An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3) (14 page)

I move forward until I’m in her face, my hands clenched by my sides. “Leave her out of this!”

“Fuck you.” She spins around and goes back into her room, slamming the door behind her. Pressing my temples, I sigh heavily. My stomach’s in a knot, and I’ve lost my appetite. I should’ve guessed she’d make a scene and maybe prepped her a little better. But everything’s happened so fast.

Breathing roughly, I sit at the dining table. Propping my elbows on the scarred surface, I drop my face into my hands. The movers are unusually quiet. I’m sure they heard everything.
Ugh
. Hopefully this isn’t some kind of omen.

Sometime later, my phone buzzes with a new text.
Your ride is waiting
.

I glance at the time. It’s already a little bit after noon. I have a glass of water, then go outside. If I’m going to make the courthouse for the one thirty ceremony, I don’t have time for lunch, and I don’t want to eat dry cereal on the way either. I hate dry cereal.

A shiny black Mercedes idles by the curb. A uniformed chauffeur straightens at the sight of me and opens the rear door. To my relief—and disappointment—Elliot isn’t inside. I slide in and close my eyes.

The car glides off.

As we get closer to the courthouse, my chest tightens. Most people’s lives rarely turn out the way they envisioned, but mine is so far from my vision…well, there’s no point in even talking about it. When I was a child, I dreamed of being a fairy tale princess. My favorite was Sleeping Beauty. I thought it was so romantic that a prince would fall in love with the princess—sight unseen—risk his life to slay the dragon and rescue her from the castle. Then afterward, they got married in a gorgeous ceremony and lived happily ever after.

As I grew older, I realized how silly that dream was, but I was certain I’d find a life partner, somebody who would love me to pieces. We’d get married and live happily ever after with a dog…maybe a golden retriever.

But now I see how ridiculous that was.

Annabelle

It takes maybe half an hour from start to finish. And by start, I mean getting the marriage license, and by finish, I mean saying “I do” to the judge and having a wedding band slipped onto my finger. Elliot must’ve planned everything because I don’t think it’s possible to be that quick otherwise.

And nobody in the courthouse treats him with lazy bureaucratic indifference. They’re warmly courteous, moving briskly to ensure we get our ceremony done ASAP.

Before walking out of the chamber where the judge pronounced us man and wife, Elliot dips me with an easy elegance that would make a ballroom dancer weep with envy. I clutch his arms, gasping at the unexpected gesture, my heart skipping a beat. He presses his mouth against mine.

The moment stills. His tongue probes my lips, and I part them, acting on instinct. I get a taste of him that instantly has heat threading through me, my face warm and flush.

Before I can do anything more than kiss him back, he sets me back upright, the public display over. The clerk who stands as our witness sends him an email of the photo, while I try to recover my bearings.

I raise a shaky hand to my still tingling mouth, knowing that our kiss was just a kind of show for him. I feel slightly dizzy, and I grip his forearm.

Everyone smiles and offers their hearty “congratulations”. My face quickly goes numb from smiling and thanking people.

The grin on Elliot’s handsome face is so convincing, even I can almost believe he’s genuinely thrilled to marry me. He’s put on his usual black button-down shirt and black slacks, gold cufflinks with his initials the only spots of color. But the somber clothes merely accentuate his harsh beauty, the steel underneath the affable mask.

Finally we reach the parking garage, and I let go of all pretense of being a happy bride. Misery seeps through me. What the hell am I doing? After telling Caroline off about selling her body for money, am I not going exactly the same route? The only difference is my price was higher.

Granted, the man is hot. He can make me want him, pleasure my body like no other. Need throbs in my veins every time I think about what we did in the restaurant. But he’s made it clear he’s only buying me for a year. The more I think about it, the more I’m certain that the marriage has nothing to do with what I said on his birthday and more to do with what
he
wants.

I’ve gone along with all this because I’m stupidly desperate. And for the first time in a while, I resent my dad. If he’d been just a tad more honest, Nonny and I wouldn’t be in this situation. We would’ve at least had people we could’ve counted on…friends…somebody. But no, he had to be greedy, unethically and illegally so. And we’re the ones paying the price.

Elliot and I reach his Maserati. I stop and press my palms against the roof of the car, bracing myself and breathing deeply. My knees are trembling, and my skull feels like it’s about to be crushed. Now I wish I’d eaten some cereal—maybe half a bowl—even if I had no appetite before I left.

“You’re pale,” Elliot says, the low timber of his voice washing over me. His dark brows form a deep V.

“I’m fine. Give me a minute.” I breathe slowly until the dark spots in my vision disappear.

He studies me. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Not that long. Besides, didn’t you see me eat at dinner?”

“Did you sleep well last night?”

“I’m fine,” I say again. I’m not telling him I spent most of the night thinking about the way he brought my body to a killer climax.

“Get in. I’ll buy you lunch.”

I pull back. “No, thank you. I’d rather go home.”

“Which is where?”

“The apartment…” I pause. That place isn’t my home anymore. His movers are probably done by now. I’m living with Elliot in
his
home.

One dark eyebrow rises. I tear my gaze from his and get in the car. There is nothing I can say.

He drives us downtown. I steel myself. Most likely we’re going to his place. I’m nowhere close to figuring out why he’s doing this, because the idea that it’s all for sex is ridiculous. He has an ulterior motive. I just want to know what it is so I can prepare myself.

Much to my surprise, we stop at a rather ordinary sandwich shop. It isn’t one of those chains, and the décor is contemporary and warm with dark furniture and bright lighting. Kelly Clarkson comes from the speakers, singing about paternal abandonment. The branded white paper napkins read
Galore
. A friendly worker with the loveliest tan takes my order of a ham and cheese sandwich and iced peach tea, while Elliot gets a towering monstrosity, everything you can imagine piled high on rye bread, chips and iced coffee.

“Haven’t you eaten?” I ask despite myself.

“I have. Fast metabolism.”

We grab a table for two in the corner. I bite into the salty ham and cheese and instantly start to feel better. The food is surprisingly good. Elliot eats with shameless gusto. The sight is so incongruous my brain stutters. An air of affluence and power surrounds him. It’s not something he works at; it’s a part of him, like his skin. He knows he’s damn smart—the world gave him and his twin over a billion bucks for his brain. A man like him should be out of place in a humble deli like this, the way I felt at La Mer yesterday.

“What?” he asks after a moment.

“You,” I blurt out.

“What about me?”

I shake my head. “I just never thought you ate sandwiches.”

He looks at the half-demolished bread in his hands. “What do you think I eat? Children?”

The abrupt answer startles me into a laugh. “No. Just, you know…five-star restaurants all the time.”

“They get boring after a while.”

I finish the last bite of my sandwich.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says after he’s done with his food. He wipes his hands and wads the napkin.

“I do take care of myself.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow rises an eloquent fraction of an inch. “Like when you skip breakfast when you’re worried, or stressed about money?”

“Who says I do?”

He stands with both of our trays and takes them to the counter. I follow. “Your sister,” he says, leading me out of the sandwich shop.

“When did you talk to her?”

“When I picked her up from school.”

Right
. I totally forgot about that. I make a quick mental note to talk to her as soon as I get a chance. The less Elliot knows about me, the better I’ll feel, although I’m not sure how I’m going to get her to cooperate without revealing what’s going on. “She doesn’t always understand what she sees. She’s only fifteen.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss her like that,” he says. “She’s quite perceptive for her age.”

“She also has a great imagination. The simpler explanation, which happens to be correct, is that sometimes I’m just not that hungry.” I don’t want him to know any more about me. He already knows plenty if he looked me up the way he said he did.

But from the raised eyebrows he gives me as he opens the door to his Maserati, he doesn’t believe a word I said.

I slump in the passenger seat, suddenly tired. Dismissing Nonny like that was a shitty thing to do. Who cares if he knows that I don’t eat when I’m worried about money? After our year is up, what he thinks or feels about me won’t mean anything anyway. We’ll go our separate ways and never see each other again.

* * *

Elliot

By the time we pull into the parking garage, she’s asleep.

I’m not surprised. She’s been going through the day on a single sandwich and tension. Despite her protests, I doubt she had breakfast. She has no idea how illuminating my conversation with Nonny was.

But, my fault. Should’ve planned the day better. Should’ve insisted on lunch before dragging her to the courthouse.

She looks so young in sleep. There’s a bit of shadow underneath her eyes, and she appears exhausted.

Since I have no intention of letting her rest tonight, I carefully pull her into my arms. She murmurs something, then burrows deeper into my chest and sighs.

The trusting gesture tugs at me. It’s been so long since I felt soft and protective toward any woman, other than Elizabeth. And I don’t understand why it’s
this
woman. I don’t want to feel anything for her. I want hot sex and fun and then my grandfather’s painting in a year.

But every time I try to stay the course, she does something that surprises me, elicits emotions even deeper and more complicated than those I reserve for women in my “friends and family” category.

I start to carry her to the master suite, then stop. The concierge I hired will be here soon to set things up for the evening. I don’t want him to disturb her.

I place her on the bed in the guest suite and pull the comforter over her. She turns on her side and curls up. Her lips part, vulnerable and sweet.

Watching her, I wonder what put that fire and fight in her. I doubt it’s her upbringing. Nonny isn’t like her—fairly docile and well-tempered…unusual in a teenager. When I was her age, I was tearing through Europe with a sense of superiority and too much money. I had my “fuck you” years and it wasn’t until I was older that I gained more control over my impulses and emotions. Betrayal tends to make you mature fast…once you get over the initial shock and fury.

Gigi has had her share, too. I wrap her soft red hair around my finger. Was that what made her such a spitfire?

I’ve read the report on her. Her father swindled the people in her hometown. It was a simple scam, run on people who didn’t know any better. Invest with us and triple your money in ten years. It was good at first. The first few investors did very well, much better than they ever dreamed of.

A lot of people noticed, and they had dollar signs in their eyes when they realized how much they could make by investing with her father. He even had a partner, a long-time resident of the town. Four generations. Everyone trusted the two until their shit fell apart, just like every other Ponzi scheme ever created.

She was only twenty when the whole thing blew up. The same age as when I experienced my own crushing betrayal. Except with mine nobody else’s life was ruined, no money lost.

Just my pride and my heart.

Thankfully it was a private humiliation, just something between me and Dad. I move to a window and gaze off into the distance. Isn’t it amazing how fathers can destroy their kids’ lives?

Annabelle

When I wake up, I’m in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The sharply slanted light coming from outside tells me it’s late.

I sit up. Thankfully, I’m still in the green dress I wore to the courthouse. But now it’s horribly wrinkled, and I’m going to have to change into something else. The clock on the nightstand reads five thirty-two. Just when did I fall asleep?

In Elliot’s car
.

I turn on the bedside lamp and take a good look at the place. The room is huge—I’m on a queen-size bed with pristine white sheets that feel like silk against my skin…there are a couple of dressers and a vanity and a walk-in closet. A print of some European cityscape hangs on one wall.

The en suite bathroom is fully stocked with expensive toiletries with gender neutral scent, but the closet is empty. I frown. I could have sworn Elliot said he was moving me and Nonny today.

Still groggy, I open the door to go find—

A body slams into me, ponytail going wild and the squeal ear-piercingly loud.

I almost lose my balance. Nonny can be very physical when she’s overly excited, but I haven’t seen her behave this way since before our parents died. Excitement shines in her eyes, and she drags me out to the living room.

“Oh my god, did you see? Did you see?” She hops around, her arms pumping.

I’m still somewhat out of it, but her happiness buoys my mood. “See what?”

“
This!
” She swings her arms wildly, indicating the whole house. “Elliot says this is where we’re going to live. Can you believe it? I get my own
suite!
It has its own bedroom and bathroom and a
living room!
It’s like a house all by itself. And the walk-in closet! It’s huge!”