Chapter 2: In-Law Showdown and a Cold Groom

He said it softly, but I caught the wistfulness in his tone. For a second, Dad looked like he was remembering another life. I felt a weird twinge—jealousy? Nostalgia? Who knows.

I raised an eyebrow. Him? Who says I’d pick him even if he were here? Not like Dad ever asked me.

I bit back a snort. Grant? Please. I’d spent half my life watching him pretend not to care. Besides, I’d like to think I have a say in my own life—even if it doesn’t always look like it.

Even though my wedding was rushed, all the proper traditions were followed. By the end of the ceremony, I was wiped. I peeled off the dress, grabbed some mac and cheese, and settled in for the night. That was my version of a honeymoon.

The dress was a monster—layers of tulle, beads, and lace that weighed a ton. By the time I peeled it off, my feet were killing me. I sat on my bed in sweats, scarfing down comfort food, not caring about the crumbs. Honestly? Best part of the day.

I made sure to tell everyone—Mrs. Lin, the housekeepers, even the Secret Service—that if the groom showed up, he was to sleep in the guest room. No exceptions. Not tonight, not ever.

I made sure to tell Mrs. Lin specifically, double-checking with the staff and even the security detail. This was one boundary I wasn’t about to compromise on, rushed wedding or not.

Turns out, I was overthinking it. The groom I picked by lot didn’t even show up that night. Not even a text. For a moment, I wondered if he’d forgotten he was married.

Whether I saw him or not was one thing, but on my wedding night, he actually left me alone in the bedroom. No awkward small talk. Just… silence. I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or relieved.

I lay there in the dark, listening to the distant hum of the city. It was almost peaceful—if you ignored the fact that I was technically a newlywed with no groom in sight. Go figure.

Apparently, after sending someone to check, I learned the groom was drunk and stayed at the guest house. That place was practically a different zip code—way out on the far side of the property. I pictured him passed out on a couch, tie crooked, shoes still on.

Mrs. Lin, my old nanny, leaned in and whispered, "Miss Rosalie, the guest house is where Carter’s cousin, Emily, is staying." She had that look—her sixth sense for trouble kicking in. I braced myself for more gossip.

I frowned. A guy and a girl alone for the night—everybody knows what that means in this town. I could already hear the rumor mill starting up.

It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Around here, even the walls have ears. I felt a prickle of annoyance, but also a weird sense of relief. At least I didn’t have to deal with Carter tonight.

Back when Dad picked candidates for me, everyone on the list had volunteered. Carter already had someone in his heart but still wanted to hang onto presidential favor—talk about shameless.

It was all politics, all the way down. I remembered the interviews, the polite smiles, the way Carter looked everywhere but at me. If he thought this was his shortcut to power, he’d seriously picked the wrong girl. Good luck with that.

At first, I wanted to teach him a lesson, but then I figured he was a victim too. Forget it. The envoys from the other countries are arriving today. Now’s not the time to stir up trouble. I had enough on my plate.

I let it go with a shrug. There’d be time for drama later—right now, I had bigger fish to fry. If Carter wanted to tangle with Emily, that was on him.

I’d put up with this for a few days. Once the envoys left, I’d divorce him and we’d go our separate ways. Simple. I’d already started drafting the divorce announcement in my head. Hit the eject button—no regrets.

But I didn’t expect the Carter family to be so spectacularly clueless. They had their own ideas about how things should go—and apparently, subtlety wasn’t one of them.

If I thought I could coast through this charade, I was dreaming. The Carters had their own agenda—and zero sense of when to let things go. Timing? Not their strong suit.

I wasn’t looking for trouble, but they insisted on bringing it straight to my door. I swear, sometimes I think trouble has my phone number on speed dial.

Just after breakfast, Carter’s grandma sent her housekeeper to ask me to come to the living room for a talk. The housekeeper delivered the message like she was reading a court summons—dead serious, not a hint of warmth.

Mrs. Lin was furious as soon as she heard. "The nerve! Who does she think she is, summoning the President’s daughter?" Her cheeks flushed red, and I could practically see her plotting a D.C.-style counterattack.

I smiled. "Don’t worry, Mrs. Lin. Grandma Carter just got to D.C.—she doesn’t know the rules yet." I tried to sound chill, but Mrs. Lin was ready for battle. Not everyone grows up knowing how to navigate the capital’s unspoken rules.

Carter and his mom both came from a small town in Indiana; what rules would they know? D.C. was a whole different universe for them.

I’d seen their old family photos—picnics by the lake, Fourth of July parades, homemade quilts, and smiling faces. Sometimes I almost felt bad for them. Almost.

I’d heard all the in-law horror stories. I used to joke I might never get the chance to experience it. Now I was actually kind of curious—was my small-town mother-in-law as tough as the rumors said?

Part of me was genuinely curious—was she as fierce as the rumors, or just lost in all this D.C. marble and gold?

In the living room, Grandma Carter sat in the main chair. Next to her was a delicate-looking young woman—probably Emily. Grandma sat ramrod straight, hands folded, every inch the matriarch. Emily looked like she’d stepped out of a Jane Austen novel—demure, fluttery, all soft smiles. I almost snorted.

When I walked in, neither of them moved. Not even a nod. It was like walking into a courtroom where the verdict was already decided. I paused, waiting for some acknowledgment. Nothing. Bold move, Grandma.

Grandma Carter didn’t look happy. Emily said, "Rosalie, why are you only coming now? Grandma’s been waiting for you for an hour." Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic, but with an edge sharp enough to cut glass. I gave her a polite smile, refusing to take the bait.

I glanced at that cousin—delicate, pretty, all soft edges, like she’d melt in a breeze. She looked just like those fragile belles from old Southern stories. Her dress was pale blue, hair perfectly curled—she belonged at a debutante ball, not in a political standoff. I almost wanted to offer her a mint julep.

Seeing I didn’t reply, Grandma Carter nodded to her housekeeper, who immediately brought me a cup of coffee. The housekeeper’s hands trembled just a little as she set the cup down. The air was thick with unspoken expectations. I took a breath, ready for whatever game they were playing.

"Please, Rosalie, pour Grandma a cup of coffee." The words hung in the air, absurd and old-fashioned. For a second, I wondered if I’d slipped into a time warp. Seriously?

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it—the sound echoed through the room, startling even Emily. If they’d expected me to play along, they were in for a surprise.

Grandma Carter’s face darkened. "What’s so funny?" Her voice was sharp, almost snapping. She looked at me like I’d just insulted the family name. I met her gaze, unflinching.

"Does Grandma know the only people I’ve ever served coffee to?" I kept my tone light, but my meaning was clear. I wasn’t about to be pushed around—not here, not ever. I saw Emily’s eyes flicker.

Mrs. Lin chimed in, "Rosalie has only ever served coffee to four people: the President, the Governor, the Colonel, and the youngest Senator. As for the Carters’ grandma—well, that’s a whole other story."

Mrs. Lin’s voice was cool as ice. She stood a little taller, arms folded. The message couldn’t have been clearer if she’d put it on a Times Square billboard.

The silence that followed was almost comical. Emily fidgeted, Grandma Carter’s lips pressed into a thin line. I sipped my coffee, savoring the taste of victory. Some days, it’s good to be me.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then glared at the housekeeper like it was somehow her fault. I waited, enjoying the awkward pause. Sweet, sweet silence.

Emily said softly, "Rosalie, you married into the Carter family. Grandma’s your elder—it’s nothing to pour her a cup." Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her eyes were calculating. I almost admired the hustle. Almost.

I smiled. "Elder? Carter and I haven’t even finished the wedding ceremony. Strictly speaking, we’re not even really married yet. By the way, I haven’t thanked you for looking after the groom last night."

I let the words hang, watching Emily flush red. She looked down, twisting her napkin. Grandma Carter’s eyes narrowed, but I held my ground, refusing to budge.

Emily blushed, looking away. Her cheeks went pink, and she bit her lip, suddenly fascinated by the rug. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Grandma Carter slapped the table and stood up. At the same time, my Secret Service detail tensed, hands at their sides. The room crackled with tension—every eye in the room on us.

Grandma Carter froze. Emily quickly stood up and hid behind her. It was almost cartoonish, the way she ducked behind her grandma’s shoulder.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, sensing she’d overplayed her hand, Grandma Carter sat back down, stiff and silent. Emily peeked out from behind her, wide-eyed. I couldn’t help but smirk.

I raised a hand to wave them off. "Relax, you’re scaring Grandma. You want that on your conscience? Sorry, Grandma—they’re under orders to protect me. Sometimes I can’t help it either. By the way, where’s Mr. Carter?" My smile said everything—I was in control here.

At the mention of her son, Grandma Carter immediately perked up and straightened her back. "The envoys are arriving today, so of course my grandson went to the White House." She said it with pride, like Carter was already a cabinet member. I nodded, pretending to be impressed.

Oh… I almost forgot. At this hour, I should be heading there too. I checked my watch, making a show of urgency. The last thing I needed was to be late for another round of political theater.

With that, I didn’t bother looking at Grandma Carter or Emily and turned to leave. No point sticking around for Act Two.

I walked out with my head high, heels clicking on the hardwood. If they wanted a power play, they’d have to try harder.

People love to call the President’s daughter arrogant. I keep my tone even, even with a mother-in-law who tests me—and I don’t waste breath on his little sidekick. Never let them see you sweat.

I practiced what Mom always called “grace under pressure.” No matter what, I’d keep my cool—and my dignity. That’s how you survive in this town.