Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (3 page)

“Yeah, but she didn’t—”

“One million
dollars
,” she repeated.

He nodded. “Yep. But—”

“I’ll do it.”

Tom’s head jerked back as he stared at her in shock. “What? You’ll do what?”

“
I’ll
marry you for a million dollars.”

Laughter bubbled up inside him, and he let it rip for several seconds until he realized she wasn’t joking. She was staring at him unblinkingly, her hands folded on the table as if they were working out a business deal at a conference room table.

“You’re serious.”

“I don’t joke about money.”

He chuckled, this time nervously. When she didn’t join him, his grin faded. She was completely serious.

“I don’t think you understand. It was an arrangement, and yes, I was giving her a portion of my inheritance, but Diantha was actually planning to
marry
me. Our families have known one another for ages, and we’d been friends since grade school. Everyone believed that we’d started dating last summer and fallen in love. It took some planning, you know?”

She didn’t say a word, just stared back at him, her eyes owl-like in their intensity.

“I don’t even know you. My family doesn’t know you. We just met twenty minutes ago.” He tried to keep his voice gentle because he really didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “I just don’t think it would work.”

“You don’t think I could pull it off,” said Eleanora candidly.

Tom shifted in his seat, placing his arm along the back of the booth between them and facing her.

Her blonde hair was natural, and her face was pretty. He didn’t know if she’d had braces or just been blessed with good teeth, but he suspected the latter. She was trim and bright and interesting, but . . .

His eyes slipped to the collar of her uniform, then to her chewed-up nails, and finally to her white tights and sneakers. She was a “breakfast-all-day” waitress from Colorado, not a viable contender for the wife of Thomas Andrews English. She wouldn’t last a minute in Main Line society, and more important, his grandfather would see right through her.

As his gaze skated up to her face, he found her eyes glistening, but she lifted her chin proudly. “Forget it. It’s a completely ridiculous idea. I . . . I’m going to go.”

She started sliding around the booth to escape him, but that strange feeling of desperation encroached again, and Tom stood up quickly to move around the table and block her way. He squatted down, looking up at her. “Wait. Just . . . please. This got weird so fast. We can still talk and there’s wine and—”

She swallowed, shaking her head and pulling her coat more snugly around her. “No, thanks. I feel really foolish. It was an absurd suggestion.”

“Not absurd, just . . . unrealistic. No one will buy it. They all believed I was in love with Di. They all know I was just stood up by her.”

“I get it,” she whispered, still looking down at her lap. “Please let me go now.”

“What would you do with it?” he asked softly. “The million?”

She relaxed a little, lifting her eyes to his. “I’d buy Evie a nice little apartment here so that she’d feel secure and stop—well, you know—hooking up with random men. And then I’d go to college somewhere like Princeton. Like you and Brooke Shields.”

“And then?”

“I’d buy a business . . . or start my own.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. I know how to waitress, so maybe a restaurant. Although what I’d really love is a bookstore. Or a chain of bookstores maybe. And also . . .” Her voice took on a slight edge, and she averted her eyes. “I’d knock down the library in my hometown and have another one built. A good one. A better one.”

Because it saved you.
The thought tiptoed across his mind, and he knew, in his gut, it was true.

He knew what Diantha had planned to do with the money: she would have financed a new wardrobe, buy a convertible Ferrari, and rent a villa in Monaco for a year. But Eleanora? She’d buy herself a whole new life. A better life. And suddenly, more than his own inheritance, more than anything else on earth, Tom wanted her to have that chance.

“We’d have to go to Vegas,” he said quickly before he could rethink it.

Her neck whipped up, her eyes wide and surprised as she searched his face.

“Vegas?”

“There’s nowhere else we could get married so quickly.”

Her lips wobbled, but she kept them from turning up.

“Vegas,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Tonight. So we could be married tomorrow. That would at least give us the weekend to get to know each other.”

She tilted her head to the side and finally let her lips spread into a smile. “Are you serious?”

“Are you?”

“You think we can pull it off?”

No.
“I have no clue.” He shrugged, grinning at her like a stupid fool. “Want to give it a try?”

“I . . .” Her shoulders trembled, and she giggled, still staring up at him. “You’re a decade older than I am.”

“I don’t care if you don’t.”

“You’re rich and classy, and I’m . . . a waitress.”

“I think you’re more than that.”

“I’ve never been outside of Colorado.”

“Maybe it’s time to broaden your horizons.”

“You’re really serious,” she breathed.

“Think of it as an adventure.” He stared into her eyes, prying one of the hands on her lap into his and weaving their fingers together. “Eleanora Watters, will you marry me for a little while?”

She beamed at him, nodding slowly at first and then faster and faster, her slim fingers gripping his tightly as her cheeks turned pink and her eyes sparkled like a million white lights at Christmastime. “Why not?”

As the private plane left the tiny Vail airport, headed for Las Vegas, Eleanora trembled with fear and misgivings. Fear because she’d never been on an airplane before; misgivings because she was headed to Las Vegas to marry a complete and total stranger.

Sitting beside Eve Marie, she closed her eyes and tried to take a few deep, calming breaths, but her cousin wouldn’t shut up.

“I mean, look at this plane! It’s, like, the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my whole life, and that lady gave us Champagne, Ellie.
Champagne
! The real stuff. Can you believe it?” She lowered her voice a little. “Are you crazy? Or drunk? Please tell me you’re drunk. Why are you
marrying
him? It’s not like you’re pregnant! Are you? No, that’s impossible. Oh my God, these seats. They’re real leather, Ellie.
Real leather.
Do you know how much this plane probably costs? I don’t. Are you going to
sleep
with him? What if he’s bad in bed? Then you’re stuck with him for life. Maybe you should have tested the goods first. Sweet Jesus, are those
Godivas
?”

The stewardess held out a gold box filled with delicate-looking chocolates, and Evie took four. Eleanora’s stomach, which wouldn’t stop flipping over, forced her to decline.

She’d already told Evie three times—once when she and Tom interrupted Evie and Van in Van’s hotel room, again while they packed their suitcases in the small shared bedroom of their apartment, and again right before liftoff—that while she was marrying Tom, she wasn’t really
marrying
him. It was a temporary marriage; it was just an agreement, an agreement of convenience, the outcome of which would hopefully change Eleanora’s life for the better.

Was she going to sleep with him?
No.

She straightened her neck and looked over the seat in front of her, catching a quick glimpse of Tom, who sat across from Van, staring out the window. His blond hair tumbled over his forehead, and he rubbed his chin with his index finger as Van flirted shamelessly with the stewardess.

Absolutely not.

Although, in fairness, she was positive he wouldn’t be bad in bed.

And with that thought, hidden muscles deep inside her body flexed and held, telling her they wouldn’t mind finding out.

He was handsome. Sinfully handsome. But Eleanora had met many handsome men since she and Evie moved to Vail. What set Tom English apart was the way he’d looked at her when he said, “We’d have to go to Vegas”—like he was willing to take a chance on her, like she was somehow
worth
the chance he was taking.

Eleanora’s mother had run out on them when she was five, and her father, who was a functioning alcoholic, had done his best with four kids, but there was very little time left for little Eleanora, who always had her nose in a book anyway. She’d only heard from him twice since leaving home three years ago with Eve Marie, who’d actually been their reason for leaving: her new stepfather was paying the sixteen-year-old way too much unwanted attention, and Eve Marie had confessed her fears to Eleanora. They’d hitchhiked to Vail, lied about Eve Marie’s age, found jobs as waitresses at Auntie Rose’s and used Eleanora’s meager savings for a shabby one-bedroom apartment.

Enrolling herself in college courses had taken courage, but Eleanora had read enough books to know that the best way out of poverty was an education, and though she knew she’d likely be in her late thirties before her dreams took shape, at least she
had
dreams, and at least she was trying to make them come true.

And then Tom English had walked into her life, and suddenly she had the chance to fast-track her dreams.

She peeked over the seat again, and he looked up just in time to catch her eyes, locking his with hers. His mustache twitched a little as his lips quirked into a grin, and Eleanora’s heart took off at a gallop, her own smile answering his. He lifted his Champagne glass and toasted her, his gaze never leaving hers as he tilted his head back and let the Champagne bubbles slide down his throat. Suppressing a whimper, Eleanora hunched down, turning to Evie, who was still rhapsodizing and scolding her older cousin in an unbridled stream of scattered, enthusiastic thought.

***

Tom chuckled softly, watching her blonde head disappear back behind the seat.

She reminded him a little of a gopher, looking over at him with those wide, liquid eyes before ducking back down.

“You think your gramps is going to buy this?” asked Van, checking out the stewardess’s ass as she headed back to the galley.

“I don’t know,” answered Tom honestly. “Can’t hurt to try, though. What’s the worst he can do?”

“Disown you,” said Van.

“Like I said, can’t hurt to try.”

Van’s eyes were uncharacteristically serious when he asked, “What if she tries to get her hooks in you?”

“Who? Eleanora?”

“Yeah.”

Not that Tom would necessarily mind having her hooks in him right this minute, but he appreciated that Van’s question was sensible. “We’ll have to sign something in Vegas. Something about her getting a million and me getting a divorce.”

“I’ll draw it up,” said Van, who rarely used his law degree, though it certainly came in handy at times. “She’s cute. I’ll give you that. Maybe you can sample the goodies before you say sayonara.”

Van turned to the window and closed his eyes while Tom straightened up to get another look at Eleanora. Cute? Nah. She was stunning. She was the hottest girl he’d ever seen. He stared at her blonde head unobserved, and a thought took over his brain: temporary nuptials or not, she deserved a nice decent wedding. Not some five-dollar cheesefest at an Elvis chapel, but something decent, something she could remember fondly after they’d gotten their money and said their goodbyes.

Taking a notebook out of the briefcase he’d stowed under the seat in front of him, he started a list that he didn’t complete until they began their descent into Las Vegas.

***

“I’m sure you’ll have everything you need,” said Tom, grinning at Eleanora as he walked the cousins to their room at the Imperial Palace, the newest and best hotel on the Strip. “But if you don’t, just call downstairs. They’ll charge anything you need to me.”

Not knowing what she could possibly need, she nodded at him, chancing a glance behind her to find Evie and Van making out in the hallway a ways back. She paused at her hotel room door, holding the key in her hand and turning around to look at Tom.

“Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged. “I was fairly certain that my inheritance was a lost cause. You made me wonder if I shouldn’t give it one last chance.”

Guilt embraced her. As much as Tom English’s million dollars would help her start a whole new life, she felt mercenary taking his money for something as simple as saying “I do” once or twice at a sham wedding. Perhaps he had plans for the fifteen million. “Do you need it? The money?”

“Not really, I guess. I have a good education. I work with my father at my grandfather’s financial firm, English & Son, but I could find another job at a different bank if I needed to.” He flattened his hand against the wall by her door, caging her on two sides, and she fought the impulse to step into him. “But life will be easier with the money. More doors will stay open to me if I stay on at my family’s firm. And . . .”

His eyes flickered as they stared into hers.

“And . . .?”

Did his cheeks flush a little, or was that her imagination?

He shrugged again. “I like it that you’ll be able to chase your dream sooner than later. Buy your bookstores. Build a library. Go to Princeton. I could help you with that, you know.” His grin brightened his whole face. “Funny thing, my great-great grandfather built the library there. Just say the word, and I’ll make a few calls.”

Her eyes had watered as he confessed that he wanted to help her. She wasn’t the type of girl who’d had much help in life—no lucky breaks, no windfalls, no happy twists of fate. Not until Tom English had walked into her life.

And suddenly she heard herself whisper, “You’re something between a dream and a miracle.”

His eyes—his warm, kind eyes—widened suddenly, heating up and darkening as he took a step toward her.

“E-Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote that,” she said quickly. “I didn’t make that up. I borrowed it.”

“Barrett,” said Tom, reaching out to touch her cheek with his fingertips, the touch as soft as breath. “Not Burnett.”

Leaning into his touch, she looked into his eyes and grinned curiously, uncertain of his meaning.

“Your cousin said ‘Burnett’ this morning,” he explained, grinning back at her.

“Oh,” she whispered, chuckling softly. “Yes.
Barrett
.”

His thumb swiped gently over her bottom lip, and Eleanora’s breath caught. She wondered if he’d dip his head and kiss her. She hoped he would. Oh God, had she ever wanted anything more?

“
You’re
the dream,” he said softly, staring deeply into her eyes.

“Tom . . .,” she sighed, taking another step toward him, the front of her sweater grazing the nubby tan corduroy of his jacket.

Suddenly he shook his head like he was coming out of a trance and took a step back, dropping his hand. She watched him fist it by his side, then flex his fingers, spreading them as though in punishment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he muttered.

Then he turned and walked away.

His name lingered on the tip of her tongue as she watched him stalk away, his legs long in dark jeans, his shoulders hunched forward. As he passed Van and Evie, he stopped and whispered something by Van’s ear that caused his friend to break away from Evie, give her a quick hug, and follow Tom down the hall toward the elevator. Eleanora watched until they were out of sight, then shifted her gaze to Evie.

“Someone’s in a pissy mood,” her cousin observed, hurrying down the hall. “I guess you didn’t invite him in, huh?”

I would have
, thought Eleanora, steadying her trembling fingers and working the key into the lock. “I think he was . . . just tired. Or something.”

“Or something, all right. He practically growled at Van to join him for a drink downstairs.”

Eleanora twisted the key and reached down for her suitcase, pushing the door open and feeling along the wall for a light switch. Evie tumbled into the room behind her, knocking into Eleanora, who was frozen in place.

Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the Strip, and because of the mirrors on the walls and ceilings, it gave the illusion that the room was decorated in twinkle lights. It was like being inside a jewelry box, she thought, sighing in appreciation. She stepped down two carpeted stairs into the large bedroom suite, which held two queen-size beds, a sofa, and a table with two chairs, not stopping until her fingers gingerly touched the massive plates of glass.

“Wow!”

Eleanora looked over her shoulder at Evie, whose mouth gaped in wonder.

“Oh, Ellie!” said Evie, approaching the first of two beds, then looking up at Eleanora with a beaming smile. “Look!”

Draped across the bed was a white gown covered in clear dry cleaning plastic.

“It’s a wedding dress! Try it on, Ellie!”

Eleanora crossed the room slowly, her eyes glued to the beautiful dress. She carefully slid the plastic up and lifted the hanger from the bed. The dress was strapless and calf length, made entirely of white lace, except for a pale blue sash around the waist. It was, hands down, the most beautiful dress Eleanora had ever seen.

“There’s a card!”

Evie picked up a white envelope from the bedspread and held it out to her cousin.

With trembling hands, Eleanora opened the envelope and read aloud, “Every bride deserves a wedding dress. Thank you for marrying me tomorrow. Tom.”

Evie fell back on the other bed, hands pressed over her heart, sighing dramatically. “I wish I’d gone for him! He’s utterly dreamy, Ellie!”

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Evie leaped up. Hoping it was Tom, come back to kiss her good night, Eleanora rushed to the stairs, only to find a bellhop wheeling in a table covered with a white tablecloth. On it, there was a silver ice bucket with a bottle of Champagne, two glasses, and a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Here, miss?” asked the young man, carrying the table down the two stairs and wheeling it beside the windows.

“F-fine,” stammered Eleanora, holding Tom’s card to her breasts as she watched the bellhop slide the chairs from the room table to the linen-covered table.

“He asked me to say, ‘Welcome to Las Vegas, Watters cousins. If there’s anything you need, the Imperial—and Tom English—are at your command.’” He grinned at them, eyebrows raised, and Eleanora realized that he was waiting for instruction.

“Um. Oh, well . . . thank you. We’re fine. We’re great. N-no commands just now.”

“Very good. Enjoy!”

He sped toward the door, opened and closed it, leaving the girls alone.

Evie turned around in slow motion to face Eleanora, her eyes wide as saucers, then started jumping up and down and clapping, racing over to the table by the windows and begging to pop the cork.