Real Love, Fake Marriage Page 9

  I turned to Deacon. His eyes were trained on my every movement. “Do you like this?”

  “I told you that you could pick,” he told me.

  Of course. Why answer the question asked? “You’re going to be wearing it. Do you like it?”

  He gave a glance at the tray. “It’s the best of them. I’d choose the same.”

  He could’ve just been saying it to get me to make a decision already, yet his voice betrayed a note of approval.

  “These.” I handed the ring back to Mr. Andrews.

  He took the ring and held it towards the light.

  “White gold. Excellent choice,” he praised.

  Excellent absolutely meant expensive. It made me slightly queasy, even if I knew Deacon could afford it.

  “Which sort of box would you like?” He produced another tray, with a half-dozen options of velvet and leather jewelry boxes.

  “No need, we’ll be using them from now on,” Deacon answered.

  He reached for the rings and handed one to me. I moved to put it on but he pulled my hand towards himself once again and slid the ring on my finger.

  He’d done that twice now. In less than a week.

  I cupped its mate in my hand. Belatedly, I realized he’d given me the larger of the two, obviously meant for his finger.

  I stared up at him. He smiled. It wasn’t a sweet, lovesick smile. Instead, it was the kind of happy smile you see on a playful kid.

  I reached for his hand, which he jerked away.

  Definitely childish. I glared, and his hand slowly crept back towards me. I snatched it up.

  He turned towards Mr. Andrews. “She really can be demanding,” he confided.

  I heard the mumbled agreement in the background while I stared at his hand in mine. His hand was probably twice the size of mine. And well kept, too. Maybe Deacon spent his days off at the spa. I smiled at the thought.

  The ring was growing warm in my palm. Time to put it on. Turnabout, fair play, all that.

  He was my husband on paper. We just needed a little bling to sell it.

  God, these rings must’ve been a fortune.

  A fortune. I’d married this man for money.

  Just put the ring on, I internally groaned.

  “Babe?” His voice was low, throaty.

  My own throat dried at the sultry sound. I coughed slightly. Ring. Now.

  I slid it on his finger. A perfect fit.

  “Now we’re really married,” I said. This was real. Or as real as it could be.

  “Yes, we are.” He gave me that happy look again.

  Despite all my misgivings, I returned it.

  Deacon 17

  Andrews left shortly after we put the rings on each other. The metal was warm on my hand, and I twisted it with my right thumb and index.

  “Are you sure you like it?” she asked.

  I blinked. Her voice was normally utterly authoritative. Sometimes a bit indignant. Not now. Inquiring about my opinion, which I had mostly assumed she didn’t care about, she sounded concerned.

  “Positive,” I assured her. It was the truth. I’d been drawn to the white gold rings even as Andrews had set up his display.

  I sat down on the couch. Mindy looked around for a place to sit. The way the room had been decorated, the chairs were gathered farther away.

  I could see her debate play out on her face. I was riveted by each quirk of the lips and tilt of her brow. Drag over a chair, stand, or sit down next to her husband? A second later, she was decided and plopped down on the couch.

  On the furthest corner from me. It’d have been comical, really, if it wasn’t insulting.

  “I don’t bite.”

  She stared at my mouth as if checking to see fangs peeking out.

  I gave a dramatic roll of my eyes, unwilling to dignify her paranoia.

  She inched forward. She acted shy, like a scared animal. I was tempted to jump on top of her just to startle her, but decided it wouldn’t be good for her to start screaming. Even if it would be understandable for newlyweds. Especially while she wore those formfitting pants.

  I chastised myself for the thought. Even though, really, what was the harm in thoughts? It wasn’t like I’d ever give in to such impulses.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we take a few days to be the happy newlyweds. On Sunday, we’ll host a sort of house party to announce our marriage.”

  “House party?”

  “Yes. The big clients of the company, anyone we’re courting. Definitely Dukas. Long term, I expect that will be our ticket to international expansion.”

  “Which will show the board you’re capable of innovation as CEO.”

  I nodded. “Exactly. Dukas isn’t inclined to rush this deal, even though it’s mutually beneficial. He wants to be courted. Inviting him to the party should do it. Similarly, the board will all be invited to see I’m now eligible for the shares. And Donna.”

  I’d disliked the deception when we set out to ease my father’s latent guilt. There was no such justification for Donna.

  “Are these going to be parties a regular thing?” she asked.

  I considered. As CEO, there would be a lot more mingling expected of me. At a certain level of business, brute force hurt more than it helped. Would I spin Mindy as a homemaker eager to play hostess? Though if she was too central to the image of any invitations I issued, our subsequent divorce could hurt the company image.

  “Probably not,” I decided. “At least not with our hosting. There are certain annual events we’ll be expected to attend.”

  “Didn’t you used to ignore half of those?”

  As my secretary, she’d been complicit in several of my declining RSVPs and subsequent apology gifts.

  “It’ll be different now. Either way, I needed to develop new contacts so I’d have to start going to the tedious things.”

  “Are they that bad?”

  “They’re about what you’d expect.”

  She gave me a funny look. “I have no idea what to expect.”

  I considered. No, I suppose she didn’t. “Nothing crazy. People dressed up, a million hors d’oeuvres and a lot of lofty people in spaces too small.”

  She placed a hand over her mouth. “Lofty people? Deacon, you must struggle terribly with such a foreign species!”

  I chuckled. “Whatever you think of me, you’ll find worse.”

  “What do you wear to these things? Your suits?”

  “Sometimes. A tuxedo if it’s called for, fancy cuff links.” I tried to think of the women. I didn’t often pay much mind to what women’s clothes, though Mindy’s often captured my attention. “Women usually are in evening dresses or gowns.”

  She made a face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Just thinking I’ll have to pick something up. Do you know where the nearest thrift shop is?” she asked.

  “Thrift shop?” I repeated, incredulous. “You want to wear used clothes?”

  There was that funny look she sometimes gave me. “Deacon, I don’t really have anything dinner party appropriate.”

  “Alright, fine. But why buy something someone else has worn?”

  “It’s not a fashion choice.” She sounded exasperated, as if she was the one being told something ridiculous. “It may not be glamorous, but I’m sure I can find something acceptable.”

  I leaned in. “No, you won’t.”

  Her body shifted towards me. “Yes, I will. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with preowned clothing once you wash it. I thrifted these.” She gestured to her body and my gaze followed. The t-shirt she wore clung to her body in the way a shirt that was a size too small fit just right. I was already well aware of her slacks.

  Perhaps this outfit was alright. Still, she’d regularly be in the company of people who had their apparel custom made. Even something ready-to-wear would be questionable, though I couldn’t see myself dragging her to a seamstress without losing a few limbs.

  “From a store.” A
nd that was final.

  Or not.

  “Deacon, I can’t afford a brand new dress, let alone a gown,” she insisted.

  I waved away her concern. She was worried about money? “You won’t be buying anything. I’ll have my stylist bring a selection, or you two can go shopping together.”

  “You have a stylist?” Shock colored her voice.

  “Of course. They’re an expert in a field I need expertise for. Having them on the payroll simplifies my life.”

  “Deacon, you can’t buy me a dress.”

  “I can and I will. It’s necessary, as we just discussed. Moreso, you should get several, to have options for different occasions.” I would make sure my stylist understood the range of clothing needed.

  “That’s too much!”

  I tried not to roll my eyes at her theatrics. She hadn’t had any trouble with “too much” when accumulating a couple hundred thousand dollars of commercial debt. “Mindy, it’s necessary. And our contract states purchases deemed necessary will be paid for out of my accounts.”

  “Who says it’s necessary?”

  “I do.”

  “It is not!”

  Throughout our argument, we’d inched forward until we were inches away from each other. In that tight shirt, I could see the dramatic rise and fall of her shirt. A part of me would’ve loved to imagine it was because she was as turned on by our proximity as I was, but I felt something more turbulent underlying it.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “All this fuss can’t really be over just a few dresses.”

  “It’s not a few dresses. You already got me a ring. Two rings.” She held up her hand. “What’s next? A car? A tiara? An alpaca?”

  I considered. “You don’t need a car; you don’t drive.”

  “I don’t need any expensive clothing either! Just let me shop second hand.”

  “Expense is relative, Mindy. Would a two hundred dollar steak be expensive for you before? Maybe. For me, I’d lose more money by taking the time to cook rather than working. Same with paying a stylist to shop. Our time is valuable, so the time Tyson saves me balances out his hourly fee. Is thirteen million expensive? To me, it’s a substantial expense worth weighing. To the entirety of Blake Enterprises, it’s barely a blip in the budget.”

  “How can you be so careless?”

  “How am I careless?” That was the last way I expected her to describe me.

  “You spend and spend and spend. You wouldn’t care if I spend a hundred or a thousand dollars on clothes!”

  “Because it wouldn’t make a difference in my accounts.”

  She leaned back against the cushion and blew out an exasperated breath. I eased down next to her, my arms spread along the back of the couch.

  “I don’t understand why you have so much trouble. You regularly used the company card to cover expenses before,” I reminded her. The way we sat, she fit below my arm and if she leaned closer she would’ve fit neatly within the crook of my body. It would’ve been easy to lower my hand to her shoulder and pull her in.

  I resisted the urge. It should’ve even have been an urge, really. Just a passing musing.

  “But that was for expenses.”

  “So are these. Is it so different?”

  “Yes.” Her protest was almost petulant.

  “Why?”

  “I’m the expense now.”

  My palm itched to pull her in towards me. I clenched the leather cushion beneath it.

  “It’s just a few dresses.” She needed new clothing.

  She burst away from the couch and turned towards me. Out of reach.

  “But they come with strings!”

  “Strings?” I asked.

  “Yes. There’s always a cost.”

  I sat up and peered into her eyes. Her gaze was panicked and I wanted to soothe her.

  “That’s what the money is for. But as for any subtextual strings, there’s a whole contract of conditions,” I reminded her. “A web of them, spelled out, on paper. And yes, I’ll hold you to them. But nothing more.”

  She relaxed slightly, but clearly wasn’t totally at ease.

  “Look, how about one dress. To start. Just a simple dress. You’ll go with my stylist and find something acceptable.”

  “Or with you.”

  “Me?” I didn’t know the first thing about women’s fashion.

  “You’ll know if what I pick is appropriate or not. And you won’t have to pay your stylist their hourly rate.”

  I considered. The money really wasn’t the object, but I recognized she was meeting me halfway.

  “Alright. Let’s head out after lunch.”

  ***

  We got back to the apartment several hours later. Mindy, despite having the inconvenient habit of looking hot in every dress she tried on, was exhausting to shop with. We had a quick dinner after shopping, which seemed to be the one thing I could give Mindy without presenting a six-point explanation as to why it would be better for her to accept it than fight me on it.

  It reminded me of the quick bites we’d grabbed after visiting my father. The thought summoned images of our hours together in the hospital room into the forefront of my mind. I turned away from them. There were some things I didn’t want to think about.

  Like the fact I was in this whole mess because of him.

  I unlocked the door while Mindy yawned.

  “I am exhausted,” she said while on the cusp of another.

  I murmured an agreement and veered off to brush my teeth. When I went back, Mindy was gone.

  I tossed my dirty clothes into the hamper and slipped on my sweats. Normally, I slept shirtless. At most. Should I grab something to make her more comfortable? The question of sleeping arrangements could no longer be ignored.

  “Oh!”

  I turned towards the noise. Mindy had been in the walk-in, changing as well. She wore a simple pair of shorts and a tank top. If I’d thought the earlier outfit left little to the imagination, this one left nothing. Her legs were lean and exposed, her tiny waist hugged by the top until it widened almost to capacity to fit her chest. Her arms crossed underneath it, though she didn’t look upset at my ogling. I stared at her and realized that was because she was making some observations of her own.

  Like that, I decided remaining shirtless was fine.

  “Sorry to, um, burst in on you.”

  “No problem,” I replied.

  She glanced around the room, looking everywhere but at me. A hint of color dotted her cheeks, in a way that made me want to flirt with her despite the potential cost.

  “So, for tonight,” she started, her gaze firmly fixed on the bed.

  “I’ll take the couch,” I interrupted. It was the simplest solution.

  She turned to me, eyes wide and very carefully fixed above my neck.

  “No, I can’t let you do that. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “You’re not sleeping on the couch,” I told her.

  “It’s your bed,” she argued.

  “Your old bed is in storage, this is your bed, too. You live here. Your clothes are here.” I stared her down, eyeing said clothing.

  “By that logic, you should sleep on it. You have more clothing than I do here.”

  That made me roll my eyes. “Will you stop arguing if I call my stylist and have them bring over an even larger wardrobe?”

  “No!” The annoyance in her voice told me she didn’t particularly like that threat.

  “Then you’ll sleep in the bed.”

  “Only if you do, too!”

  Her mouth snapped shut as she processed what she said. It took me a moment for my ears to communicate with my brain.

  She was being ridiculous. Probably joking. Even if she was my wife, she wouldn’t want to share a bed with me.

  “Look, it’s a big bed. Plenty of space. This way neither of us is on the couch.”

  She was serious.

  At my silence, she continued. “Besides, isn’t it all ‘necessary and proper’ f
or husband and wife to share a bed to sell this shtick?” Her air quotes hinted to me it was less that she respected the contract and instead might be getting back at me for buying her a dress.

  Fine. If that’s how it was gonna be.

  “You win, wifey. Off to bed.”

  She turned back to the bed and was clearly having a case of buyer's remorse. It had to be bad if she hadn’t snapped at me for called her wifey. In the end, exhaustion won out and got in.

  I followed suit, settling in with my hands behind my head. I was still tired, but having her this close sent a current of electricity skirting over my skin.

  “Never had a woman so determined to get into my bed,” I mused.

  She barked a laugh. “You’re that unpopular?”

  I turned towards her, head propped up on my hand. “You’re a hard act to surpass.”

  She rolled over to face me. “Is your wifey too much to handle?”

  I grinned. “No, she’s just enough to keep things interesting.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Does it sound wrong?”

  She was quiet for a second. Exhaustion from the day was etched across her face. Her eyelids flickered down even as she tried to shake them off.

  “It sounds good,” she murmured.

  After that, her lids came down one last time. Her breathing evened. Even with the space between us, I heard the soft inhales and exhales. I listened for a while, the sounds soothing something coiled inside me.

  She shifted in the bed, though her breath never broke its melody. Maybe she was a restless sleeper? My mattress was high-quality memory foam, so I didn’t often move while asleep.

  I drifted off shortly after. As it happened, my first full day as a married man had left me exhausted.

  Mindy 18

  Wherever I was, it was the most comfortable I’d been in forever. I was curled up and pressed against a pillow. The sheets were soft. It was odd, I’d never thought my old bed was particularly uncomfortable (as long as I avoided one or two particular springs) but I felt almost rejuvenated after sleeping where I had.