Emma's POV

To my great surprise, the Kellers' son extended his large, smooth hand to greet me. I hadn't expected that. I thought he would ignore me all night.

His girlfriend didn't even acknowledge me. She just looked at me with indifference, and that was it.

I was seated next to my father, and young Mr. Keller sat between his mother and his girlfriend.

Dinner went by quietly. They served delicious dishes, but the portions were ridiculously small for my taste. You couldn’t even call them starters. Completely inconsiderate. We ate in silence, and when dessert was served, the conversation finally began.

"Tell me, Emma, what do you do? What did you study?"

Adam's mother seemed genuinely interested in me, and I was more than willing to answer her questions. Unfortunately, my mother jumped in before I could even open my mouth.

"My Emma studied gastronomy at the best university in the country, and she wants to create her own catering company."

Catering? Me? Absolutely not. I just wanted to bake cakes and sell them in a café. It wasn't that I lacked ambition, but I would rather own a chain of cafés or restaurants than a catering business.

"Oh really? That's wonderful. In the future, we could do business together."

"It would be a pleasure, Alana. My daughter would be delighted to work with you," my mother replied.

My father stayed silent, and so did Adam Keller. The latter only kept one eyebrow slightly raised. Then Helena opened her mouth. Again, that mocking tone people always used with me. And once again, everything went straight to hell. Damn woman.

"And tell me, Emma," she said, "do you actually make any profit from the desserts you bake? Because from what I can see, it looks like you eat them all before they ever make it to the display case."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't be offended, dear, but your appearance speaks for itself. It's obvious you adore desserts, that's why I'm asking. Imagine eating everything you make. One day you'll weigh eight hundred pounds, if you don't already. At that rate, your business will go bankrupt."

"Helena."

Adam's voice echoed across the table. Even though his face didn't hide his mocking smile, at least he tried to shut her up. No one else did. Not even my parents. Everyone looked at me, as if I had to explain why I was so fat. It was humiliating. I should have slapped her. But manners and etiquette came first.

"Miss Helena, I appreciate your concern about my appearance," I said calmly, "but I assure you it's not only due to desserts. I also eat other things, real food, and in very generous portions. Not like what was served tonight."

"Emma," my mother snapped, clearly annoyed.

Didn't she see I was trying to defend myself politely, redirecting the attention while making a joke about myself?

"Emma, don't take offense. Helena's concern does make sense, dear. Your company would lose a lot if you ate everything you prepare. Ideally, you should be at the head of your business, not stuck in the kitchen."

"Mom—"

Adam interrupted again.

"What is it, Adam?" his mother asked.

"You can't tell other people how to run their business or their lives."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not right. If the young lady wants to eat an entire bakery, that's her problem, not yours."

Ouch. For a moment, I thought he was defending me. But no. He defended me with one hand and slapped me with the other. What a jerk. And he was smiling like an idiot. There was no doubt about it. I was the clown in this circus.

Alana Keller continued speaking, "Of course it's my problem. The Smiths are here tonight because we've been friends for many years. Emma was supposed to marry one of you three. And since you're with Helena, who clearly doesn't have the image worthy of the wife of the CEO of Keller Enterprises, Emma would have to marry one of your brothers.

"We gathered tonight to arrange her marriage with you, and Helena here was supposed to observe what a truly distinguished woman looks like. But with Emma's appearance, that's not going to happen. Even Helena looks better. So yes, it is my problem, Adam. Because from what I can see, I doubt any of your brothers would want to marry her. Don't take offense, dear, but…"

She looked straight at me.

"How much do you weigh? Six hundred pounds?"

Damn it.

I didn't know what angered me more. Being humiliated for being fat, or realizing they were planning to force me into marriage with one of this woman's sons, a woman who was clearly no longer the kind, refined lady who had welcomed me earlier.