You know that part in weddings where they ask if anyone objects? My mother took that way too seriously. She stood up, full of fake tears, and tried to wreck my marriage before it even started. But she didn’t know my fiancé had the ultimate mic-drop moment waiting.
I met Brian in the most unexpected place — the metro. It was nearly midnight, the train car practically empty
except for a handful of exhausted commuters…
I slumped in my seat, my feet aching from a 12-hour shift at the hospital where I worked as a nurse. That’s when I
noticed him sitting across from me, completely absorbed in a dog-eared copy of “The Great Gatsby,” his brow
furrowed in concentration.
There was something captivating about how he sat there in his faded navy hoodie and worn sneakers, utterly
unconcerned about the world around him. I couldn’t stop stealing glances.
When he nally looked up and caught me staring, I quickly averted my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“Fitzgerald has that effect on people,” he said with a soft smile. “Makes you forget where you are.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never read it.”
His eyes widened. “Never? You’re missing out on one of the greatest American novels ever written.”
I shrugged. “I guess I don’t have much time for reading these days.”
We didn’t exchange numbers that night. I gured he was just another stranger on the train… a brief, pleasant
conversation that would fade into memory.
“Maybe our paths will cross again,” he said as he stepped off at his stop. “If they do, I’ll lend you my copy.”
“I’d like that,” I replied, not believing for a second it would happen.
“Sometimes the best stories nd us when we least expect them,” he said with a wink before the doors closed
between us.
For illustration purposes only.
A week later, fate intervened.
The metro was packed with people rushing home during evening rush hour.
I stood clutching the overhead rail, trying to maintain my balance as the train lurched forward. That’s when I felt asharp tug on my purse, and before I could react, a man had yanked it from my shoulder and was shoving his way toward the doors.
“Hey! Stop him!” I shouted, but no one moved.
No one except Brian.
He appeared out of nowhere and lunged past startled passengers. The doors opened at the next stop, and both
men tumbled onto the platform. I pressed my face against the window, watching in horror as they grappled on
the ground.
By some miracle, I managed to squeeze through the closing doors. By the time I reached them, the thief had ed,
but Brian sat on the ground, my purse clutched triumphantly in his hands, a small cut bleeding above his
eyebrow.
“Your book recommendation service is very dramatic,” I said, helping him to his feet.
He laughed, handing me my purse. “I still owe you a copy of Gatsby.”
We went for coffee to clean up his cut. One coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into walking me home. Walking me home turned into a kiss at my doorstep that made my knees weak.
Six months later, we were head over heels in love. But my mother, Juliette? She never liked him.
“A librarian, Eliza? Really?” she said with a grimace when I rst told her about Brian. “What kind of future can he
provide?”
“The kind lled with books and happiness,” I shot back.
She rolled her eyes. “Happiness doesn’t pay the bills, darling.”
My family is upper middle class, but my mother has always tried to convince everyone that we were wealthy. She
name-dropped at dinner parties, stretched the truth about our vacations, and meticulously curated our lives to
appear more luxurious than they really were.
When Brian proposed with a simple but beautiful sapphire ring, I was over the moon.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said.
“That’s it?” My mother hissed when I showed her. “Not even a full carat?”
“Mom, I love it,” I insisted. “It’s perfect.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, I suppose it can be upgraded later.”
The rst dinner with Brian and my family was a disaster.
My mother wore her most expensive jewelry and continuously mentioned her “dear friend” who owned a yacht in
Monaco… a person I’m pretty sure didn’t exist.
Brian, to his credit, was unfailingly polite. He complimented our home, asked thoughtful questions about Mom’s
charity work, and even brought an expensive bottle of wine that my father, Clark, appreciated immensely.
“Where did you nd this?” Dad asked, examining the label with genuine interest.
“A small vineyard in Napa,” Brian replied. “The owner is an old family friend.”
My mother snorted. “Family friends with vineyard owners? How convenient.”
“Mom, please…” I warned.
Dad shot her a look. “Juliette, enough.”
She merely sipped her wine, her disapproval hanging thick in the air.
Later that night, Dad pulled me aside. “I like him, Eliza. He’s got substance.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Your mother will come around,” he assured me, though his expression suggested he didn’t entirely believe it.
“Just give her time.”
“I don’t care if she does,” I replied, watching Brian help clear the dishes despite Mom’s protests. “I’m marrying him
either way.”
The months leading up to our wedding were tense. Mom made snide remarks at every planning session,
questioning Brian’s family’s absence.
“They’re very private people,” I explained.
She mocked his choice of career. “Books are dying, you know!”
And she didn’t spare even his clothing. “Doesn’t he own anything that isn’t from a department store?”
The night before our wedding, she cornered me in my childhood bedroom.
“It’s not too late to call this off,” she said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “People would understand.”
I stared at her, incredulous. “I love him, Mom.”
“Love doesn’t last, Eliza. Security does. Money does.”
“I don’t care about money… he makes me feel secure. ”
“With what? Library books?” She shook her head. “I raised you for better things.”
“You raised me to be happy, Mom. At least, Dad did.”
Her face hardened. “I swear I’ll behave tomorrow. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Just promise me you won’t make a scene,” I pleaded.
She pressed her hand to her heart. “I promise to only act in your best interest.”
I should have known then what she was planning.
“I’m holding you to that, Mom,” I said, not realizing the loophole I left her.
Our wedding day arrived bright and beautiful. The venue — a historic library with vaulted ceilings and stained
glass windows — was Brian’s dream.
The guests were seated among rows of ancient books, and when the music started, I walked down an aisle lined
with rose petals, my dad at my side.
Brian waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him in his tailored suit, his eyes lling with
tears as I approached.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as Dad placed my hand in his.
The ceremony proceeded perfectly until the ofciant asked the dreaded question: “If anyone has any objections,
speak now or forever hold your peace.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the rustle of fabric. My blood ran cold as I turned to see my mother
standing, her expression grave. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
She dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief and dramatically cleared her throat. “I just need to speak my truth
before it’s too late.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
“Mom,” I hissed, “what are you doing?”
She ignored me, turning to address our guests. “I love my daughter, and I want the best for her. But this man —”
she gestured to Brian as if he were something she’d found stuck to her shoe, “…is simply not good enough. She
could have had a doctor, a lawyer, and a man with real success. Instead, she’s throwing her future away on…THIS.”
I couldn’t move. Dad’s face went pale with horror. My friends whispered among themselves. The ofciant looked
utterly lost, clearly not trained for this situation.
Brian, however, smiled. He squeezed my hands gently and turned to face my mother.
“You’re right,” he said, nodding. “She deserves the best.”
My mother straightened, a triumphant gleam in her eye. But then, Brian reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a
folded document, and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, frowning as she hesitantly unfolded it.
As her eyes scanned the page, the color drained from her face.
“Do you recognize this?” Brian asked, his voice calm. “It’s the credit report you failed.”
My mother gasped, her hand ying to her throat.
“I ran a check,” he continued, still smiling politely. “I wanted to see if the woman who constantly brags about
wealth and status was actually as well-off as she claimed. Turns out, you’re drowning in credit card debt, have a
second mortgage you never mentioned, and… oh, my favorite part — you were denied a loan just last month.”
The guests were dead silent. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
“Brian,” I whispered, shocked by this revelation.
My mother’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“That’s private information,” she nally managed to stammer.
Brian chuckled. “See, I always knew you didn’t like me because I didn’t t your idea of rich. But here’s the thing…”
He paused, glancing at me with nothing but love in his eyes. Then he turned back to my mother.
“I’m a billionaire.”
My breath caught. Dad literally choked on air beside me. Gasps erupted throughout the crowd.
My mother stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her expensive heels.
“What?” I whispered, staring at Brian in disbelief.
“My family is old money,” Brian explained, loud enough for everyone to hear. “But I don’t advertise that because I
wanted to nd someone who loved me for me, not my bank account. So I live a simple life. I work a job I love. And
do you know what? Your daughter never once cared about my wealth. Unlike you.”
The silence was deafening. My mother trembled, looking around desperately for support but found none.
“Is this true?” I asked Brian quietly.
He turned to me, his eyes warm and unwavering. “Yes. I was going to tell you after the honeymoon. I own the
library where I work. And several others across the country, among other things.”
I shook my head, trying to process this information.
“Are you angry?” he asked, suddenly uncertain.
“That you’re rich? No. That you kept it from me? A little,” I admitted. “But I understand why you did it.”
Brian took both my hands in his. “Do you still want to marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“More than ever,” I replied, and grabbed his face, kissing him right there at the altar.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
My mother turned and ran out of the venue, humiliated.
Dad stayed, tears in his eyes as he hugged us both after the ceremony.
“I had no idea,” he kept saying. “None at all.”
Would it have mattered?” Brian asked him.
Dad smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Not one bit, son. Not one bit.”
We got married and had the most beautiful reception. Brian’s parents, who ew in secretly for the ceremony, werelovely people who welcomed me with open arms.
They explained their absence during the engagement. They’d been traveling abroad for charity work, somethingthey did often with their fortune.
Later that night, as we danced under the stars, my phone buzzed with a text from Dad:
“Your mother won’t be speaking to you for a while. But between us? I’ve never been more proud of you. Brian is
exactly the kind of man I always hoped you’d nd… one who values you above everything else. Money or no
money.”
I showed Brian the message, and he smiled.
“Your dad’s a wise man.”
“Unlike my mother,” I sighed.
Brian pulled me closer. “You know, in all the great novels, the villains aren’t evil because they’re poor or rich.
They’re evil because they value the wrong things.”
“Is that from Gatsby?” I teased.
“No,” he laughed. “That one’s all mine.”
As we swayed under the twinkling lights, surrounded by books and love, I realized something profound: The true
measure of wealth isn’t in bank accounts or status symbols… it’s in having the courage to live authentically and
love completely.
My mother might never understand that, but I had found a partner who embodied it perfectly. And that made me
the richest woman in the world.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been ctionalized for creative purposes. Names,
characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Source: thecelebritist.com