Marry me

Chapter Eighteen [Part One].

For the second time that day, my jaw met the ground.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I sucked in a deep breath through my nostrils and gaped awestruck at the majestically gorgeous white three-storeyed mansion in front of me.

Vast pillars supported the top storeys, making it look like something that would only appear in movies. Tea tables and chairs sat at random spots on the front porch while two grey medium-sized sofas with round throw pillows sat opposite each other facing the neat green lawn.

I would have really loved to say that the environment was serene and peaceful but that would have been a big, fat lie.

Several expensive cars and jeeps were parked -more like jam-packed though- outside the Greek-castle-like mansion and I could hear soft classical rich-people-type of songs cooing from the interior part of the mansion, telling exactly what I needed to know.

That the 'party shit' had begun.

I walked hand-in-hand -no wait, stratch that, I didn't walk in, Mr. Asshole dragged me in. Literally.

Well, isn't he just a gentleman?

Uniformed servants swarmed past us, mumbling greetings to us while I continued to gape at the interiors of the building. The unsteady click-clacking of my heels against the marble floor echoed even in the busy lobby.

I brought my head down to the shiny marble floor and watched my steps, so I won't trip over and fall flat on my face. When we came to a stop, I brought my gaze up almost immediately.

The living room was about the size of a large cathedral and half the size of a football pitch. An enormous chandelier hung from the high ceiling in the middle of the room. There were two converging spiral staircases leading to the next floor with an indoor water fountain underneath them. A tempered glass table was in the middle of gold leather-clad couches.

"Ivan!" A woman in designer clothes called out, walking out of two large French doors a few feet behind the water fountain.

She was dressed in a designer ball gown that looked way way more expensive than mine. Her hair was pinned back stylishly with what I suspected as hair pins. I saw the resemblance even before Mr. Asshole said...

"Mother!"

I was taken aback by the joy in his voice. I looked up and found him grinning at his mum. I smiled. Who knew Mr. Asshole was a mummy's boy?

His Mum came to a stop right in front of us and pulled Mr. Asshole in for a hug. She pulled back when she noticed me and gave me a warm smile. "You must be her." She had a strange accent -like British with American- "I'm Beverly." Her grey eyes glinted and I smiled, even though it was still quite shocking that the woman in front of me, that was clearly beaming like rays of sunshine, was Mr. Asshole's Mother.

Not that I wanted her to be like her son or anything.

I held back a deep sigh.

Maybe, just maybe, meeting his family wouldn't so bad after all.

Not that I care.

*

I was wrong.

Well, partly wrong but that's not the point.

The moment we stepped foot into a majestic ballroom, Mr. Asshole ditched me, leaving me with his mum. Wow, fake-fiancé goals, right? So there I was, underneath the scrutiny of my supposed fiancé's family.