Penthouse Prince (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

He wasn’t used to things going so horribly off plan. He’d calculated and arranged two wedding gifts to make today special for her. He couldn’t tell her the truth—he didn’t want her to leave.

It wasn’t just that the sex was phenomenal. This was probably the most he’d ever feel for someone.

It seemed the least he could do was give her a wedding day she’d never forget.

But not like this. Not in a way that reminded her how cruel the world could be.

Cold fury made him drive his fists into her former manager, the man who’d reminded him that for all his power, there were still times he could feel helpless.

He’d wanted to show his bride that, with him, she could always feel safe from anyone hurting her ever again. And then this had happened.

“Jeanie, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

She trembled in his arms, so soft and fragile a body to house so much life, and he wanted to rip the man’s head off with his bare hands. “I’m okay. He’s drunk. I don’t think he realized how far out of line he went.”

“You’re defending him?”

“No, well, not really. I’m so glad you fired his skeezy ass.”

The hint of good spirits in her sent a shiver of happiness through him.
That’s my girl.

He couldn’t explain. It was all his fault. The emergency custody order—the fact her mother would no longer be able to take Kaycee away from her on a whim—should have given her security. Instead, he’d used it as a weapon against her mother after Jeanie gave him a far greater gift—her defense of him.

Firing Derek? Another planned gift—
look, I fired your old boss. You felt threatened by him, and now he’s unemployed.

Instead, Fruit Loops had attacked her.

Her shoulders shook harder, and he wrapped her closer, wishing he could protect her. Wishing he could fall to his knees, promise to make sure the rest of her days were spent in happiness.

Then he realized she was laughing.

“What’s funny? Because if there’s a punch line,” he said, “I’m missing it.” This only sent her into another hysterical fit of giggles. “Are you in shock?”

“No, it’s just—” She smacked his chest, laughing so hard she snorted, just a little.

“Seriously, I can call a doctor. Have one up here in minutes.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she just shook her head. Her pretty dress was ripped a little in the front, beads torn off and rolling on the floor at his feet. Her hair was falling loose of the stylish up-do, curls flopping on her pink cheeks as she bent over in her chuckles.

“I’m pretty sure you hit your head,” he said.

“No, I’m okay. I’m okay. It just occurred to me that it’s bad luck for you to see the bride before the wedding, even worse if you see her in the dress. I’m pretty sure luck doesn’t get a helluva lot worse than this, so…” Another round of choking laughs, but the tears competing with them weren’t ones of joy. A fist clenched his heart.
Today is ruined.

“I’m sorry, Jeanie.” He reached for her, but she spun away.

“No, really, can you make him disappear? Like have security escort him away or something? I need to fix my makeup, my hair…send the beauty squad back in. They’ve got their work cut out for them.” Glancing down at Derek, she paused. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, all that then. And you? Go do whatever really rich men do before a fake wedding. The stylist is going to have a fit.”

The tears hadn’t stopped, not even a little. Her words choked across her sobs, even as she tried to pretend calm.

“Jeanie—”

She waved him away again, summoned a smile he didn’t believe, not even a little, and shut the bathroom door in his face.

He let his forehead rest on the wood. Every woman deserved the wedding of her dreams. His gifts? They didn’t fix the fact he’d ruined hers for her before it even started. Regret and guilt, new emotions for him, curled in a sickly knot in his stomach.

“I’ll make this up to you.” He promised in a whisper to the door, a vow to go with the others he’d add before the day was over.

He smacked the door, then unlocked his phone and dialed security. He only paused outside the suite to advise the bridesmaid squadron that Jeanie would need help fixing her look.

Striding down the hall, he tried to think of how he’d make it up to her. Although he might not be sure how…he’d keep his promise.

He owed her more than that.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The fake bridesmaids, one by one, took their tour down the aisle, and Jeanie hovered behind the door, trying not to panic. For one, she’d seen the groom before the wedding. For two, she’d been verbally and physically attacked today.

This isn’t what a wedding should be like.

Lori held her arm, face concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She shook free of her friend’s comforting touch and stood straighter. “Of course I’m fine.”

Lori snorted. “It’s almost my turn to head down the aisle. I’m going to have to leave you. Are you ready for this?”

She could hear the unspoken additions to that question.
Was she ready to walk down the aisle?
Yes, white dress and hair done—good to go.
Was she ready to face the crowd of people staring, waiting to see the Penthouse Prince take a bride?
Sure, whatever. They were all strangers.

Was she ready to swear to love and cherish Camden, in sickness and in health, as long as they both shall live?
Sure. What was one more lie, at this point?

He didn’t love her. But he’d shown her he was loyal and would keep her safe. Was it selfish for her to want more?

“Yeah,” she answered. She hadn’t expected her voice to waver.

Lori sighed, turned, and—bouquet in hand—began her march down the aisle.

Kaycee wasn’t there. Her mother and father weren’t there. Lori was the closest thing to someone there for her, and she wasn’t even really there for Jeanie, not that day. She had been hired by Camden, same as Jeanie.

The wedding march started, and she clutched her own flowers tightly before beginning her walk. Keeping her gaze down, so as not to take in the hundreds of eyes watching to see if she faltered, she put one foot in front of another.

The music boomed, too loud. She allowed herself to daydream, imagined her perfect wedding day. The one the little girl in her had planned so long ago, with her father by her side and friends and family filling the pews. Her dress would be simple, not beaded and heavy like the one they’d done their best to repair before she headed to the ballroom.

Maybe a beach instead of a church, with the sun setting and the waves crashing as her bridal march. Her groom?

Well, Camden’s face superimposed the image of her perfect groom, and she figured, since she was fantasizing anyway, his face would have that sleepy, tired sweetness that so tripped her trigger, even if it was just another mask.

She came to the end of the aisle and looked up, but she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze and see the mogul mask. Better to stay in the imaginary wedding, where he’d smile at her before taking her hand in his.

Her father—he’d look so tall and brave, wearing his dress blues. The minister would ask, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” And her father’s voice would break, just a little, when he answered, “I do.”

She kept her eyes on Camden’s chest and heard him speak softly instead of the ghost of her father, repeating the words of the man doing the ceremony. “I, Camden James, take you, Jeanie Long, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health until death us do part.”

His voice didn’t quaver, sounding so sure as he swore promises to her he had no intention of keeping. The complete surety in his tone finally tricked her into tracking her gaze up, to consider his face.

Just like in her imagination, his expression held tenderness. Then again, of course it would. He
was
acting
.
The man was a master liar.

But at least with what mattered, he’d been completely honest with her. He hadn’t made any false declarations of love. He’d told her upfront what he could offer and why he wanted her.

The ceremony continued, and then it was her turn. She couldn’t look away, not once he’d captured her with his cobalt gaze, and she tried to inflect the same confidence he’d displayed into her own tone.

Her voice only quavered a little while she vowed, “I, Jeanie Long, take you, Camden James, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health until death us do part.”

More words, but she didn’t hear them, not past the buzzing in her ears.

His smile took her breath away, for just a second so open and trusting that she sailed away on that twist of his sarcastic lips.

And then they must have said he could kiss her, because he swept her into his familiar embrace and took her lips.

It was done. She was his wife.

Applause broke out, and she stayed in his arms and didn’t look around. There was no one here for her, besides him, so they didn’t matter. Perhaps the faked wedding was the best she could hope for, all things considered. Maybe she’d always wanted the fairytale, believed in it deep down, past logic and cynicism, but she’d seen enough of the world to know not everyone got what they wanted, so maybe this was it for her. In this moment—maybe it would all work out. Maybe the illusion could be real enough to become reality.

Chairs were cleared and music piped over the speakers. She recognized
Marry Me
, locked in the arms of her prince, and allowed him to glide them across the dance floor.

She’d just keep playing pretend for now.

But then she thought of Kaycee. Her child in every way that mattered. What would this mean for her? What would she think if she knew Jeanie had married for anything less than love?

Kaycee deserved more than money and a pretend family. How could she hope for Kaycee to expect more from a man or herself if the only model she grew up around was their pretended wedlock?

Jeanie hoped she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.

…

“We’re leaving?”

He paused, surprised at the sound of shock in her voice. He’d waited until they got back upstairs, the darkness of the apartment seeming exceptionally quiet compared to the noise downstairs, to tell her.

He’d expected surprise—sweeping her off on any kind of honeymoon should have elicited some startled smiles or something—but the slightly horrified look on her face wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d played this out in his head. “Yes, we’re headed off on our honeymoon.”

She screeched to a halt and tugged her hand free. “I am not, like, going off with you.”

“We just got married. You’re my wife. The tradition is—” She smacked his hand away when he reached for her. “Jeanie—”

“Don’t start talking about traditions now. The proper way to do a wedding is the man proposes, baring his heart, on one knee. You never proposed, you contracted me.”

“But—”

“Nothing about this wedding has been traditional. I sure hope you don’t think I’m just going to roll over on my back like a sea turtle washed onto the beach backwards and let you have your, your—” She flailed for words before stabbing him in the chest with her finger. “Your way with me!”

“Did you really just say that? Because it’s sort of archaic.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I’m not demanding sex, just so we clear that misconception up, although I think we both realized earlier we could enjoy a physical relationship as well as a business one.” He wasn’t opposed to sex, and being this close to her, yeah, he desired her…a lot. Like more than any other woman he’d ever met. But he wasn’t taking her on a honeymoon to force her into it.

If she rolled over and demanded it, sea turtle or not, he’d oblige, but…

“Did you really think a honeymoon was a good idea?” She looked annoyed, not thrilled by the prospect as he’d intended.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. He’d thought he made his position evident, that he’d told her he didn’t plan to end their marriage. “We kind of have to go anyway, you know. It will make the wedding look more believable if we—”

“Oh.” She gnawed her lip and stared at the floor. “You should have mentioned that.”

He sighed. It wasn’t just for the illusion, but he couldn’t exactly tell her that. He’d wanted to be alone with her, to have time with her. Time to explore their feelings for one another without having to pretend for an audience.

“Besides, I hadn’t actually planned for us to get divorced. I told you, it’s the flawless marriage. One without the pitfalls and traps that usually breaks people up. As a business arrangement—”

She’d just headed away from him, probably to go pack, when he spoke, but she again slammed to a halt. Whatever he’d planned to say died in his throat as she turned to face him. “Forever? You planned on us staying married? Indefinitely?”

“Well, yes. I’m not planning to divorce you, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re my wife. If you wanted out, I guess…”

“You guess what?”

He couldn’t force himself to say he’d have Lowe look into it, not when he didn’t really want her to leave. “Look, I’ve explained that I don’t believe in love, but I care about you and Kaycee. I want to see you both happy and safe. You probably don’t get this, but I don’t want my marriage to be like my parents’ and just about everyone else’s I know—betrothed one day, and then, because someone didn’t meet some unrealistic expectations, everything falls apart.”

Part of him wished he could be the kind of man Jeanie wanted, silly enough to believe in pipe dreams like love, so that he could give her the promises of devotion she wanted. If he could, it would be a hundred times easier to convince her she loved him, ensuring she’d stick around.

“I don’t want everything to fall apart, either,” she said.”

He searched her face, eager to see if that meant he had her loyalty. “I would like us to share as happy of a marriage as we can. If I have my way, we’ll stand by each other forever.”

Her green eyes blazed at him, a sheen of tears adding depth to their already fathomless beauty. Like looking at the fields of Ireland right after the rain, the brilliance of the color humbled him.

“Forever?”

“Well, yes.”

She blinked, and tears slipped out. Something flickered in her eyes—for one moment it seemed like hope, the next hesitation—and then she said, “I’ll pack.”

She didn’t say anything more, just left him. He leaned back against the wall, suddenly tired. He’d said he wanted this forever, and she’d seemed pleased, but he’d seen a glimpse of something else in her expression.

Was this all an act for her? Would she leave as soon as she got what she wanted? Was she just waiting for him to find the loophole?

He knew women only cared about security and money if they weren’t telling the pretty lies people were programmed to tell. Lucky for him, he had money and security to offer her. Surely it, and he, would be enough. Enough that she wasn’t lying about her loyalty to him. But what if he wasn’t?

What if she wanted the fairy tale of love enough to leave him for someone who would tell her the words she wanted to hear?

He’d basically tricked her into marriage. The possibility of a future, of forever, without her stretched out in front of him.

The hopelessness of the idea chilled him. He’d lived in an unhappy home for a long time. He’d been alone practically as long as he could remember. So why was the idea of her leaving and him being exactly as he’d started suddenly so damn scary?