The Billionaire’s Fake Wife (Book 4): (Crystal Beach Resort Standalone Series)

by Hart, Hanna

  The living room was large and centered around a modern wood-burning fireplace.

  The kitchen had smooth, black crystalized granite countertop and the dining table sat twelve. It was a glass table lined with silky black chairs that seemed too expensive to risk touching or taking her coffee around.

  Inside the bedroom was a ridiculously comfortable king-sized bed with a floor to ceiling headboard, private bathroom, and sauna. On the deck outside was a private hot tub.

  Throw in the fact that their view overlooked the expansive mountains and Willow could already feel herself dreading going home.

  She and Ryder had gone out earlier to do some charitable work, raising awareness about a dog sledding rescue program. She knew they would have to do something to give back to the community while they were here if she was ever going to stand up to Miranda’s adored public persona.

  Tonight, they were scheduled to go to a snow festival. There was night time skiing, a bonfire, a firework show, hot chocolate, and ice skating lit up with string lights as they played incredible classic French music.

  Willow was tired. Not only from the adventuring from the past few days, but also from the time difference. So, when Richard’s name lit up her cellphone screen, she was more than happy to take a break and talk to him.

  “Hello?” she greeted as she swiped answer on the call.

  “Kid! Where have you been? I’ve been… what do the kids say, ‘blowing up?’ Your phone for days.”

  “Hold on, one sec,” Willow eyed Ryder and covered the mouthpiece on her phone. “Work,” she whispered to Ryder, and she got up and walked into the bedroom. “Bad service here in France, mon ami!” she said cheerfully into the phone.

  “You’re in France? Geez, kid, you leave us for a few weeks, and you turn into a world traveler,” Richard mused. “Can you talk?”

  “For a minute,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” he repeated indignantly. “What’s up? Um, how about you tell me. You got any dirt, yet? What’s the story with this family. Have you got an angle?”

  “Uh,” Willow said dumbly into the receiver.

  “Uh?” Richard laughed. “Oh no. Not the dreaded ‘uh.’ Come on, Willow. What’s the angle? Tell me we’re not doing this just so you can traipse across Europe.”

  “I thought you were doing this to help an old friend?” she teased and flopped down on the black bedspread. She curled herself in the wooly grey blanket that was draped decoratively across the top of the bed.

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” he said. “Come on; I need something to bring back to the higher-ups. You got anything from this guy, or what? Is his ex a nutjob or is there real weight to those rumors? Give me something.”

  “I think there’s a chance she’s right about the embezzling,” Willow said and immediately felt guilty for throwing Tag under the bus. “Ryder’s been pretty evasive about it, but I’m definitely earning his trust.”

  “A definitely from you,” Richard said inquisitively, “So that’s like, a sixty-forty chance that it’s accurate.”

  Willow squeal-laughed into the phone and shouted, “I said definitely, and I mean it!”

  “Just don’t scare the guy off, okay?” Richard chuckled. “We need this story. This is big.”

  “I’m trying my best,” she said.

  “And what about you?” he said, sounding less formal now.

  “What about me?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know,” Richard said with the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “You used to go out with this guy, right? He okay? You feeling solid about all this? I’ve been on assignments that have messed with my head.”

  “Are you seriously expressing concern for me right now?” Willow gushed, forcing a scoff to escape Richard’s lips. “Richard! That’s so cute!”

  “No—” he began but she cut him off.

  “You love me, you really love me!” she said exuberantly.

  Her teasing continued until Richard cleared his throat, hiding off a laugh, no doubt, and said, “Alright, alright. I will take this mockery as a sign that you are indeed a-okay. And let that be a lesson to me never to take an interest in your wellbeing ever again.”

  Willow laughed and said, “Bye, Rich.”

  “Don’t you start!” Richard shouted playfully before hanging up the phone.

  Willow made to get up, but the bed proved too comfortable an opponent for her to succeed. After a few minutes of silence, Ryder came up to the door and knocked.

  “Come in!” she shouted.

  Ryder walked in and brushed a hand through the peach-fuzz of dark brown hair that was growing in all over his head. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Just losing a fight with the bed,” she said.

  He raised his brows and looked down quizzically at the bed. “And the phone call?”

  She waved him off. “Boring work stuff,” she summarized. “Wanna hang out at the chateau today?”

  “Yes,” he said with a relieved sigh. “Yes, I do. What, no nightclubs tonight?”

  “I think I’m too old for nightclubs,” she said with furrowed brows. “I don’t know the lingo anymore, the music hurts my ears, and I basically can’t fathom why anyone would wear high-heels for longer than it takes to get from the car to your seat.”

  “Then I must have been born old because I always hated them,” he said and lay down on the bed beside her, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Yes!” she said, throwing a triumphant finger into the air. “You were, indeed, born old. But now I’m right there with you. We are both high-heel-less oldies, waiting to collect social security.”

  “Yes, that is us,” he laughed. “So, what, you’re sick of skiing?”

  Willow gave a half-hearted shrug and rolled onto her side so she could prop her head up on her hand and get a better look at the gorgeous man lying next to her.

  “My legs hurt from skiing,” she complained lamely. “And it’s cold. I just want to stay inside, enjoy the fire, and maybe go down to the pool later or something.”

  “Deal,” he said and raised his pinky to her.

  “What, you want me to pinky-swear you?” she giggled.

  “This way you can’t go back on it,” he smiled.

  Willow felt her face stupidly flush at the gesture, and she twisted her pinky finger around his, feeling sparks of electricity at his touch.

  Ryder sat up and grabbed the room service menu off the nightstand and picked up the receiver for the in-room telephone.

  “Hi, yes, I’d like to order room service for the private noir chalet? Yes, thank you,” Ryder said as he walked to the foot of the bed.

  Willow crawled on all fours to the edge of the bed and looked up at him like a puppy. He grazed his fingers along her cheek and traced the outline of her face.

  “We will have, the Roquefort Salad, the bacon wrapped venison, the grilled filet mignonette, the olive plate, six oysters,” he said and Willow immediately made a disgusted face. “Actually, skip the oysters,” he laughed. “We’ll have two orders of the handmade ravioli and that’s it.”

  “Cheesecake, cheesecake, cheesecake,” she chanted in a whisper, pumping her fist into the air.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Ryder said with a bashful, adorable smile. “Do you have cheesecake?” He paused and set his hand over the phone. “Warm apple cake?” he whispered to her.

  Willow wrinkled her nose in decline, and Ryder said, “One apple cake, thank you. And two bottles of your finest red.”

  Willow’s brows perked up at that, and she watched as her handsome ex-boyfriend paced the room as he finished up the order. When he hung up, she tackled him until he sat back in the bed with her.

  “You ordering for a small village there, buddy?” she smiled.

  “Hey, I’ve seen you eat,” he scoffed.

  “Yeah, your mom’s cooking!” she giggled. “That’s totally different! I just do that to be nice.”

  “Nobody has three helpings because they’re being nice,” h
e said as he crossed his arms.

  “I do,” she said, sticking out her tongue.

  “We’ll see,” he teased. “Mark my words, you’re going to end up eating my cake.”

  Several days ago, when Ryder called a truce on her awkward stonewalling, he had turned into a completely different person. He was less stressed than before. He didn't complain about his family as much. He reminded her of the Ryder she used to know. Stable and sexy, ready to take on the world with her.

  The two of them ate their massive feast in bed, watching romantic comedies they ordered through the hotel.

  As Ryder had predicted, Willow went crazy for the food. They finished their feast within a half-hour and then continued to go back and pick at the food like vultures as the night went on.

  Willow stared down at the empty plate of apple cake, which she had indeed eaten half of, and then over at Ryder. He was watching the movie about a couple who had met each other under false pretenses as business rivals and were slowly, predictably, and adorably falling in love.

  It was just as Willow became entranced in the storyline that Ryder looked over at her and said, “Do you know I used to be really intimidated by you?”

  Willow looked at him in surprise and said, “No, you didn't.”

  “I swear,” he mused. “Every time I was around you I got so nervous that sometimes I would go home feeling like the biggest idiot.”

  She knew the man's statement was meant to be taken as a compliment, but all it did was make her feel strangely guilty.

  “Why do you think you felt that way?” she asked with concern. “I mean, I hope I wasn't projecting any sort of horrible superiority or...” she trailed off.

  “No, no,” he laughed. “Nothing like that. I was just an insecure kid. Meeting you was like finding gold. I was... I mean, I was just sort of this boring guy. Then you came along like a tornado.”

  Willow's eyes went wide with caution, and Ryder shook his head. “A friendly tornado,” he said. “Less rip-down-your-house and more wanna-go-wind-surfing?”

  “Gotcha,” she laughed.

  “I was so boring, and you were… well, not,” he said with an amused breath. “I always thought I was so lucky to have you. Everyone was jealous.”

  “No they weren’t,” she rolled her eyes.

  “Ashton? John?” he scoffed. “Sure, they were! You were like this force to be reckoned with. You still are.”

  Willow played with a strand of her hair, a nervous habit, and smiled. “Fine,” she conceded, “if you say so, it must be true.”

  “They were,” he said. “And not just because you were smokin’ hot.”

  She felt her stomach lilt at that, and her eyes darted to his. She knew she shouldn’t ask the question that she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Why, then?”

  “You were fun,” he said. “You still are. Not as terrifying as before,” he laughed. “But, you could make waiting in a two-hour line the event of the season.”

  “Remember when we used to go to Slide City Park on the mainland and there would be like, three-hour waits for Splash Mountain?” she recalled fondly. “Then you’d get in there and go on the ride for like, two seconds and somehow that made all the awful, sweaty, hot waiting worth it.”

  “It didn’t matter,” he said softly. “It didn’t matter how long we waited. Talking to you was my favorite part of the whole day.”

  Willow felt her face flush a hard red and she looked down at the mattress.

  “And you were all mine,” he said with a smile. “I was also so afraid that you would wake up and go, 'Oh man, I can't believe I ended up with this guy!' and then you'd smarten up and leave me.”

  “What?” she said as she paused the movie.

  Ryder shrugged, and Willow moved up to sit cross-legged in front of him on the mattress. She reached her hand out to the space in-between them and said, “That's crazy. I never thought that. Not even close.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Positive,” she confirmed. “I mean, I always thought it was the other way around.”

  “That I would leave you?” he laughed.

  Willow felt her heart sink and her eyes found the mattress once more. She picked at imaginary spots on the comforter and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Well,” she said pensively, “Didn’t you?”

  “I left you?” he said, dumbfounded.

  Willow craned her head back in surprise “Yes?” she said.

  “I didn’t leave you,” he said, raising a brow in confusion.

  “Is that the torturous and convenient retelling of history that you’re selling?” she scoffed. “Because I remember it a little differently.”

  “You stormed out,” he said firmly, looking her right in the eyes.

  “Yeah, but it’s not like I lived there, was it?” she snipped at him, trying hard to control herself. Ryder had refused to move in with her back in college, regardless of how much strain it put on their relationship.

  “So?”

  “So! Storming out hardly meant I was breaking up with you when I didn’t even live there. It’s not like I packed up my things and stormed out, never to be seen again. Because, oh, wait!” Her octave raised as she pointed a finger and said, “That was you! It was me who went to your apartment to find it not only completely packed up without so much as a Ryder shaped hole in the door, but a whole new tenant was living there.”

  “Willow,” he said firmly, his eyes going dark. “You left with C—”

  “Wait!” she said, putting up a hand. Things had been going so well up until this point. Why ruin it, she kept asking herself. Don’t let this ruin it.

  “Let’s not do this,” she said slowly. “Please, Ryder. We’ve been having fun, haven’t we? Why are we going to ruin everything?”

  “I need to talk about it,” he said stubbornly.

  “Please, I think we should table any talk of our past together,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to rehash old fights, and I definitely don’t think we should talk about the breakup. No bad memories.”

  Ryder didn't respond, and Willow licked her bottom lip nervously.

  “We have a lot of those,” Ryder said. “Bad memories.”

  “Yeah, and we have a lot of good ones, too,” she argued. “Why can’t we focus on those?”

  “I want to talk about it, Willow,” he said earnestly. “Clearly we have differing opinions on what happened.”

  “I just don't want to get swept away in all that drama,” she asked, needling her brows together. “Please. Especially not when things are going so well for us now.”

  Willow waited for Ryder to respond, but he didn't even look at her.

  “Okay?” she asked firmly. “Let's not wreck things.”

  “Okay,” he said. “We don't talk about it. But let me tell you right now, the breakup's off the table as of sixty seconds from now, so if there's anything you want to say, then you'd better say it now.”

  Willow kept silent, purposely pressing her lips together.

  “Alright,” Ryder reiterated. “Then the topic's off the table as of right,” he paused, “now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryder

  On the sixth day of their nine-day trip to France, Ryder no longer had to remember why he liked Willow.

  He didn't have to remember because suddenly, all the reasons were coming alive again. They were new and exciting and laid out before him every time she walked into a room. The energy that she brought with her and the effortless way she could talk to just about anyone made her this unearthly presence that he began to crave.

  Night had fallen on the snowcapped chateau and Ryder was out on their balcony, resting in the large outdoor sauna.

  It was truly breathtaking being able to look out over the snowcapped mountains while resting in the comfort of his own personal hot spring.

  For their guests’ comfort, the lodge provided outdoor heating so they wouldn’t freeze on the way out to the water.


  Ryder had come out with the assurance that Willow would soon follow, but he heard her phone go off twenty minutes ago and she had given him the dreaded ‘just one-second’ raise of her index finger through the sliding doors before disappearing into the bedroom.

  He got into the hot tub regardless, ready to enjoy his soak.

  After some time, Willow emerged in an emerald green swimsuit with cutouts on the sides. The shade of green perfectly complemented her skin and showed off her curvaceous assets he had always loved.

  “Sorry about that,” she said bashfully as she dropped her towel and slipped into the hot tub. She set her phone down on the outer ledge of the tub, designed for keeping drinks and other accessories out of the water. “Duty calls.”

  “Work or pleasure?” he asked, gesturing toward her phone.

  “Pleasure,” she said in a silly voice.

  “Ah,” he said with a nod. Irritatingly, he felt a tinge of jealousy in his stomach as she eyed the phone. “Tell me about it.”

  “About my pleasure?” she laughed.

  “About your life,” he clarified. “I feel like I know nothing about you.”

  “You, Mr. Prescott, may be one of the only people who truly knows anything about me.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You talk a mile a minute to anyone who will listen.”

  “Yeah, but you know me,” she smiled. “I talk a mile a minute about absolutely nothing. I could go on a rant about bird’s wings or why anybody bothers to eat avocados for an hour without actually saying anything of substance.”

  Ryder’s eyes went wide, and he chuckled to himself. “Well, I don’t want to hear about avocados.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said with a relieved sigh. “They are so annoying! They are hard one minute and rotten the next, and don’t get me started about the cutting process. Why does anyone want to eat something that’s so dangerous to get inside of? It’s like a pineapple. It has spikes, people. Read between the lines: the fruit does not want to be eaten!”

  Ryder laughed and shook his head. “I want to hear about you.”

  “Oh,” she said with some surprise. “Alright. Your wish is my command. What do you want to know?”