Baby Fever Bride: A Billionaire Romance Page 8

  “Don't worry about them, they're actors. We had to make this place look lively without any real witnesses to see you two get hitched. Ceremony should be starting in just a bit.”

  He's gone, leaving me alone at the altar with my heart pounding. If knowing the details behind the fake scene we've set was supposed to relieve me, it doesn't.

  I'm standing here for a private ceremony in one of the city's finest cathedrals, being watched by about a hundred strangers, cameras flashing every few seconds in the front. I'm about to marry a man who I barely know better than any of these people in the pews.

  Then it's months of playing pretend while he works on paying me with a baby. Insane, yes, and it's happening.

  Gnawing my bottom lip, I think about how we're living all the trappings of a normal relationship, stripped of its soul.

  Love doesn't have a place at our table. This deal is about money, power, and basic biological need.

  I don't realize it's getting to me until I feel myself tearing up. A total disaster, considering any loose tears will run down my cheeks, ruining the expensive makeup Audrey plastered on.

  Hold it together, I tell myself. Please. Just a little while longer. If I can get through this without any major meltdowns, I'll be golden.

  A trumpet blows, shattering the calm. Then an organ begins piping wedding music, grand and deafening. It takes me several seconds to recognize the tune. It's a long, somber, ear bursting rendition of Here Comes the Bride.

  I'm fighting the urge to cover my ears when the doors at the end of the aisle swing open, and Hayden comes through, several aides at his side. He's dressed in a navy blue tux, traditional white peeking out around it, a tie placed gently over his broad, beautiful chest.

  It's like the heavily inked freak underneath doesn't exist when he's wearing this princely outfit. At least I've forgotten about the tears prickling my eyes because I'm too busy remembering how to breathe.

  He's coming down the aisle, his eyes locked on me, direct and determined as any of the big cats he worships. I'm being stalked by the most amazing man I've ever seen in my life, and for about ten seconds, I forget the deal we made and pretend this is real.

  A priest in a long, flowing robe comes out and arrives at the altar a second later. Probably not the usual protocol, but what do I know about Catholic weddings?

  “Audrey said she did a hell of a job. Didn't know she made you hot as hell itself, love,” he says when he's next to me, reaching for my hands.

  I've succeeded in stopping the tears, but I can't stop the hot blush lighting up my cheeks. “You look good, too.”

  “Damned straight. I paid good money to make this look real for the press. You ready for our first kiss in front of a couple million people?”

  My heart skips about ten beats. He cracks a grin, twinning his hands deeper into mine, pulling me closer. Until his little reminder, it was easy to forget I'm marrying a small time celebrity, on top of everything else.

  “It'll be fine. It'll be good, love. So fucking good. I promise.”

  Guess he still doesn't realize what an introvert I am, not that it matters at this late stage. I try to ignore his teasing while the music dies down. The priest stands behind us, smiling, tapping the tips of his fingers on his book impatiently.

  “I told him to keep it short and sweet,” Hayden whispers. “We'll be out of here by ten, just like Reed said.”

  “So, are you really Catholic?” I ask, trying to make myself less nervous. They must be waiting for the people behind us to get their cameras ready for the money shot, as soon as our vows are over, and he gives me the heart pounding kiss he's promised.

  “I'm a perfectionist. I also happen to believe in a higher power, sure, but that's not why we're here. This church is one of the loveliest and most popular wedding spots in the city. PR also says the lighting will look incredible when they touch up our photos for the blogs. If we make this look magical, everybody else will believe it, including my step-mom and her lawyers.”

  I don't know why I'm disappointed. There's nothing to be upset about, really. If I keep forgetting this is all just an act, then that means it's working.

  The music picks up again, lower than before, and we wait through one more round of high, happy notes before the priest clears his throat and leans into the microphone.

  “Thank you all for joining me this beautiful night, on such short notice. My relationship with Hayden Shaw goes back many years. When he came to me this afternoon, and told me he couldn't wait a day longer to marry the love of his life, I thought about sending him away to get his brilliant head checked.” The priest pauses, staring at me with a wide, exaggerated grin.

  At least, I think it's exaggerated. I hope...he wouldn't actually lie to a priest about us, right? The fake audience behind us laughs, as if on cue.

  “You laugh, but I was truly concerned. Then I sat down with this fine young man, and he told me all about his romance with Priscilla Silvers. She came to him like lightning in the darkness. He told me about the love they struck up during his trip to London, learning they worked in the same building, their shared humility for trains and buses, holding hands among the people of our great city. I've known our Hayden for years, and I've never seen his face light up as it did this evening, talking about his lovely Penny.”

  Trains? London? Seriously?

  My mouth tastes like cotton. My eyes jerk over to him, but he's staring straight ahead, the smug smile I saw on the gym hanging on his lips. It's the biggest, baldest, sappiest lie I've ever heard.

  I suddenly fear what's waiting for us in the afterlife if that's real emotion in the priest's voice, meaning he's swallowed this load of crap.

  “There are lessons in a quick, but meaningful romance, my friends,” he continues. “Hayden's happiness reminds me to be a little less judgmental, and a little more open. Love works in mysterious, beautiful ways. When I see these two together, in front of me, I know it's working like it should.”

  He pauses, looks at both of us, and smiles. “It's my distinct honor to bring Hayden and Penny together tonight in holy matrimony, before God and the city of Chicago, a love everyone will soon realize is meant to be, and meant to last forever.”

  Strangely, I'm touched. Hayden still won't look at me. It's like he's holding in his laughter while the world's biggest practical joke runs in the background. I suppose we're doing something like it on a grand scale, and I clench my teeth while the priest looks down at his lectern, and begins to make it official.

  “Do you, Hayden Shaw, take this woman...”

  My ears start ringing. There's that wild, thousand feet below sea level pressure again, crushing the light out of me while I try to focus on his lips moving, struggling to understand the words. I hear the phrases coming in waves: to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death – or in our case, divorce – do us part.

  “I do,” Hayden says, firmly and clearly.

  His fingers squeeze mine, and he turns to face me, his expression so serious I almost believe he really wants this. “I've loved this beautiful, intelligent, sassy young lady from the first day we met. I'm used to getting my way in business and in life. When I saw her in front of me, I knew I'd have her, or I'd regret it for the rest of my life.”

  Wow. I'm actually choked up, before I realize he's probably been practicing this in the mirror all evening. Can somebody get this man an honorary membership to the Actors' Guild?

  “And do you, Priscilla Silvers, take this man...”

  Oh, God. My turn next.

  My chance to make the biggest mistake, or else take the biggest shortcut of my life. My chance to screw it all up, to realize how wrong this is, and tell him no to his face, before I walk out the thirty foot oak doors. My chance, and mine alone, to lie through my teeth in pictures and video that will probably light the local press on fire, making thousands of women hate me overnight because they're not in my place, marrying the Ha
yden Shaw.

  It almost hurts to hear it, but I force myself to listen. While I was at the salon, I looked up the traditional vow on my phone, burning the words into my mind. I wait for the priest to stop talking, and everything to go silent, before I open my mouth, repeating each part very carefully.

  “I, Priscilla, take Hayden, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

  There's no relief, knowing we'll be done long before we die. I've just damned myself a hundred different ways, lying to the world, and all beneath the watchful, glassy eyes of the saints set in glass overhead, painted on the walls, judging us for this sinful, ridiculous sham of a wedding.

  The priest smiles. Hayden doesn't wait for him to finish before sliding his hand up my back. My eyes flutter open again as he lifts away my veil.

  Our hired audience starts to chatter and laugh, as if they're excited for what's coming next. At least somebody is. He must have paid these people a bundle to get so much enthusiasm.

  “May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you with his blessings. What God has joined, men must never, ever divide. By the power vested in me by the great state of Illinois, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now –“

  What he does to me doesn't belong in the same universe as a mundane phrase like kiss the bride.

  His lips are burning napalm when they come down on mine, hot and wet and rampant. They pull my mouth apart, frozen in its shock and awe. My tongue doesn't resist when his reaches in, sweeps across mine, and turns my blood to lava while my nipples become stone.

  I'm biting him by the end of it while camera flashes and raucous cheers explode behind us. Fuck the perfect makeup because the tears are streaming down my face. Shame, wonder, and lust collide like thunderheads beneath my skin.

  It's more emotional than it should be. It's a storm going up my spine, thickening my blood, filling every inch of me with need, with want, with rage for Hayden Shaw, my lying husband.

  That's dangerous. Very, very fucking lethal.

  Stop. I can't let myself do this. I decide to make a silent vow, then and there, while his lips are still on mine, turning me to butter.

  God help me, I'll never love this man. I don't care how good he tastes, or how wet I get when he touches me again and again.

  It's going to be love or hate with him, and I know which one I prefer for sanity's sake.

  I hate him for seducing me into this insane solution to my problems, for convincing me to lie to the world like he seems to be perfectly comfortable doing himself.

  But whatever happens, I won't start hating myself. That only happens if I start to believe there's any truth hidden in this outrageous lie wrapped in the best kiss I've ever tasted.

  6

  Honeymoon From Hell (Hayden)

  We're in the limo, riding back to my place after an exhausting late night ceremony, when my phone starts ringing. It doesn't stop, even when I tap the key twice to banish the caller.

  “Shouldn't you get that?” She looks at me from across the seat, her eyebrows raised. I try not to look at Penny too much because seeing her in white with her face painted like a goddess makes my dick jerk every single time.

  “Fine. Don't judge.” I look down at my phone, just in time for it to start ringing again. I tap the connect button before I press it to my ear.

  “Hayds? I can't believe what I'm seeing on social media. This #SecretShawWedding bullshit better be a joke.”

  Fuck me. I hold in a sigh. I should've known at least one of the witnesses we hired for our late night audience in the pews would squawk. There's always somebody willing to break their non-disclosure agreement for a few extra bucks. I'm sure they got more than a few, leaking the story to the highest bidder in Chicago's hungry media several hours ahead of schedule.

  “It's true. Sorry for the short notice, brother. My wife and I decided to elope. It happened fast, but we're solid. We're in love. We're happy.”

  It's dead silent. I can hear the hum of his plane through the void, while Penny's curious green eyes stare me down.

  “Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? I don't buy it for a second, Hayds. You found yourself a mail order bride to go to war with Kayla, didn't you? I heard about the crap in the trust.”

  “Wrong,” I spit it out. “There's more to life than banging broads and flying up and down the coast. I found the woman of my dreams, and I decided to reel her in. Simple as that. When a man meets the right one, he doesn't let her slip away. Give it a little time. You'll meet her someday, too.”

  Even I'm amazed how convincing I sound. Across from me, Penny blinks in surprise, reaching into the cup holder next to her for the half-depleted champagne flute she's nursed since we got in the car.

  “Does she even speak English? How much to buy her dowry?” Luke pours on the contempt.

  Okay, now he's truly pissed. It's one thing to find out your brother up and married a mystery woman over Twitter. Quite another thing to sense your brother's lying through his teeth.

  He's an asshole, but he isn't unjustified. Doesn't make it any easier to deal with him, of course.

  “She's from Chicago, born and raised.” I look at my fake wife, my eyes searching hers, wondering if any of it's true. “Want to talk to her? I'm sorry I didn't invite you. She's very shy, which is why we decided to handle this arrangement on our terms. We didn't want a thousand cameras in our faces, and a party, too.”

  I don't let him answer. I'm pushing my phone across the small space between us, into her trembling hand. She stares at it like she's forgotten how to use one.

  “Just say a few words,” I whisper. “It's my little brother.”

  “Hello?” she says quietly.

  “Oh, so you are real. Listen, I don't know what he paid you to do this, but if you need to go home to Ukraine or wherever, just say the word. I'll hop over to Chicago and fly you to JFK myself. Pay for your ticket back to Kiev.” Listening to my brother's sarcasm makes me grind my teeth.

  “Actually, Hayden's telling you the truth. I'm American. Really. Chicago born and raised, just like he said.”

  Luke sighs. “You do a great impression, anyway. So you're an escort then? Like one of those ten thousand dollar a night hookers out of DC my brother's been caught with a dozen times? Man, fucking them was one thing, but putting a ring on a whore's –“

  I've had enough. Perhaps I fucked a few supermodel escorts in my younger days, but I never paid them for sex. It was the other way around. Everybody wanted a piece of me when the talk about my perfect ten went around the fashion world, and somehow ended up in Washington through the lobbyist grapevine. Go figure.

  I'm leaning across the seat, aiming to rip the phone out of Penny's hand, but she jerks away from me first.

  “It's your turn to listen, Mr. Shaw. Nobody accuses me of being a sell out whore. I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I really do love your brother. We've been dating for months.”

  “Months? Oh, lovely. Now, I'm reassured.”

  “Eighteen, to be precise.” Penny looks at me, her eyes narrowed. “Plenty long to do an engagement and get married. It's not like it happened after a one night stand, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop jumping to conclusions, okay?”

  She's good. Almost as awesome at this lying to the world thing as I am. Reluctantly, I let my arm drop, reclining back into my seat. Maybe I won't have to chew out my brother after all.

  “Hayden's right. I'm not used to fame. We wanted to keep our relationship and our wedding as far away from the bloggers and gossip rags as possible. It's our business, not theirs. I'd love to meet you someday, being the only family he's talked about and all, but not if you're going to shoot us down before giving me a chance.”

  “He talks about me?” Luke almost sounds touched. “Give me back to Hayds.”

  I roll my eyes. Penny cracks a smile, and I give her a signal to shut h
im the hell down, sliding my finger across my throat. It's been a long day, and I've let my brother throw enough crap. She passes me the phone.

  “Hayds, listen. You aren't going to listen to me, I get it. I should get Grant on the line. He'll talk some sense into you so we can stop playing around and –“

  “No. I'm not talking to Grant tonight, and I'm done with you, too. We're tired. I think you need a day or two to let the news sink in,” I say, cutting him off. “We'll talk again soon, Luke. Keep flying. Don't tear up over the way you just treated my wife and run your plane into a mountain.”

  I hang up. Penny's cheeks flush bright, beautiful red. She covers her mouth with one hand, suppressing laughs, or shame, or whatever emotion goes best with the sweet fuckable look she's giving me.

  “I owe you one,” I say, folding my hands and leaning toward her. “Sorry about my brother. He can be a real jackass sometimes.”

  “Oh? Is that because he's onto the truth?”

  “Sure, but he doesn't need to know it, obviously. With the news hitting Twitter and Facebook, we'll have about a hundred thousand people swallowing our story by morning. At least a million by tomorrow evening. Luke is just one more.”

  Her smile softens. She looks at me sadly, sliding back into her seat, taking the champagne flute in her hand and knocking back the rest of her drink.

  “Was it that bad?” I ask, reaching for the remnants of my own Dom Perignon.

  “It's bad enough, the hoops you've jumped through to make this all seem real. I wondered back there, did you really lie to your priest?”

  It's my turn to laugh. She gives me an exasperated look, and I have to put my glass down before fiery champagne shoots out my nose.

  “What? What's so damned funny?”

  “My 'priest' is Jackson, senior bartender down in my restaurant on the first floor of our building. He's not really a priest, but he sure knows how to play the part. He's licensed to officiate weddings, however. That part's completely true, in case you were wondering, Mrs. Shaw. We're hitched.”