The Fiancé Agreement
The Wrights
McKenna Rogue
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Also by McKenna Rogue
1
Helena
I didn’t need to open the heavy, embossed envelope to know what was inside. From the moment her fiancé, Marcus, slipped a very impressive diamond ring on her finger, all Daphne talked about was plans for the big day.
The cream-colored invitation almost had a blush tone to it, and the brassy script font reminded me of everything my parents expected for me, that I hadn’t managed to find yet.
As if summoned from some superstitious wives’ tale, my phone rang, the person I least wanted to talk to on the other end of the call.
With a sigh, I put down the invitation and picked up my cell. “Hey, Daph.”
“Did you get it? Isn’t it just the most perfect thing?” My sister’s ability to make everything about her never ceased to amaze me. “Now, I know you probably haven’t had time to even put it on your calendar yet, but you have to come. And you must bring a date. I’m not sitting my only sister at the singles table.” She paused for half a breath before saying, “And make sure he looks good in a tux. No offense, Hellie, but the last guy you dated was a complete a slob. And he did not photograph well.”
I hated it when she called me Hellie. It was bad enough that our mother, a Greek history major who devoured all the classics before she met our father, named us both after Greek beauties. But Daphne had been calling me Hellie since she was too little to pronounce Helena, and the nickname not only stuck, but got passed on to plenty of other family along the way.
Although, compared to perfect, pretty Daphne, I hardly deserved to be named after a woman whose beauty started wars.
“You only met Preston once. And he was coming down off a cold. What did you expect?” Okay, he was far from the sculpted god that Daph was marrying, but we’d broken up almost a year ago. I didn’t need the reminder.
He was a couch potato who spent his evenings playing online games and drinking Mountain Dew, and still, he was the best prospect I’d had in the romance department.
“I’m so glad you dumped him. He was so not good enough for my big sister.”
I hadn’t ever been able to correct her on who dumped who. It was better she thought I ended things, than risk her finding out that even Preston hadn’t thought I was good enough. It wasn’t even that he was some catch that she just couldn’t see. He’d been barely adequate in any way, and I still ended up crushed by the fact that he just couldn’t find any sex appeal in all my curves, no matter what angle he fucked me from.
“I’m not dating anyone right now.”
“So? You’ve got a couple months. Go out. Find yourself a hottie. And let me know as soon as you have a name for the table. He’s just got to look good in pictures. It’s not like you have to marry him.” She made a distracted, muffled sound, and then said, “Marcus wants us to go to Beverly Hills next week to dress shop. Tell me you can make it. I need your opinion.”
Great. I was happy for Daphne, but participating in the events like dress shopping, just left me open for more judgement and ridicule.
Daphne lived this charmed life where everything always fell into place for her. She’d never had to worry about scrimping together cash for a plane ticket or wonder how she was going to make it to her next paycheck. And she’d never felt the fear of not being able to fit comfortably.
“It’s a little short notice, don’t you think?”
“Come on, Hellie, you’re your own boss. It’s not like you can’t get the time off. And Marcus has offered to pay for the trip, so you can’t say it’s a money issue.”
I sighed, a long, exasperated exhalation that Daphne would’ve had to be completely oblivious to not pick up on. “It’s not just about the money. Or the time. I have a business to run. And even if I didn’t, why are you buying a dress in L.A.? Aren’t there dress shops in Austin you could go to?”
“I need something glamorous, Hellie.” Her voice mimicked my own exasperation. “I can’t get married in Tuscany in just any old dress.”
I could practically hear the eye roll as I scanned the wedding invitation. After all the conversations she’d directed at me over the past few weeks, how had she not mentioned the wedding was in Italy? “Look, I have inventory to do. Text me the info, and I’ll see if my schedule will allow me to go to L.A.”
It was a flimsy excuse, but it was enough to get her off the phone.
I hung up and set the phone down on the counter next to the pile of mail waiting to be sorted through.
All I could see was the invitation, the soft, almost blush paper, reminding me that in almost no time at all, my little sister was going to be walking down the aisle to marry her Prince Charming, and I was in serious danger of getting sat at the singles table with our uncle who had never married and always had a vaguely leery look when anyone in a skirt walked past.
But who could I get to go with me? I wasn’t even cliché enough to have a proper gay best friend who would dance with me and help me pick out the perfect dress. Daphne would never forgive me if I showed up with a female friend. Not when she specifically told me my date should look good in a tux.
The pressure of fitting into my family’s standards weighed heavily on me. I’d never been the woman they thought I should be, and it was getting way too exhausting to keep trying. Maybe I just needed to let them disown me and get it over with already. I loved cookies but being cookie cutter wasn’t one of my strong suits.
When the text came through, announcing the plane ticket already bought for me for the next week in Beverly Hills, and the information for an ocean-front hotel room, I pushed aside the worry about who to take to the wedding, and faced down my next major issue.
What I’d wear on a beach in L.A.
The ticket in my hand had to be a mistake.
I had never flown first class in my life, and I couldn’t help but feel like this was a horrible mistake. Like Marcus had somehow chosen the wrong type of ticket, and by the time I got to the gate, the rug would be ripped out from under me.
My computer bag was slung over my shoulder, the pile of work heavier on my mind than in my case, as I wove through security, feeling like an outsider, like a fraud, with this ticket. I doubted any other first-class passengers were dressed in stretchy yoga pants and a worn 70’s band t-shirt. Or had a hand-me-down leather bag found in a thrift shop and decorated with patches reminiscent of the fifties.
At least I’d taken some time to put a checkered scarf over my two-day old victory rolls, so I looked halfway styled.
I made it through without incident, and soon I was settled in a wide, soft seat big enough that I wasn’t worried about my hips spilling over into my neighbor’s space at all.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out just as the flight attendant came by and smiled softly at me. “Ms. Stratton, welcome aboard. My name’s Buffy. Can
I get you started with a drink before we taxi?”
I bit my lip, trying to covertly look around at the other passengers, to see what the expected response was.
“First time in first class?” She smiled softly. “Why don’t I bring you water to start with, and if you decide on a beverage from the menu in the rack right next to you, let me know.”
I nodded and pulled out the standard airline brochure, listing their menu of available beverages. God, was this how the other cabin always flew? I noticed the couple across the aisle had stemless glasses of champagne, and just in front of them, it looked like someone had a Bloody Mary.
Before I got too sidetracked with considering cocktails on a plane, I checked my messages.
Daphne: Hope you boarded okay! See you in L.A. soon!
I rose out of my seat, half-standing, to look around the cabin. My sister wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but if we were going to the same place, why wouldn’t she be in first class with me? Surely, her fiancé didn’t just spring for this level of ticket for me.
Helena: Where are you? Aren’t we flying out together?
Buffy returned with a glass of water (in a real freaking glass) and smiled. “Did you decide on anything else before we take off?”
I shook my head. “This is good for now.” I still wasn’t entirely sure I was in the right place, or that I’d had the right seat, and I wasn’t about to start making waves yet.
“Okay. Well, if you need anything, just press your call button.” She walked off again, just as my phone buzzed.
Daphne: Marcus surprised me with Vegas before our L.A. trip, so we’ll be heading out from the strip soon. Have fun flying. Live it up! Drink champagne and stretch out.
She knew about my first-class ticket. At least that meant it wasn’t a mistake. But it still felt too strange, too luxurious for anything I should be doing.
The plane pulled away from the gate and I settled back, turned off my cell phone, and took a long, slow breath. Flying had never been my preferred method of travel, and until we were in the air and leveled out again, I wouldn’t really be able to be comfortable.
Buffy came around and collected all the glasses, and soon we were off, heading into the skies.
Marcus and Daphne were waiting for me when the plane landed, standing at the gate.
Or, I should say he was standing. She barely had her toes on the ground, her other foot popped up and back, as she leaned into him, pressed together from pelvis to lips. They were wrapped around each other so tightly, it was hard to tell where my petite little sister ended, and her six-foot-four-inch husband began.
I bit back a wistful sigh as I approached, playfully announcing my presence by saying, “Get a room.”
Daphne pulled back just enough to put her feet back on the floor, and her pale cheeks flushed almost cherry red. “Hey, Hellie.” She didn’t make any move to let go of Marcus, so I didn’t move in for a hug either.
“I see you’re both getting excited about the wedding.” I hoisted my computer bag up onto my shoulder as I tugged my polka-dot roller bag behind me.
“You should’ve checked that. It’s so much easier than dragging it all over the airport.” She slipped her hand into Marcus’s back pocket and leaned into him as we headed toward the exits. “I’m so glad you’re here. We have an appointment at the boutique in the morning, so before then we can just go get settled at the hotel before we meet up again for dinner?”
The way she said “get settled” made it sound like she had a lot more plans than just getting her bags to the room. I had a feeling she meant “get naked” instead.
I didn’t mind the idea of spending the afternoon alone. I’d gotten too comfortable in first class, too relaxed, and hadn’t gotten any of my work done along the way.
Marcus looked over Daphne’s head at me easily. He was just over a foot taller than her, and next to him, she looked almost like a porcelain doll, with her blonde ringlet curls and soft, feminine makeup. “I hope the accommodations are okay. Daphne insisted, nothing but the best for her big sister.”
“I’m sure they’ll be great. Thank you.” I had skimmed the hotel website, and I knew even their smallest rooms were out of my budget. “You really didn’t have to go all out for me.”
“Nonsense. We’re about to be family. And if I can’t take care of my Daphne and her family, then what sort of fiancé would I be?” He paused, extricating himself from Daphne for a moment.
Neither of us missed the pout that immediately formed on her lips.
“That reminds me.” He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and held it out to her.
Daphne accepted the box and popped it open. Her eyes widened, sparkling almost as bright as the ice rink sized diamond earrings in the box. “Oh, Marcus! They’re beautiful!”
“I saw them and just knew you’d need them for tomorrow.” He leaned over and kissed her again.
I averted my eyes as the kiss escalated to porn tongue and nearly dry humping in the middle of the airport. I glanced around the immediate area trying to remember if I’d ever made anyone uncomfortable kissing someone public like that. God, watching the two of them just reminded me how entirely sub-par my dating life had been.
Sure, I wasn’t a petite doll, practically a southern belle with the perfect manners and pearls for every occasion, but it would’ve been nice to be kissed like I was the most important person in the world, just once in my life. I’d been settling far too much in my romantic life. I deserved to be kissed and cherished and doted on like that. Not to mention, I would kiss, cherish, and dote on the right man too.
After nearly two minutes of standing in front of the sickly-sweet smelling cinnamon roll shop, I coughed lightly. “Should we be getting to the hotel? Do I need to rent a car?” I hadn’t even thought about that.
Marcus pulled away, gently extricating her from him.
“Don’t be silly. We have a driver picking us up.” Daphne grinned over at me as she stepped back. “I told you, Hellie, this whole trip is on us.”
It only took two more make-out breaks to get to the car, and I happily slid into the front seat as they climbed into the back so that they could go right back to making out.
There were obvious perks to Marcus’s wealth, as we got to the hotel and were immediately greeted by the manager and a bellhop, who unloaded the car and ushered us straight to the elevators, bypassing the front desk and any sort of check-in process. It all felt too easy, too quick, and as the lift doors closed behind us, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been swept up into Daphne’s fairy tale and was just along for the surreal ride of a lifetime.
My suite was just further proof. The large, open balcony looked out over the ocean and the beach, and a welcome basket waited for me on the table in the corner in the room.
Daphne tugged my hand and grinned at me as she put actual space between herself and her fiancé. “Promise me you’re not going to just sit up here and read or work on your computer all day, Hellie. This trip is for you, as much as it is for me, and I don’t want you to miss out on anything. Especially not the beach down there. We’ve got a private cabana the whole time we’re here, so anytime you want, you can go sit down there, and someone will bring you drinks, food, anything you need.”
“Daph, you don’t have to worry about me. I know how to function on my own. Go, have fun with your fiancé. Text me when you’re ready for dinner. Or if you decide to just stay in and order room service.” I winked at her and hugged her close. “I’m really glad you found someone who makes you so happy.”
“I know, right?! He’s so great. I still can’t believe sometimes that he picked me.” She gave me an extra squeeze. “You’ll find it too, Hellie. I just know it.”
She left, heading out into the hall, into the waiting arms of her fiancé. Lucky in love wasn’t something I’d ever considered for myself, but I was glad my sister had it. I hoped their marriage would be everything and more than their wedding was turning out to be.
2
&nb
sp; Giovanni
The blank canvas propped on the easel taunted me, like a lover who wouldn’t let me know the secrets to making her lose herself in bliss. I’d been staring at this damned canvas for hours, trying to find the creative muse who’d clearly abandoned me for another artist.
It had been three days since I’d even put brush to canvas. Three frustrating days of the gallery curator, Carissa, calling, demanding to know when she could put my work on display again. When my promised next show would be ready.
Three days of trying everything to find the right colors, the right composition, anything to make the canvas sing.
The microphone to my cochlear implant’s battery died two days ago, and the silence was a welcome friend. Without even the dull white noise of the world around me, I hoped I’d find a way to settle into the tunnel vision of creativity. Of course, all it had done was let me sink deeper into depression, into the silent, lonely pit of creationless despair. My fingers twitched with the need to create. My sanity depended on it.
My phone flashlight started to flicker on and off, indicating I had a call coming in, and I frustratingly tossed down my paintbrush, splattering water splotches across the bottom of the canvas as I headed over to pick up the phone.
Not because I intended to answer it; I wouldn’t be able to hear whoever was on the other end anyway.
But at least if it were one of my siblings, I’d be able to text them back, or start up a video call, so we could sign.
Anymore, my siblings were the only ones who seemed like they cared enough to put up with me when I was in a creative slump, and the gallery curator I worked most closely with damn well knew it. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d called one of them to get a status on my latest work, rather than coming over here and facing me herself.
The Fiancé Agreement Page 1
