You know that dramatic part in weddings where the officiant says, “If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace”?
Well… my mother took that way too seriously.
She actually stood up, dabbing at her fake tears like she was in some soap opera, and tried to destroy my wedding before it even began. But what she didn’t know was that my fiancé had the ultimate mic-drop moment ready—and trust me, it was better than anything in a movie.
Let me start from the beginning.
I met Brian in the last place you’d expect to find love: on the metro, close to midnight.
I was slumped in my seat, absolutely wiped out from a 12-hour hospital shift. My feet throbbed, and all I wanted was to get home and sleep for a century.
That’s when I saw him.
He was sitting across from me, completely lost in an old, worn-out copy of The Great Gatsby. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration. He wore a faded navy hoodie and scuffed-up sneakers, looking like he had no idea anyone else existed.
I couldn’t stop glancing at him.
There was just something about the way he was sitting there—peaceful, focused, completely in his own world. I didn’t even realize I was staring until he looked up and caught me.
I quickly looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up.
Then he smiled and said, “Fitzgerald has that effect on people. Makes you forget where you are.”
I laughed nervously. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never read it.”
His eyes widened like I’d just confessed a crime. “Never? That’s tragic. You’re missing out on one of the greatest American novels ever written.”
I shrugged. “I don’t really have much time for reading lately.”
We didn’t exchange numbers. Just a simple, warm conversation between two strangers.
As he stood to get off at his stop, he said, “Maybe our paths will cross again. If they do, I’ll lend you my copy.”
I smiled, thinking I’d never see him again. “I’d like that.”
Before the doors closed, he looked back and added, “Sometimes the best stories find us when we least expect them.” And then he was gone.
One week later, fate decided to mess with me again.
It was rush hour on the metro, and the train was packed. I was holding onto the overhead rail, swaying with the jerky motion of the car, when I suddenly felt someone yank my purse off my shoulder.
I barely had time to react before a man was shoving his way through the crowd, clutching my bag.
“Hey! Stop him!” I screamed—but no one moved. No one even tried.
Except for one person.
Out of nowhere, Brian burst through the crowd and chased after the thief. The doors opened, and both men went tumbling out onto the platform in a blur of arms and shouts.
My heart was racing. I shoved my way out of the train just in time to see the thief bolt into the night.
But there was Brian, sitting on the ground, my purse clutched in his arms, a small cut bleeding above his eyebrow.
He looked up at me and grinned. “Your book recommendation service is very dramatic.”
I helped him up, laughing even though I was still in shock. “You’re insane. Thank you.”
He handed me my bag and said, “I still owe you a copy of Gatsby.”
We went for coffee so I could clean his cut—and that coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into a walk home. That walk turned into a kiss at my doorstep that left me breathless.
Six months later, we were in love—completely, deeply, hopelessly in love.
But my mother? Juliette? She hated him from the start.
The first time I told her about Brian, she made a face like she’d tasted something sour.
“A librarian, Eliza? Really?” she said, practically spitting the word.
“Yes, Mom. And he’s amazing.”
She sneered. “What kind of future can a librarian give you?”
I looked her dead in the eye. “The kind filled with books and happiness.”
She rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe her daughter had turned into such a dreamer. “Happiness doesn’t pay the bills, darling.”
See, my family is what you’d call upper middle class, but my mother has always tried to act like we’re wealthy—as in yachts, private jets, and designer handbags kind of wealthy. She stretched the truth at every dinner party, namedropped people she didn’t even know, and curated our entire lives like we were in some luxury magazine.
When Brian proposed, it was with a simple but gorgeous sapphire ring.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said softly as he slid it onto my finger.
I was over the moon.
My mother? Not so much.
“That’s it?” she hissed, turning the ring under the light. “Not even a full carat?”
“Mom, I love it. It’s perfect,” I insisted.
She sniffed. “Well, I suppose it can be upgraded later.”
The first dinner with Brian and my family was a complete trainwreck.
My mother wore her most expensive necklace and kept going on about her “dear friend who owns a yacht in Monaco.” Spoiler alert: that friend does not exist.
Brian was polite and kind. He complimented the house, asked questions about my mom’s made-up charity work, and even brought a rare bottle of wine that my dad loved.
“Where did you find this?” my dad, Clark, asked.
“A small vineyard in Napa,” Brian replied. “The owner’s an old family friend.”
My mother snorted. “Family friends with vineyard owners? How convenient.”
“Mom, please,” I whispered.
“Juliette, enough,” Dad said sharply.
She just sipped her wine like she was the queen of England.
Later, Dad pulled me aside.
“I like him, Eliza. He’s got substance.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “Your mother will come around. Just give her time.”
“She won’t,” I said. “But I’m marrying him anyway.”
The months leading to our wedding were brutal. My mother took every opportunity to criticize Brian.
“Where’s his family? Why aren’t they involved?”
“They’re private people,” I explained again and again.
“Books are dying, you know. He’s in a dying profession.”
“He loves what he does, Mom.”
“Can he at least wear a suit that isn’t from a department store?”
The night before the wedding, she cornered me in my old bedroom.
“It’s not too late to call this off,” she said calmly. “People would understand.”
I stared at her. “I love him.”
She folded her hands. “Love doesn’t last, Eliza. Money does. Security does.”
“He is my security.”
She raised an eyebrow. “With what? Library books?”
I clenched my jaw. “You raised me to be happy. At least, Dad did.”
Her face turned cold. “I promise I’ll behave tomorrow. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Just please don’t make a scene,” I begged.
She put a hand on her heart. “I promise to only act in your best interest.”
I should have known better.
The wedding day was perfect. The venue was a beautiful historic library, filled with stained glass and rows of old books. Brian’s dream.
The music started. I walked down the aisle with my father by my side. Brian looked breathtaking in his suit, tears in his eyes when he saw me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Everything was perfect… until the officiant said those infamous words:
“If anyone has any objections to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Silence.
Then—rustle. Fabric. Movement. My heart sank.
My mother stood up, dramatic as ever, handkerchief in hand.
“I just need to speak my truth before it’s too late.”
“Mom,” I hissed. “What are you doing?”
She ignored me and turned to the guests.
“I love my daughter, I do. But this man—he’s not good enough. She could have married a doctor. A lawyer. Someone successful. Instead, she’s throwing away her future on… this.”
Gasps echoed through the room. My dad looked like he might faint.
The officiant was frozen.
But Brian? He smiled.
He gently squeezed my hand and turned to her.
“You’re right,” he said calmly. “She does deserve the best.”
My mom looked smug. Until Brian reached into his pocket and handed her a folded paper.
“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously.
“A little light reading,” he said. “Thought you’d recognize it.”
She opened it—and her face went pale.
“Do you recognize that?” Brian asked. “It’s your credit report.”
The room fell dead silent.
“Turns out you’re drowning in debt, Juliette. Maxed out credit cards. Second mortgage. And—you were denied a loan last month. Some people fake wealth… but numbers don’t lie.”
She choked. “That’s private—”
Brian raised an eyebrow. “And yet you judged me for not being rich enough?” He turned to the crowd. “Truth is, I didn’t tell anyone this because I didn’t want it to matter—but I’m a billionaire.”
The room exploded. I heard someone gasp. Dad literally choked.
“What?” I whispered, staring at Brian.
“I didn’t want you to fall in love with my money,” he explained gently. “I own the library where I work. And many more across the country.”
“Are you angry?” he asked.
I shook my head. “That you’re rich? No. That you kept it secret? A little. But I get why you did it.”
He looked at me with nothing but love. “Do you still want to marry me?”
“More than ever,” I whispered, and kissed him in front of everyone.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
My mom? She ran out of the venue like her heels were on fire.
Dad stayed and cried. “I had no idea,” he kept saying. “But you chose right, Eliza. Money or no money.”
We got married. Had the most magical reception. Brian’s parents flew in secretly for the ceremony and were the kindest people.
Later that night, while we danced under the stars, I got 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 find.”
I showed Brian.
“Your dad’s a wise man,” he said, kissing my forehead.
“Unlike my mother,” I sighed.
Brian chuckled. “You know, in all the great novels, the villains aren’t evil because they’re rich or poor. They’re evil because they value the wrong things.”
“Is that from Gatsby?” I teased.
“Nope,” he grinned. “That one’s all mine.”
And right then, swaying in his arms beneath the twinkle lights, I realized something: I was the richest woman in the world. Not because of money.
But because I chose love over status.
And that love? Was priceless.
