Fake Bride Wanted_A Second Chance Billionaire Romance Read online

  “Hmm.” I jut my hip out to the side and tap a finger against my lip, pretending to contemplate the flavors.

  He picks up another bottle and turns it in his hand, making a show of presenting it to me.

  “Ah…a pinot noir aged in an oak whiskey barrel. Here, we have a bouquet of floral notes which could really complement the asiago and mozzarella.” He plays up the word mozzarella, saying it as if he’s Italian.

  I can’t help but giggle as he keeps the act up, making his way down the aisle. He’s still as funny as ever.

  My sides ache from laughter, and perhaps hunger, as I climb the stairs up out of the cellar. Julian is behind me, a bottle of chianti in his hand.

  We make it back to the kitchen just as the timer goes off. As Julian takes the sizzling pizza out of the oven, I hunt around for wine glasses. Finding two, plus a wine opener, I set about opening the bottle as Julian divvies up the pizza onto two large plates, grabbing a roll of paper towel, too.

  I follow him out of the kitchen, glasses and open bottle in hand, and am surprised when we head down a hallway and emerge into a cozy seating area. There’s a big, inviting couch in the middle of the room, and a coffee table right in front of it.

  Julian sets our plates down on the table and reaches for a remote. A flat-screen TV is positioned on the wall in front of the couch, but Julian doesn’t turn it on. Instead, he presses a button on the remote, and music starts to play softly through speakers.

  I place our wine glasses on the table and sit down on the couch before pouring out two glasses of wine. My stomach is grumbling, and I can’t wait to dive in to our meal.

  Julian flops down next to me. “Ah…” he sighs, “this is great. I love a nice meal by Jean-Claude, but sometimes, pizza just hits the spot.”

  He pulls on a piece from his plate. Strings of melted cheese trail off, and he has to lift the slice high and then lower it into his mouth to catch them. I feel myself relax. There is nothing formal about this meal.

  I set down my glass of wine and reach for my pizza. Time to dig in.

  We munch happily for a while, making a few jokes about the wine pairing. Somehow, as we eat, we shift in our seats until one of my folded legs is touching his; my knee grazes his thigh. Neither of us bothers to correct this, and the contact makes the meal feel even more like old times.

  We never used to be shy about touching each other—that’s a more recent development. As we sit there, eating pizza like two kids, I wonder why it’s such a big deal.

  I remember when Julian took an astronomy class and became fascinated by the constellations. He put glow-in-the-dark stars up in his room, positioning them so that they looked just like the real night sky. He was so proud of his endeavor that the minute he finished arranging them, he came to get me, and practically dragged me to his room.

  We soaked the stickers with light and then turned off the lamps and tightly closed the shades. His room was dark. We laid down on the floor. My head was on his shoulder—I could feel it move every time he pointed in a new direction.

  “Look! There. I put up the bear! And there’s Cassiopeia. Do you think I got the angle right?”

  We laid there for hours. He’d jump up and fix a star while I directed from the floor, until they were perfect.

  I can remember the feel of him, lying next to me. I can remember my cheek almost touching his. We were like that. Completely, totally comfortable with each other. We knew each other.

  That’s what we’re trying to do now, right? Know each other?

  Julian’s in the middle of a story about a ski adventure. He and his friends hiked up a particularly steep descent one night so that they could ski down it at sunrise. Julian’s laughing about what a disaster it was—the wind whipping the tent around them, getting no sleep, and almost losing a ski while trying to put it on with numb fingers—and I feel myself inching closer to him. I bring my hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear, and as I bring it down, I set it on his leg.

  He gets to the climax of his story and reaches for my hand.

  “But we made it,” he says, weaving his fingers through mine. His hand feels strong. Warm. “We all got down. I only had one glove, and we ended up way off of our mark—more than five miles from the resort.”

  “You must have been freezing,” I say. “How did you get back to the resort?”

  “We had to hike out. I swear, it was one of the scariest days of my life. The snow was up to our thighs in some places. We were going so slow, it was almost dark when we managed to make it back to civilization.”

  “You’ve had an exciting life, haven’t you?”

  “I guess…yeah. A lot of fun adventures. Well, fun to look back on—not exactly fun at the time. But the kind of thing that makes you appreciate being alive, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I lean my head against his shoulder. He’s so sturdy. It feels good to rest against him. “Julian, did you ever think that this is what it would be like to be in your thirties? Do you ever feel like it’s all going too fast?”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “It sure goes fast,” he says finally. His voice is soft. “I guess…I still kind of feel like I’m in my twenties. Like maybe I never grew up all the way. At my age, my dad was raising me. I was already a toddler. Sometimes, I think about that, and I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  I nod, and my head slides up and down against his muscular shoulder.

  “I know. My mom had had me already. She was twenty-two when she gave birth. I’m thirty. I don’t really feel thirty. Like you said—I feel more like I’m still in my twenties. Like I still have time to figure things out.”

  “We do,” Julian says.

  “I just—I mean, I thought that when I was thirty I’d be so grown up. I’d have this amazing husband, maybe, and possibly even a couple of kids. A house…I don’t know.”

  I think the wine is making me ramble. I try to stop, but I can’t. I’m on a roll. I sit up a little.

  “I never thought I would get married like this,” I say. “Signing a contract just so that I can rake in some money. This was never a part of my ‘when-I-grow-up’ fantasy.”

  Julian laughs. “A ‘when-I-grow-up’ fantasy!” he says. “I’ve got to hear about this. Walk me through it.” He reaches for the wine bottle and fills up our empty glasses.

  “Well,” I say, accepting the glass that he holds out to me. “For one thing, in my fantasy, I’m never uncertain about anything. As a thirty-year-old grown-up, I have absolutely everything figured out.”

  “Of course,” Julian says sarcastically. “All adults do.”

  “Yes. I have a perfect life. Nothing goes wrong. I have an adoring husband. He’s kind, loving, smart, funny—the whole package. We have two children. Oh, and I’m a horse surgeon.”

  Julian laughs. “When did you come up with this fantasy?” he asks.

  “Oh, when I was about eight.” I sigh and look down at my glass. “I had a lot of plastic horse toys, and a doctor’s kit. And too much spare time. I guess things don’t always turn out as planned.”

  “I had a dream about what it would be like to get older too,” Julian says. “I was also about eight when I really fleshed out the details. Want to hear mine?”

  “Of course,” I say, turning towards him.

  “Okay. I have a kick-ass life. I live on top of a cliff with my pet dragon. We do ninja moves all day long, and battle bad guys all night. It’s never bedtime, and it’s always Christmas. Oh, and for every meal, we have candy. Dessert is pizza. On weekends, we have sugary cereal that turns the milk all kinds of different colors.”

  “Sounds pretty good,” I say. “Have you accomplished all of that?”

  “Only the pet dragon part. Do you want to meet him?”

  I can’t help it: I burst out laughing. As my laughter dies down, I try to make my point again. “Seriously, though. Did you ever think that you would agree to be married by signing a contract in an office?”

  “No,” he says. “But I don’t think I ever
really imagined my marriage. I just assumed it would happen—in exactly the right way.”

  “That’s very Zen of you,” I say. “All as it should be.”

  “It’s a good life philosophy,” he says, squeezing my hand. Our contact has started to feel so natural, as we slip into our old familiar ways, that I almost forgot we were still holding hands. But his squeeze reminds me of it in a pleasant way.

  “I think it’s good that you’re here,” he says. “And that we’re getting to know each other again. This feels just like old times, doesn’t it?”

  “Mm-hmm.” It really does. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I can’t be hung up on impractical ideals about marriage. The money’s going to come in really handy, and I feel good that you’ll have the ring again. This feels like it’s supposed to be happening, in some weird way. How are we going to do the engagement? You’re the mastermind behind this whole thing…what’s your plan?”

  “Well,” Julian says slowly. “I have given it some thought. Because I’m a public figure, it’s going to have to be covered by the press. We want this to look legitimate to the lawyers. I was thinking of having my PR team contact the media, and we’ll do a small photoshoot. Other than that, I don’t have any ideas. I guess I wanted to ask you. What do you want the proposal to look like?”

  I frown. “I’ve only daydreamed about the real deal, Julian. This is just going to be a show for the papers.”

  “Well, why not make it fun? Imagine that it’s real for a minute. What does your perfect proposal look like?”

  What would the perfect proposal look like? How am I supposed to answer that here—now? After discussing a fake proposal all evening?

  “This isn’t real, Julian. I don’t know.”

  “Just…okay. Close your eyes. Imagine that you’re with a guy, and you love him. He’s the one for you. You have a feeling he might propose soon, but you don’t know how he’s going to do it.”

  “This is silly.”

  “Your eyes aren’t closed!”

  He nudges me a little in a teasing way. It tickles, and I laugh. My eyelids flutter closed.

  “Fine, fine. They’re closed,” I say.

  “All right…now. It’s the day of your engagement. Imagine everything. Where are you? On an island somewhere? Out under the stars?”

  My eyes are closed, and everything is dark. I can feel Julian next to me, his body heat comforting and warm. He lets go of my hand, now, and places his palm down on my leg.

  I try to place myself in some hypothetical situation, with some man that doesn’t exist…but all I can think about is Julian. Right next to me. The feel of him. The smell of him. I can’t imagine I’m anywhere else. My eyes pop open.

  “Maybe now’s not the right time,” I say. “This feels too weird.”

  “It’s not weird.” He stands and then offers me a hand. He pulls me up so that I’m standing next to him. “We’re going to have to do this soon, Shelbs. I’m going to propose to you. We’re going to get married.”

  He’s standing in front of me, and I have to tilt my chin upwards to look up at him.

  “If you’ve been dreaming about this since you were little, I don’t want to disappoint you. Whether it’s fake or not.” He looks so sincere, staring down at me.

  That’s when it hits me.

  I’m going to marry this man. He’s going to propose to me, and then we’ll get married. Legally married. In just a few months.

  He’s going to be my husband.

  I take a deep breath, and try closing my eyes again. My ideal proposal…

  “It would be sort of a surprise,” I say. “When it happens. My husband-to-be will surprise me early in the morning, before sunrise. We’ll drive somewhere, far away from everything else. We’ll be in our own world.”

  “You always were a private person,” Julian says softly.

  “I’ll get out of the car, and before me will be a field filled with flowers, as far as the eye can see. The sun’s just coming up, over the field. It’s one of those moments when everything feels new—everything feels possible. I’ll look down, and…”

  I open my eyes. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe I heard Julian move, because now, when I look around, I see that he’s no longer standing.

  He’s kneeling on one knee, right in front of me.

  His eyes are intently on me. He’s not laughing anymore; any sense of play-acting is gone.

  His face is serious as he speaks. “And I’ll say…Shelby, I’ve known you since we were both just kids. We were best friends then, and you’re still my best friend, now. Will you make me the luckiest man in the world? Will you marry me?”

  I feel my breath catch in my throat.

  This is everything I’ve ever wanted—a moment I’ve been afraid to even dream about, because it just seemed too good to be true.

  But now, right before my very eyes, it’s happening.

  At that moment, it doesn’t matter that it’s fake. I feel truth in his words. I feel him telling me that we were close then, and we’re becoming close again now—like two halves of a whole that were apart for too long. We’ve found each other again, and right now, in this moment, that’s all that matters to me.

  I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He stands up and I move towards him. I wrap my arms around him, and before I know what’s happening, I find his lips with mine.

  Chapter 9

  Julian

  Shelby’s lips are soft. She tastes like red wine. I’ve been trying not to think about kissing her all evening—ever since she took off her blazer, out on the patio.

  Now that it’s happening, I know that it shouldn’t be.

  And yet, I can’t stop.

  She feels so good.

  I wrap my arms around her back, and feel myself returning her kiss…and then some. I kiss her deeply, moving my hands along the smooth fabric of her shirt.

  I’m completely lost in her kiss. I don’t know how long it lasts; all I know is that she’s melting into me, and she feels so right in my arms.

  Then, I remember: this shouldn’t be happening. This is a business arrangement. She’s helping me obtain the Meijer Ruby.

  I pull away from her, though it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I unwrap my arms, and then slowly loosen hers from around my neck. Our faces are still close, and I see hurt in her eyes as I pull away.

  “Shelby,” I whisper. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why not?” she asks.

  A million reasons rush through my mind. I don’t want to complicate things for us. We’re working together so that I can own the ring; I don’t want messy emotions to get in the way of that. Shelby looks pained as she waits for me to respond.

  And I know that this is all my fault. I asked her to imagine that I was her fiancé. I told her that I wanted this experience to be good for her—and I do. I couldn’t stand the thought of robbing her of her childhood dream about her engagement.

  But I realize now, as she looks at me with so much expectation in her eyes, that I can’t be that man for her.

  I can’t act like I’m going to give her everything that she wants. But I can hold up my end of the contract—and that’s going to be good for both of us.

  It will be.

  I have to hold on to that.

  I try to speak gently. I place my hands on her hips. It feels so natural to touch her, now. Something about this evening has brought us so much closer.

  Too close for our own good.

  I want to move my hands away, but I can’t. My desire to soften my words—and my rejection—causes me to hold onto her.

  “We don’t want to do anything rash,” I say. “We’re just getting to know each other again.”

  She lifts her hands and places them on my chest. She smooths out my collar, then fingers the buttons of my shirt.

  “I know that we shouldn’t. But don’t you want to?” Her hand slides up to my neck, and her fingers cur
l through the back of my hair.

  I do.

  I want to kiss her again. I want to throw caution to the wind—to hell with the contract. But I know that if we kiss again, we won’t be able to stop.

  Allowing ourselves to do this will not be good for either of us. It might only cause more pain in the future.

  I reach my hand up and place it on hers. Slowly, I pull her hand away from my hair, my neck. I place it down by her side.

  “I’ll ask my driver to take you home.” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper.

  Damnit, this is hard to do.

  I catch pain and confusion on Shelby’s face before she can turn away, hiding her expression from me. She steps back and looks around for her shoes. One by one, she slips her heels on.

  “My purse is on the patio,” she says. “With my jacket.”

  “I’ll take you to them,” I say softly. “This is for the best, Shelby. It’s late…we both have work in the morning.”

  My excuses sound pitifully weak compared to the whirlwind of attraction we both experienced, but I force myself to keep walking. Fresh air hits my face like a blast of cold water, and I drink in the night sky and stars, trying to ground myself.

  This is the right thing to do, I think as I watch Shelby walk over to the chairs we sat in just a few hours earlier. She scoops up her jacket and puts it on while I pull out my cell and text one of my drivers. He agrees to meet us out front.

  I wait as Shelby gathers up her purse and puts it over her shoulder. The change in scenery seems to be giving her some clarity, too. I see her look out over the garden, and then up to the starry sky. I let her have a moment to herself. If the kiss shifted the ground beneath her feet, like it did for me, she might need time to find her balance again.

  After a moment, she turns towards me. I avoid her eyes and lead the way back through my home, out to the driveway. An SUV is waiting for her out front, and the driver hops out as we step onto the front steps. I give my driver the address to Shelby’s hotel.