Wheel You Marry Me?

CHAPTER 18.

"Ryan, what are you doing out here? It's time for your speech, darling," came Eleanor's sharp voice behind us. Her heels clicked menacingly on the garden pavement like gunshots in the silence.

Ryan turned around with a clenched jaw. "I told you I'm not giving a speech tonight," he snapped, his tone low but firm.

Eleanor approached, draped in a sequined midnight-blue gown that shimmered under the garden lights. "But we agreed. You promised—"

"You agreed. I never did," he cut her off coldly.

Then, as if noticing me for the first time, she narrowed her eyes. Her lips curled when our eyes locked, and her entire face transformed.

"What is this bitch doing in my house?" she spat, venom lacing every word.

"Mum!" Ryan shouted, wheeling forward. "Don't talk about Aurora like that!"

"I'll speak to her however I damn well please!"

Ryan's face turned red with anger. "Can you behave yourself for just one night? Please?"

Eleanor glared at me like I was filth on her designer shoes. "You don't know what she did, Ryan! She disrespected me—in public!"

"How exactly did she disrespect you?" he demanded.

"She smacked me!" she bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at me like a villain in a courtroom drama.

"Maybe you deserved it," he muttered with a shrug, trying to remain calm.

"How dare you say that to me?!" Eleanor hissed, nearly trembling with rage. "I raised you better than this!"

"Then maybe you should act better than this!" Ryan shot back.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. House!" she screamed at me.

I stepped forward, fire igniting inside me. "I was invited by your son not you. And I'm not leaving just because you threw a tantrum."

Eleanor's nostrils flared. She looked like she wanted to launch across the garden and strangle me.

"Then LEAVE WITH HER!" she roared at Ryan.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" a deep voice thundered suddenly.

Tyler, impeccably dressed, calm but visibly annoyed, strode into the garden like a CEO entering a boardroom in flames. "Eleanor, are you completely out of your mind?"

Eleanor stiffened but didn't back down. "Do you know what that little social climber did? She's the reason this night is ruined!"

"I'm not a social climber!" I shot back.

Tyler turned toward me, his face softening. "Scarlet's daughter?" he asked, studying me.

"Yes, sir."

"You look lovely. I'm glad you came. Please, enjoy yourself and feel at home." His voice was calm but authoritative.

Eleanor looked like she'd just swallowed a wasp. She opened her mouth, then shut it, glaring at both men before hissing, "I don't know what's gotten into you two."

Then she spun around, her dress flaring, and stormed off into the mansion like a villainess defeated temporarily.

Tyler turned back toward us. "Excuse me. I have guests to attend to."

And just like that, he was gone.

Ryan let out a low whistle. "Well... that escalated quickly."

I turned to him, guilt creeping into my chest. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause all this."

"Don't you dare apologize. This was not your fault. That's just how she is."

Then he reached for my hand, his eyes locked with mine. "This... is the best night I've had in a long time."

Before I could respond, he leaned in closer. I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against my cheek, the scent of his cologne mingling with the crisp night air. His fingers cradled my face, gentle but sure. Then his lips touched mine tentative at first, brushing softly like a whisper, then deepening as if he was pouring everything he felt into that kiss.

Goosebumps swept over me. The world faded, the music, the noise, the lights. All I could feel was him.

When we finally pulled apart, I whispered, "What are we doing?"

He smiled, his lips still tingling. "What do you think we're doing?"

I kissed him again this time with certainty. I didn't care who saw us anymore.

"You kiss like fire and honey," he murmured, brushing his thumb over my cheek. "You're the best kisser I've ever known."

I blushed, lowering my gaze. He lifted my chin and kissed me once more. "It's getting cold. Let's go inside."

The soft hum of jazz floated through the hall as we entered. Couples swayed gently to the rhythm. It was magical.

"Can you dance with me?" Ryan asked.

"I can't really dance," I admitted.

"Me neither. Let's embarrass ourselves together."

He winked, and I laughed as he patted his lap.

"Come sit on me."

I hesitated, then obeyed, sitting across him. He adjusted his wheelchair to the rhythm of the music, and soon we were gliding across the floor, in our own little world. People stared but neither of us cared.

"This is actually... fun," I said, eyes sparkling.

"It's always fun with you," he replied, pulling me closer and kissing me again. It felt like the whole room disappeared.

After a while, I leaned toward his ear. "I need to use the washroom."

"Go upstairs. First door on your left," he instructed, brushing his hand over mine before letting go.

I made my way through the grand staircase and turned left, heading into the bathroom. The gold accents, velvet towels, and lavender scent screamed money.

As I stepped out, I paused.

A sound.

A cry.

Faint, muffled... but definitely human. Pain. Panic. Fear.

I froze.

It was coming from the room across the hall. A cry again, louder this time. Then voices. Two people... arguing. No—fighting.

My hand trembled as I approached the door. I pressed my ear gently to the wood. A man's voice, low, angry. A woman pleading. Another sob.

What the hell was going on in there?

Should I open it? This was insane. But what if someone was in danger?

I reached for the doorknob, heart racing.

And then, the door flung open.

I gasped.

Standing in the doorway, face flushed and eyes wild, was Eleanor.

For a moment we just stared at each other. Her pupils dilated as recognition slammed into her expression like a hammer.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

Behind her, I caught a glimpse, someone slumped on the floor, bound at the wrists, their mouth gagged. I couldn't see who it was but I knew someone was in serious trouble.

"Eleanor..." I whispered, backing up.

Her expression turned murderous.

"You weren't supposed to see that."