I met Brian in one of the most unexpected places—the subway. It was nearly midnight, and the train was almost empty except for a few tired passengers…
I slumped into my seat, my feet aching after 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 worn copy of The Great Gatsby, his brows furrowed in concentration.
There was something captivating about how he sat there, wearing a faded navy hoodie and worn sneakers, completely indifferent to the world around him. I couldn’t stop quietly staring at him.
When he finally looked up and noticed me watching, I quickly looked away, feeling my face flush.
“Fitzgerald does that to people,” he said with a soft smile. “Makes you forget where you are.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I confessed. “I’ve never read it.”
His eyes widened. “Never? You’re missing one of the greatest American novels ever written.”
I shrugged. “I guess I don’t have much time to read lately.”
We didn’t exchange numbers that night. I thought he was just another stranger on the subway… a pleasant, fleeting conversation that would soon fade into my memory.
“Maybe our paths will cross again,” he said as he got off at his stop. “If they do, I’ll lend you my copy.”
“I’d like that,” I replied, not really believing it would happen.
A week later, fate intervened.
The subway was packed with people eager to get home during the evening rush hour.
I gripped the overhead bar, trying to keep my balance as the train sped forward. That’s when I felt a sudden tug on my bag, and before I could react, a man had yanked it off my shoulder and was making his way to the doors.
“Hey! Stop him!” I shouted, but no one moved.
No one, except Brian.
He appeared out of nowhere, weaving through the surprised passengers. The doors opened at the next station, and the two men tumbled onto the platform. I pressed my face against the window, horrified, watching as they fought on the ground.
By some miracle, I managed to slip through the closing doors. When I got to the platform, the thief had fled, but Brian was sitting on the ground, my bag triumphantly in his hands, a small cut bleeding above his eyebrow.
“Your literary recommendations are very dramatic,” I said, helping him to his feet.
He laughed, handing me my bag. “I still owe you a copy of Gatsby.”
We went for a coffee to clean his cut. One coffee turned into dinner. Dinner led to a walk to my place. And that walk ended with a kiss at my door that made me melt.
Six months later, we were madly in love. But my mother, Juliette? She never liked him.
“A librarian, Eliza? Really?” she grimaced when I told her about Brian. “What kind of future can he offer?”
“One filled with books and happiness,” I replied.
She rolled her eyes. “Happiness doesn’t pay the bills, darling.”
My family belonged to the upper middle class, but my mother had always tried to convince everyone that we were wealthier than we really were. She’d drop our name at fancy dinners, embellish our vacations, and stage our lives to make them appear more luxurious than they actually were.
When Brian proposed to me with a simple yet beautiful sapphire ring, I was overjoyed.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said.
“Is that all?” My mother scoffed, disgusted when I showed her the ring. “Not even a full carat?”
“Mom, I love it,” I insisted. “It’s perfect.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, I suppose we can always replace it later.”
The first dinner with Brian and my family was a complete disaster.
My mother wore her most expensive jewelry and kept mentioning her “dear friend” who owned a yacht in Monaco… someone I’m almost certain didn’t exist.
Brian, to his credit, was unfailingly polite. He complimented our home, asked thoughtful questions about my mother’s charity work, and even brought a bottle of expensive wine that my father, Clark, greatly appreciated.
“Where did you find this?” my father asked, examining the label with genuine interest.
“A small vineyard in Napa,” Brian replied. “The owner is an old family friend.”
My mother chuckled. “Family friends with vineyard owners? How convenient.”
“Mom, please…” I warned.
My father shot her a look. “Juliette, that’s enough.”
She just sipped her wine, her disapproval hanging heavily in the air.
Later in the evening, my father pulled me aside. “I like him, Eliza. He has substance.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Your mother will come around,” he said, though his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Just give her time.”
“It doesn’t matter if she does,” I replied, watching Brian clear the dishes despite my mother’s protests. “I’m marrying him either way.”
The months leading up to our wedding were tense. Mom made snide remarks at every planning meeting, questioning the absence of Brian’s family.
“They’re very private people,” I explained.
She mocked his career choice. “Books are disappearing, you know!”
Even his clothes weren’t safe from her criticism. “Does he own anything that didn’t come from a department store?”
The night before our wedding, she caught me in my childhood bedroom.
“It’s not too late to cancel everything,” she said, sitting at the edge of my bed. “People will understand.”
I stared at her, incredulous. “I love him, Mom.”
“Love doesn’t last, Eliza. Security, money… that’s what lasts.”
“I don’t care about money… he makes me feel safe.”
“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 placed her hand on her heart. “I promise to act only in your best interest.”
I should have known then what she was planning.
The day of our wedding arrived, bright and beautiful. The venue—a historic library with vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows—was Brian’s dream.
The guests sat among rows of ancient books, and as the music began, I walked down the aisle, my father by my side.
Brian waited at the altar, more handsome than ever in his tailored suit, his eyes full of tears as he watched me approach.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered when my father placed my hand in his.
The ceremony was going perfectly until the officiant asked the fateful question: “If anyone has any objections, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a rustle of fabric. My blood ran cold as I turned to see my mother standing up, her expression serious. A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd.
She wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief and cleared her throat dramatically. “I must speak my truth before it’s too late.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
“Mom,” I whispered, “What are you doing?”
She ignored me and turned to the guests. “I love my daughter, and I want what’s best for her. But this man—” she pointed to Brian as though he were something stuck to her shoe, “—he’s simply not good enough. She could’ve married a doctor, a lawyer, a man with real success. Instead, she’s ruining her future with… THIS.”
I couldn’t move. My father’s face had drained of color. My friends were whispering. The officiant was completely lost, clearly unprepared for this.
But Brian? He was smiling. He gently squeezed my hands and turned toward my mother.
“You’re right,” he said, nodding. “She deserves the best.”
My mother straightened up, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. But then, Brian reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a folded document, and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she hesitantly unfolded the paper.
As she read, the color drained from her face.
“Do you recognize this?” Brian asked, his voice calm. “It’s the credit report you tried to hide.”
My mother gasped, pressing her hand to her throat.
“I did a little checking,” he continued, still smiling politely. “I wanted to see if the woman who constantly boasts about her wealth and status was really as well off as she claims. Turns out, you’re drowning in credit card debt, you have a second mortgage you never mentioned, and—oh, my favorite—you were denied for a loan last month.”
The guests were dead silent. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.
“Brian,” I whispered, shocked by the revelation.
My mother’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“This is private information,” she finally managed to sputter.
Brian chuckled softly. “You see, I’ve always known you didn’t like me because I didn’t fit your idea of wealth. But here’s the truth…” He paused, looking at me with love in his eyes. Then he turned back to my mother.
“I’m a billionaire.”
I froze. My father nearly choked beside me. Gasps of surprise filled the room.
My mother staggered backward, nearly falling over in her expensive heels.
“What?” I whispered, staring at Brian in disbelief.
“My family comes from old money,” Brian explained loudly enough for everyone to hear. “But I don’t flaunt it, because I wanted to find someone who would love me for who I am, not for my bank account. So, I live a simple life. I work a job I love. And you know what? Your daughter never once asked about my wealth. Unlike you.”
The silence was deafening. My mother trembled, looking around for support, but finding none.
“Is this true?” I asked softly.
He turned to me, his eyes filled with tenderness and confidence. “Yes. I was going to tell you after the honeymoon. I own the library where I work. And several others around the country, among other things.”
I shook my head, trying to process this revelation.
“Are you angry?” he asked, suddenly uncertain.
“Are you rich? No. Did you hide it from me? A little,” I admitted. “But I understand why you did.”
Brian took both my hands in his. “Do you still want to marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“More than ever,” I said, and I kissed him right there, at the altar.
The crowd burst into applause and cheers.
My mother turned and fled, humiliated.
Dad stayed, tears in his eyes, and hugged us both after the ceremony.
“I had no idea,” he kept repeating. “No idea.”
“Would it have changed anything?” Brian asked.
Dad smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “Not one bit, my son. Not one bit.”
We married and had the most beautiful reception. Brian’s parents, who had secretly attended the ceremony, were wonderful people who welcomed me with open arms.
They explained their absence during our engagement. They’d been abroad for humanitarian work, something they often did with their fortune.
Later that evening, as we danced under the stars, my phone buzzed with a message from Dad:
“Your mother won’t talk to you for a while. But between us? I’ve never been prouder of you. Brian is exactly the man I hoped you’d find… someone who values you above all, no matter the money.”
I showed the message to Brian, and he smiled.
“Your dad is a wise man.”
“Unlike my mother,” I sighed.
Brian held me close. “You know, in all great novels, the villains aren’t bad because they’re poor or rich. They’re bad because they value the wrong things.”
“Is that from Gatsby?” I teased.
“No,” he laughed. “That one’s from me.”
As we swayed under the twinkling lights, surrounded by books and love, I realized something profound: True wealth doesn’t lie in bank accounts or status symbols… it’s in the courage to live authentically and love fully.
My mother may never understand that, but I had found a partner who embodied it perfectly. And that made me the richest woman in the world.