by Nia Arthurs
Be My Wife
Make It Marriage Book 6
Nia Arthurs
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.
BE MY WIFE
Copyright © 2020 Nia Arthurs
Written by Nia Arthurs
Edited by Jalulu Editing
Cover by Oliviaprodesign
(V1)
About This Book
She needs a wedding date. He needs a wife. Can their fake marriage turn into something real?
Thirty and single.
That's not where I thought I'd be.
My family has the same opinion and they share it. Liberally.
So when the opportunity to prove them wrong and bring a boyfriend to my cousin's wedding pops up, I take it.
Only problem is... that boyfriend doesn't exist.
Enter Brogan Harrington.
He's gruff. Handsome. And needs a wife. Tomorrow.
Our marriage is temporary. It's all pretend.
Until Brogan's kisses start melting my brain.
And suddenly, I want him touching me even when my family's not around.
There's something about his guarded eyes, his deep voice, his scarred hands…
My heart keeps forgetting that little rule about not falling in love. Can I keep playing a role when the feelings get real or will Brogan break my heart when he ends this marriage?
Contents
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1. Brogan
2. Elizabeth
3. Brogan
4. Elizabeth
5. Brogan
6. Elizabeth
7. Brogan
8. Elizabeth
9. Brogan
10. Elizabeth
11. Brogan
12. Elizabeth
13. Brogan
14. Elizabeth
15. Brogan
16. Elizabeth
17. Brogan
18. Elizabeth
19. Brogan
20. Elizabeth
21. Brogan
22. Elizabeth
23. Brogan
24. Elizabeth
25. Brogan
26. Elizabeth
27. Brogan
28. Elizabeth
29. Brogan
30. Elizabeth
31. Brogan
32. Elizabeth
33. Brogan
34. Elizabeth
35. Brogan
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Trapped In You
Sneak Peek! Trapped In You Chapter One
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One
Brogan
I tap my fingers against the shiny black desk and glare at Levy who’s staring right back at me. “What do you mean I’m not getting the money?”
“I spoke clearly, Brogan.”
“Don’t pull that crap on me, Levy. My hearing’s just fine.”
He chuckles.
I lean back. “I’m here to make sure the transfer of assets goes as planned. It’s a simple yes or no question. Will I get the money or not?”
“Is the money that important?”
The answer to that question is ‘yes’.
Love? Family? Happiness?
All jokes.
I learned those lessons the hard way.
But money?
It’s the only thing that people understand. The only language that flows without interruption.
“Stop wasting my time.” I lean over the table. “Is everything in order for the asset transfer?”
Levy shakes his head of salt-and-pepper hair. He keeps it short. Close to his big ears. “I’m not about to repeat myself.”
“Humor me.”
“Then listen up.” He frowns. Glances pitifully at me over the desk.
Always with that blasted pity.
It’s the bane of my existence.
It’s why I resented moving back to this city.
I was happy in that Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.
Where few knew me.
Where hardly anyone heard my story.
Where no one cared.
“I’m sorry, Brogan. You’re not getting a dime.”
I grit my teeth.
That’s not a freaking option.
Someone could die.
This is my only chance to stop it.
“Why the hell not?”
“Your grandmother was very specific about her conditions.”
“I know.” I try not to let the desperation show on my face. “The money won’t be released until I’m thirty five.” I spread my fingers. The backs of my hands are red and patchy. Scars from another time in my life. Remnants from another version of me. “I’m three days away from my thirty-fifth birthday.”
“I’m aware.”
Silence fills the room.
Levy sits behind his giant mahogany desk.
Flicks the collar of his lux suit.
Runs dark brown fingers over his hair.
Brown eyes.
Fancy watch.
He’s staring at me on the other side of the table. I’m wearing a simple thermal and khakis. Boots. Scraggly beard. He’s thinking I’ve fallen off the beaten path. Tumbled off some cliff where I can never be rescued.
I see it in his eyes. The mental pictures he’s holding side by side. Comparing the man I am now to the one I was. Seeing the major differences.
They all see it.
They think I’ve gone crazy.
Maybe they’re right.
But crazy or not, I’m here to claim what’s rightfully mine. And despite how official he looks, Levy’s got no power.
He’s nothing but a faucet.
A middle man.
The last herald of a ghost.
“Listen, I’m not here to browbeat you into releasing the money early. I’m a lawyer. I’m ensuring that things are moving smoothly for the transfer next week. So if you can just give me that assurance—”
“Brogan.”
“What?”
“Your grandmother changed the will.”
The floor shifts from under me.
I blink.
Grip the edge of the table.
Try to swallow past the giant lump in my throat.
“She was worried. After the divorce,” Levy says.
I hear his words from somewhere outside of me. Like it’s not quite penetrating my brain, not quite connecting.
Gran changed the will.
I’m not getting the money.
She’ll die.
I scratch that voice out with all my might. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs. “You weren’t supposed to find out.”
“What?”
“She was…” His eyes slip away from me. Fall on the portrait of a stately older woman on the wall. She has my blue eyes. My long nose. My sandy-blonde hair. “Eldrina was hoping you wouldn’t find out.”
“She cut me off?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then?”
I hate that hope is creeping into my voice, into my face, into my heart.
I hate that Levy can see it.
I’ve been gunning for indifference since that day. I’ve been wearing a
shield of apathy like it’s a second skin. But right now… I can’t afford to pretend I’m not desperate.
Levy looks away, his sharp chin jutting out in profile. Behind him, the city speeds along. Cars on the highway. Birds in the sky. Crowds in the streets.
Looking at them from above, it feels like I’m not a part of it. Like I’ve been ostracized. Removed. Whether it’s my own doing, society’s or both, it hasn’t stopped my drifting.
I haven’t been tethered to anything in a long, long time.
Well, except her.
Except the little girl I’m trying to save.
Levy hesitates.
I slap the table. “Dammit, Levy. What are the new conditions?”
“One condition.”
“Okay. One condition. What is it?”
Silence.
“Levy…” I growl.
“Marriage.”
That one word sucks all the air out of the room.
Out of my chest.
Out of my soul.
His brown eyes pierce mine, cutting through me with that same intensity Eldrina used to have. “See that?” He nods at my expression. “She was banking on that.”
My heart thunders.
Just the thought of getting married again turns my stomach.
“Let me see the papers.”
Levy sighs. Crosses over to the safe.
I hear the beeps.
Then the click.
The door swings open and he pulls out a file.
After returning to the desk, he slides it over to me. “I’m sorry, Brogan.”
I glance over the will.
It’s my grandmother’s signature.
My grandmother’s last request.
“If you hadn’t fulfilled the conditions by your thirty-fifth birthday, the company would have been liquidated and everything would have gone to charity.”
My chest rises and falls.
My fingernails dig into my palm hard enough to leave indents.
“She hated us, didn’t she?” I shake my head at Levy. “She did this to get back at mom.”
“You know she didn’t sanction your parents marriage or your divorce.”
“Dammit!” I fling the will.
Levy scrambles to catch it, his eyes wide and his breath harried. “There’s still a few days.”
“Three.”
“It’s something.”
“That’s nothing.”
“I’ve never known you to be one to give up,” Levy says.
True.
I don’t take no for an answer.
At least that’s one thing about me that came out of the fire intact.
But this?
This is crazy.
This involves someone else’s life.
Someone else’s future.
Even if I offered them a cut…
A small grin grows on Levy’s wrinkled face. “You’re thinking something, aren’t you?”
“It still won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Say I do find someone to marry me in three days—which I guess I could—it says there I won’t get the money immediately.”
I need that money yesterday.
There’s no time.
Another curse trembles at my lips, but I hold it back. “How long ago did she make the new arrangements?”
“Um…”
“Tell me.”
“Like I said,” Levy winces, “she wasn’t happy about that divorce.”
“So it was right after…”
He nods.
Something dark hovers over me.
A simmering bitterness.
A deep-seated resentment.
Gran was a businesswoman and I was a pawn. The marriage with Lana should never have happened, but I allowed myself to think it was about love when it was really just a farce.
Now Gran’s forcing me into the same dilemma she forced my ex-wife into.
Fake it. Get the money. Live a miserable life.
My pride lashes out.
Makes me want to tear this office apart.
Strip that will into tiny pieces and scatter it all over the city.
Screw Gran’s money.
Screw the puppet strings I cut off the day I lost everything to the fire.
But there’s one string left.
It’s holding me down.
Tying me to a reality I wish I didn’t have to face.
I fist my hands. “Three days?”
“To get married.” Levy nods. “Seven days and you can divorce to your heart’s content.”
It’s a terrible deal.
I wouldn’t take it if there were any other choice…
Pushing up, I rise to my full height and stare Levy down. “Have the papers ready on my birthday.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stride out of the office and head to the elevator. Once inside, I pull out my cell phone and call Lucas.
He answers on the third ring. “Hey, buddy. What’s—”
“Ina’s friends.”
“Huh?”
“The matchmakers.”
“Ah, right.” Lucas’s jovial voice rings through the phone. He’s a lot more cheerful now that he’s found love. Or what he thinks is love. I’m hoping the ruse lasts a long time for him though.
“Amina, Venus and Kayla,” Lucas says. “What about them?”
“You said they worked at a place called Make It Marriage?”
The elevator doors open.
I step into the lobby of the building that my grandmother built, filled with the people that she hired.
“Yeah…” Lucas says hesitantly.
I check my watch. Shift my phone to the other ear. “Good.” I pause. “Is there any chance they actually arrange marriages?”
Two
Elizabeth
I sit in the café across from Make It Marriage and sip a milkshake because I’m stressed. But happy-stressed.
This is good.
This is… good. Right?
I paid the fee.
I filled out the online questionnaire.
Today, I had my first consultation with Venus Miller—a stunning matchmaker with curly, reddish-brown hair and an engagement ring on her finger the size of Texas. She seemed friendly, professional and very capable.
She promised I’d hear from her soon.
Like by tomorrow soon.
This is…
I’m doing things.
Things are happening.
Right?
I take another nervous sip of my milkshake.
Okay, who am I kidding?
This is bad.
This is really bad.
I’m a stinking liar. I’m a freaking hoax.
The truth is, I made all that effort to sign up to a dating agency when I don’t really want to date.
I just want a date.
To my cousin’s wedding.
Cousin Novah.
The one who thinks a woman’s value is in her marital status and little else. A thought that’s, frankly, shared by the entirety of my close-knit Caribbean family.
But nobody rubs my ‘single and thirty’ status in my face quite like Novah. It’s not with the same good-natured teasing as the rest of the family either.
She hates me.
It’s residual resentment for me getting into business school when she didn’t.
Even if I understand where her hate is coming from, it still pisses me off. Under usual circumstances, I’d tell Novah to take that ring finger she’s always going off about and shove it where the sun don’t shine.
But… not this year.
This year, I’m bringing myself a shield.
Hopefully.
If this dating agency thing works out.
Which it will.
I did a helluva lot of research before taking the plunge. Make It Marriage was the only organization with awards, respect, and recognition in the field.
I did a good thing.
Even if it’s
wrong.
Right?
A commotion drags me out of my thoughts.
I hear a lurch.
A curse.
And then a splash.
I swivel in the red, vinyl stool.
A scene straight out of one of those Hallmark movies plays in front of me.
A petite girl with dark brown skin, long, flowing hair and a horrified look on her face stares at the coffee she spilled on a Channing Tatum look-alike’s fresh white shirt.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, grabbing a napkin.
Channing Tatum’s twin stares at her with annoyance in his eyes.
The longer he stares, the more his annoyance shifts.
First, it’s curiosity.
Then awareness.
And, finally, attraction.
Her movements slow as she feels the heat of his gaze.
Her eyes tip up.
Their gazes meet.
It’s instant, their connection.
They’re swept up in it.
Lust.
Desire.
Infatuation.
That something that makes the stomach flutter and the heart pound.
Channing Tatum leans down and whispers something to her. She giggles. Pulls out her phone. Gives it to him.
They exchange numbers.
A smattering of applause breaks out as the newly established couple leaves together, hand-in-hand.
I scoff.
An answering ‘ugh’ rings out at the same time with just a tad more contempt.
I freeze.
Glance aside.
Find a man looking back at me with amusement and surprise in his intelligent blue eyes.
I smile.
