The Groom M-o-c-ked Me as a “Stin-ky Country Girl” at My Sister’s Engagement Party—Then He Found Out I Owned the Entire Hotel
I walked into my sister’s engagement party carrying a gift bag that cost less than one bottle of champagne on the terrace.
The Linden House Hotel sat above downtown Nashville like it had been built for people who never checked prices. White stone, glass walls, a rooftop garden, and a ballroom where the chandeliers had been imported from Italy. My younger sister, Madison, had chosen it because her fiancé’s family loved “old money elegance.”
They just didn’t know who owned the building.
I had barely stepped onto the garden terrace when I heard Grant Whitmore laugh behind a row of white roses.
“The stinky country girl is here.”
He said it quietly, but not quietly enough.
His brother snorted. Grant’s mother, Evelyn, lifted her champagne and smiled into the glass.
I stopped.
I grew up on a cattle farm outside Columbia, Tennessee. I still drove my father’s old truck when I visited home, still wore boots when I didn’t need heels, and still knew how to pull a calf in the middle of the night. Grant had decided that made me embarrassing.
Madison had asked me twice to “dress sophisticated.”
So I had.
Navy dress. Low heels. Hair pinned back.
Apparently contempt has excellent eyesight.
Grant turned and saw me. His smile changed immediately.
“Emma,” he said, opening his arms. “We were wondering when you’d make it.”
“I heard.”
His face tightened.
Before he could answer, Daniel Ruiz, the hotel’s general manager, came through the terrace doors. He had worked for me for four years and treated everyone with the same respect, whether they booked a penthouse or cleaned one.
He saw me and stopped.
“Ms. Carter,” he said. “I didn’t know you were attending tonight.”
Grant blinked.
Evelyn looked from Daniel to me. “You two know each other?”
Daniel smiled. “Of course.”
Grant laughed. “Emma probably delivers produce here or something.”
