,” Cole says.

“I know, but I figured it’s seven courses. I don’t mind skipping one.”

Toby leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Seven courses mean nothing, if I don’t get to taste you later.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get your fill of me tonight,” I reply with a soft giggle.

“We have quite the appetite; I should warn you,” Cole adds with a devilish smile.

The clinking of metal against a glass draws our attention to the end of the long table where the bride and groom are seated. I notice Sheila’s nasty glare bounce off me before I look at Terrence. He’s standing and demanding everyone quiet down.

“I just wanted to say thank you all for being here tonight.” He is already slurring his words, much to Katrina’s muted chagrin.

“It’s his second toast, isn’t it?” Asher mutters.

“And I just wanted to say how lucky I am to be married to this beautiful, bright woman,” Terrence adds, wobbling slightly on his own two feet. “You look hot, baby, like, smoking hot.”

“Thank you, my love,” Katrina flatly replies. “Why don’t you sit down? The food is getting cold.”

“Fuck the food!” Terrence quips and laughs a little too loud, prompting some scowls and gasps from the guests. “I’m celebrating here. My wedding day! I got married, folks! I’m off The NY Times Most Eligible Bachelors List!”

Cole shakes his head slowly. “No such thing.”

“He meant the New York Post, but he’s too drunk,” Asher chuckles dryly.

In the meantime, Jamie works through his double serving of fancy shrimp and black squid ink rice, washing each bite down with a generous gulp of water while watching Terrence make a fool of himself in front of almost a thousand guests.

“I am a lucky son of a bitch, right? Oh, sorry, Mom.” He cracks himself up, laughing loudly again, while Sheila struggles to get him back in his seat.

“You’ve had enough, honey, let’s eat.”

“No, hold on, I’m not done yet!” he snaps and pushes her away.

Sheila falls back in her chair, red-faced and livid. Katrina’s eyes are wide, glossy, and round with horror as Terrence continues his drunken spiel.

“Cole, you’d better get him to sit his ass down before he makes a mockery of the entire family,” Asher advises.

A strange sound coming from Jamie makes me look to my right.

“Jamie?” I ask.

He’s as white as a sheet. His mouth is open, his eyelids drooping. Sweat blooms across his face. “I think… I think…”

“Jamie!” I cry out, unsure how to help him.

He faints and face-plants into his plate, frothing at the mouth and convulsing at the same time. I scream and jump out of my seat. Asher and Toby rush to Jamie’s side and get him out of his chair.

“Somebody call 911!” I hear someone shout.

Terrence is frozen, holding up a champagne glass while staring at the commotion on our side of the table. More and more guests stand so they can see what’s happening. I’m shaking like a leaf as they lay Jamie down on the floor.

“This looks like poison,” Asher says, loosening Jamie’s tie.

“An ambulance is on the way,” Cole replies.

Toby wets one of Katrina’s fancy wedding napkins with the silvery corners, and uses it to pat Jamie’s face. It’s the only thing to do, as Jamie shivers and twitches, going in and out of consciousness.

“They’re pumping his stomach now,” Cole says as he walks out of the emergency room.

Toby and Asher stayed at the reception, trying to contain the ensuing panic, while the police secured the scene over a suspected poisoning.

“Oh, God,” I mumble, sinking back into the plastic chair, one of a dozen in a not-so-crowded waiting room.

“They’ll keep him on fluids while they wait for the test results. We don’t know what kind of poison or toxin he ingested, so they’re doing a full panel,” Cole says. He moves closer to give me a worried once-over. “How are you feeling?”

“I didn’t even think about me. I’m okay, I think.”

No dizziness. No nausea. No urge to suddenly collapse, foaming at the mouth. I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear, but the concept of a poisoning at the wedding still makes my insides churn.

“Did anyone else get sick?” I ask Cole. “What are the police saying?”

He checks his phone again. His brothers are constantly updating him with messages.

“No one else got sick,” he says. “The police think this was a targeted incident, so they’ve secured and are testing his plate and his drink in the portable crime lab they set up outside Thornwood Manor.”

To think that Jamie and I were both thrilled about the wedding boosting our revenue. All the business cards he gave out. Good grief, if he makes it out of this alive, he’ll be so pissed. I know he’ll get started on damage control before they even take the IV out of his arm.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cole asks me, then gently tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. I give him a reassuring nod.

“Just scared out of my mind. Who would do such a thing?”

“The police will ask you all the standard questions: Does Jamie have any enemies? Did he seem upset or concerned about something lately, and so on.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to tell them, except that Jamie was in a great mood despite all the stress we incurred putting this wedding together. He was anxious but excited.”

None of this makes sense. And the more I think about it, the more I go over today’s events, the more confused I get while my friend and business partner struggles to survive. Cole senses my anguish and takes me in his arms. I welcome his comfort, his strength.

For a moment, I am safe.

“It’ll be alright,” he says. “Jamie was conscious at one point when they brought him in. Maybe he didn’t ingest enough poison for it to be lethal.”

“God, I hope you’re right…”

Finally, the ER medic comes out and takes his gloves off, tossing them in the nearest bin. Cole and I both get up, eager to hear what he has to say.

“How’s Jamie?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion.

“Stable so far,” the doctor says. “We suspect strychnine poisoning, but we’re still waiting on the lab results to confirm. It wasn’t enough to kill him, fortunately. We’re giving him ample fluids to flush it from his system. He should make a full recovery.”

Cole’s phone rings. He takes the call, and I catch a glimpse of Toby’s name on the caller ID.

“He doesn’t have any immediate family here in New York. Can I go in to see him?” I ask the doctor.

“They’ve just finished pumping his stomach. I’d say give him a few more minutes,” he says. “But I don’t think it should be a problem. Just wait until they move him out of the emergency room and into a room.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Cole gets off the phone with a dark look on his face. I have a feeling the worst of this nightmare is yet to come.

“They tested Jamie’s plate,” he says, “then Toby remembered that he took all of your shrimp because you weren’t going to eat it, so they tested your plate, too.”

“No.” I already know what he’s about to say because the thought had crossed my mind, as well.

“There were traces of strychnine on top of your rice. The shrimp from your plate was poisoned, not Jamie’s. His shrimp was fine. The poison was added into the sauce that your shrimp was served with. That’s where they got the highest markers, nowhere else.”

“Cole, oh God…”

“Somebody tried to poison you, Willow.”

The rage coming off him in waves sends shivers down my spine.