Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  She looked back at me, her eyes fluttering. “Fake fiancé.”

  “The fiancé part is very real. I am marrying him.” I stuck my hand out with the engagement ring and wiggled it. “We are getting married, and this is my engagement party to prove it.” I didn’t know why it bothered me so much to see her flirting with him. It wasn’t the first time my mother had flirted with a man in front of me, nor the first time my mother had flirted with one of my boyfriends. Not that Weston was my boyfriend or that our relationship was even real, but still.

  My mother stepped away from the hug, but her arm remained around Weston. Her eyes grazed his backside. “The marriage will end soon enough,” she said with a smile.

  Weston latched his arm through hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Mom.”

  My mother faked a shiver. “Ooo, I love the way that sounds when you say it.”

  “You two are the worst.” I slapped Weston’s arm with the back of my hand. “Keep it in your pants—both of you—during this party. And Mom, I know you can’t help yourself, but please try not to be such a MILF for the next few hours, okay?”

  Then with the brightest smile I’d ever put on my lips, I swiveled toward the door, ready for yet another performance at The Sky Launch. Hopefully this one would fall under the genre of art film rather than porno.

  For the next while, I discovered it wasn’t too hard to feign enthusiasm for my betrothed. Most of the initial guests were people that I knew quite well—my friends, my bridesmaid, people I’d gone to high school with. Even though I had to pretend that I was madly in love with Weston, their energy and excitement was easy to act off of, and both of us could make it a game. There were too many people to spend much quality time with any one person, but good conversations were had and it was entertaining to try to embarrass Weston in front of his work associates. Of course the payback was him trying to embarrass me in front of my friends.

  Despite the underlying current of friction between me and my betrothed, the party was going quite well.

  Until his parents arrived.

  I’d wanted to meet them, especially since finding out Weston wasn’t letting them in on the truth behind our relationship. I’d tried more than once to ask why he wouldn’t be honest with them, but each time he’d been just as elusive as he’d been in front of our wedding planner. His secrecy only made me more intrigued.

  “Weston!” his mother exclaimed. “And you must be Elizabeth!”

  I put my hand out to shake hers.

  She frowned and pulled me into a hug. “We’re going to be family. No handshakes for us.”

  Her voice was sweet, her perfume light and lavender. She was pretty, but her makeup was age-appropriate—mother appropriate—her clothes as well—a long mauve gown with a beaded jacket. Her hair was coiffed perfectly, and her French manicured nails were filed to a reasonable length. Her blond hair and blue eyes matched her son’s, and even though I was sure she had a dye job—it was unlikely she’d reached her age without any gray hairs—it still looked natural. Unlike my mother, whose platinum locks definitely came from a bottle.

  She seemed warm, put together, and genuine. For some reason, maybe because of Weston’s insistence to not include her in the wedding, I’d expected she’d be terrible.

  It was nice to be surprised. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Mrs. King.”

  “It’s Maggie, please.” She even had a nice laugh. A polite one that didn’t sound gregarious or overbearing.

  Maggie turned to hug her son, who let her begrudgingly, so I swiveled toward Nash King. While I could see that Weston took mostly after his mother, there were some characteristics that he shared with his father. The dimple, for instance. Both of them had that crazy dimple. He also wore a tuxedo well. Not Weston King-well, but better than most.

  “Dad, this is Elizabeth, obviously,” Weston said without a lot of emotion, and it was Nash’s turn to pull me into his arms and embrace me in a welcome hug.

  “I’m delighted to meet you. Weston hasn’t told us much about you, but from what we’ve heard, you seem like the right person for him. We’ve always wanted more children. And I look forward to having another daughter. I hope you’ll call me Dad.”

  My gut dropped. I hadn’t considered what it would mean to play this charade for Weston’s parents. What fooling them would feel like. It was one thing to fool acquaintances and associates. Quite another to be welcomed into his family. To be invited to call his father my own.

  I hadn’t been prepared for that.

  My throat was suddenly tight, and I was grateful that Weston was there to interrupt so I didn’t have to say anything.

  He slipped his hand around my waist, his touch sending an unexpected shock through my body, and pulled me to him. Putting on the act. “Don’t get all clingy on day one, Dad. She’s mine, not yours.”

  Somehow, despite the dizzying effect of his proximity, his words didn’t make me feel any better. Because I wasn’t his. And that was sort of the whole problem.

  Nash put his hands in his tux pockets, looking so much like his son in the manner if not in his physical characteristics. “We’d just be happy if you shared her a little, son. Bring her by for dinner sometime.”

  “We’d love to!” I answered, caught up in the need to feel at ease about the situation with them in whatever way possible.

  However, my fiancé responded at the same time. “We’ll pass.”

  “Weston,” I chided, sure that he was kidding. But one look at his tense jaw and stiff shoulders said that he was absolutely serious. “Surely we can make time for one meal…”

  “Please do!” Maggie’s smile had slipped, her eyes bright with hope.

  “We can’t,” her son insisted, ending the conversation.

  I bit back the desire to argue further, though inside, a funnel cloud of rage was stirring. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to smooth things over with the Kings. “We’re just so busy between now and the wedding. I’m sure Weston has a better memory for our calendar than I do.”

  “It’s not a calendar issue,” Weston said.

  My face went hot. “I’m so sorry…” I trailed off, not knowing how else to make excuses for my groom-to-be.

  “Don’t worry about it, honey,” Maggie said, clearly hurt. “We aren’t new to his life. We were hoping you’d make things better, but I see that’s not how things are going to be.”

  Make things better? What things? How could Weston have a bad relationship with these people who obviously cared very much about him?

  Whatever the problems were between them, Weston seemed to think we’d engaged enough for the evening. “Thanks for coming, Mom and Dad. We have to see to our other guests.” With his hand still at my waist, he steered me away from them and into the crowd.

  “What the hell was that?” I hissed so only he could hear.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your parents were nice and warm and caring.” I was so frustrated and worked up that I was having trouble getting words out. “And you were so...mean! You should be respectful. A fiancé of mine would be respectful.”

  How could he be like that? Did he have parental baggage of some kind? Did his dad work too hard? Not pay enough attention to him? His dad was here. Whatever he thought his folks had done, he couldn’t possibly understand what real parental baggage was.

  Weston stopped and turned to look at me, his eyes harder than I’d ever seen them. “You know what? You don’t know the first thing about it. I give respect to those who deserve it. I’ve known them my whole life. You’ve known them for five minutes. Grow up.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped. My eyes stung and my face burned, and the worst part was that I’d deserved it. Everything he’d said was true. I was in the dark on this subject, but only because Weston had left me there.

  Maybe that’s what hurt most—that he didn’t want to let me in.

  And wasn’t that a dick move to keep
it from me and then get angry when I didn’t understand? He knew how important this union was, what the stakes were. How believable was it for a bride to not know much about the relationship of her husband-to-be and his own parents?

  “You’re right,” I said, thrusting my chin forward. “I don’t know the first thing about it. Because you’ve been too much of an asshole to tell me.”

  His eyes sparked and he began to say something in response, probably the kind of thing that shouldn’t be said in the middle of our engagement party, but before he got the words out, someone nearby sang out our names. “Weston, Elizabeth. The stars of the show.”

  We turned to see Donovan with a woman I didn’t know.

  Without missing a beat, Weston slipped his arm in mine and directed us toward them, likely eager to escape the heated conversation. A smart decision, while admittedly unfulfilling.

  Once again, I put on my smile.

  “Elizabeth, you know Donovan,” Weston said, sarcastically. “And this is Sabrina Lind, our new Director of Marketing Strategy.”

  “Delightful to meet you. It’s so fascinating to see how my love—“ as I spoke, Weston glanced covertly around us, and when he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw, he cut me off.

  “No one’s watching. And Sabrina knows.”

  “Oh thank God.” I dropped Weston’s arm with a huge sigh of relief. “If I have to gush about him a minute longer I might have to throw up.”

  Donovan flashed a sly grin in my direction. “Elizabeth, I think you and I might get along better than I once thought.”

  Even among people who were part of the farce, the tension between Weston and me felt thick and taut, and I desperately needed a reprieve.

  I cozied up beside Donovan, hoping he might be a balm. “I told you, Kincaid, this deal was really better suited for you and me. I can’t believe you turned down the offer.”

  Not that I really wanted to marry the man. He was too ambitious for my taste. Even for a fictional marriage.

  I shared a smile with Donovan then turned my eyes to Sabrina. She was pretty. Prettier than pretty—she was probably the most attractive woman in the room with her dark hair and dark eyes and legs that went for miles. And she had a respectable position at Reach. All that beauty plus brains too. Good for her.

  Good for Donovan.

  “You were up for the nomination of groom?” she asked cautiously.

  “No one would ever believe I’d get married,” Donovan said dismissively. “Besides, Weston looks much better on Elizabeth’s arm.”

  I didn’t miss Weston shooting daggers in Donovan’s direction.

  And I absolutely didn’t miss Weston saying, “Sabrina, you’re absolutely stunning.”

  She thanked him, and I felt my insides ruffle. “She is gorgeous, Kincaid,” I said, subtly reminding Weston that this woman belonged to someone else. “You make quite an attractive couple.”

  “We’re not a couple,” Sabrina said at the same time that Weston said, “They’re not a couple.”

  And then I realized.

  My insides sank like an elevator with the cable cut, but somehow I managed to keep my voice from shaking as I asked Donovan, “You’re here alone?”

  “I’m not,” he said.

  But he wasn’t here with Sabrina. And Sabrina knew about our sham, which meant…

  “Sabrina is from Weston’s stable,” Donovan said, and now my suspicions were confirmed.

  “You are a fucking asshole.” Weston scowled.

  “Ah.” Jealousy spiked through my veins with the sharp sting of everclear in the punch at prom. “Recent?”

  “The most recent, I believe,” Donovan said, trying to be helpful, or stir the shit—the latter was more likely. “Last girl he spent any significant time with before you, anyway.”

  Sabrina’s face went red, a mixture of anger and embarrassment, if I had to guess. It was the color that I felt, even though I was pretty confident I’d managed to keep it from showing on my skin.

  And who else knew about her? Was I the laughingstock of the town right now? Letting my groom parade his ex-girlfriend under my nose.

  The way they kept exchanging glances, I couldn’t actually be sure she was an ex.

  “Huh. I might want in on that pool after all,” I said, spitefully. “What were the terms?”

  Weston ran a hand through his hair, which made him look ridiculously sexy. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to fuck around.”

  I wanted to trust him, but the compliment he’d given her, the fact she worked in his office, the way they kept looking at each other… The scale was tilting against him.

  I winked at Donovan. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Fuck off,” Weston muttered in Donovan’s direction. He scanned the room again. “People are watching us. Better play cozy.” He took my hand without looking at me, and the lie of his fingers in mine burned my skin. Because he’d probably rather be holding hers.

  “Is it you who wants to fuck around?” he asked suddenly. “Is that why you keep bringing up concerns about me?”

  I rolled my eyes, hoping to hide my stupid confusing emotions. “It was just a joke. You’re so sensitive about everything I say.”

  “Everything you say is a criticism.”

  “Everything you do is stupid.” Good one, Elizabeth.

  He swung his head toward me. “Anyone told you lately you’re a bitch?”

  God I wanted to claw his eyes out, stomp on his feet, and then grab him by the lapels and kiss him hard.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  “Not since the last time you told me, which was, I think, oh, twenty minutes ago.”

  From a few feet away, I heard an older gentleman exclaim, “There’s the happy couple!”

  “That’s us,” I said with a big grin, looking over to see who was calling us. “Mr. Jennings!” The loan officer from my mother’s bank. If he pinched my cheeks like he usually did, I was going to have to dig my fingernails into Weston’s arm so that I didn’t reflexively punch him.

  At least I wouldn’t have to worry about Weston checking out his cleavage.

  After visiting with Mr. Jennings, Weston and I did another round of the room to make sure we’d seen everyone, which proved to be a true test of our acting skills. By then, I was tired and miserable, my feet and my spirit hurt. The contention between Weston and me was worse than ever, but I didn’t have any energy left to give to our arguing.

  Finally, after what seemed like decades, it was time for us to wrap things up and make our formal speech. I’d volunteered to be the one who spoke, not trusting that Weston’s remarks would be either on point or appropriate.

  I took my place at the microphone and welcomed all our guests once again. “It’s so lovely to have all of you here to celebrate Weston and me, and our future together. There isn’t anything we’d like more than to share our happiness with those that we hold most dear, and that’s all of you.” Even though I could only name a third of the people in the room. “Please make sure to finish off the hors d’oeuvres and the champagne; there’s plenty to go around and we’re not taking any home with us.”

  There was the expected round of applause and cheering.

  And then it happened. The thing I should have been prepared for. Why hadn’t I been prepared? Someone—was that Nate Sinclair?—heckled us to kiss.

  Then it was several people heckling for us to kiss. “Kiss her,” came from Weston’s assistant, Roxie, clear as day.

  And my bridesmaid, Melissa, “We want to see you kiss!”

  Soon it was the whole dance floor cheering in unison, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.”

  Weston, better at improv than I—or at least this kind of improv—already had his hand at the small of my back, drawing me to him, away from the microphones. “I guess we better give them what they want.”

  Hell, it was only a kiss. With someone I was truly beginning to think I might hate. Why did I suddenly feel so nervous? So terrified? So absolutely weak in the k
nees?

  “We should have practiced this,” I whispered. My belly fluttered as I met his blue, blue eyes.

  He dimpled, leaning closer. “Just let me lead, for once.”

  I parted my lips, my tongue running nervously around them before his mouth brushed softly against mine, testing me. Tasting me. Then, when I tilted my chin up for more, his lips pressed firmly and eagerly, sending heat through my body like a fever, unraveling the knots of tension in my shoulders and back and winding a different kind of tension in the pit of my belly.

  I threw my arms around his neck, without even thinking as I did. Thank God he was holding me, because I wouldn’t have been able to keep standing on my own, the way that his kiss spread through my body. I could feel it everywhere. In my toes. My knees. In my belly button. I felt it at the bottom of my spine and behind my eyelids, which were closed, and underneath my toes. I felt it in my mouth. In the places where his tongue searched and explored, and I for sure felt it in the deepest core of me, spiking arousal that I hadn’t felt in—well, maybe ever.

  It was just a kiss and I felt like he was undressing me. Just a kiss, and I felt like he was discovering things about me that I didn’t even know about myself. Just a kiss, and I never wanted him to stop kissing me.

  Then the kiss was over, and I was out of breath and dazed, confused by the applause.

  “You okay?” Weston asked, quietly. Smugly.

  I was still clutching him, and I let go quickly, then pretended that I’d done it just to straighten my dress. “I’m fine.”

  I spun toward our audience and smiled once again. They clapped some more, and as soon as possible, I made an excuse and escaped to the restroom.

  Alone outside the ladies’ room, I put a hand to my chest and attempted to get control of my breathing. I was a wreck from that crazy, incredible moment. From the dizzying lust that Weston sent spiraling in me with just a simple kiss. And also from the herd of other emotions taking residence inside. Hurt by the secrets Weston had chosen to keep from me. Anger because they threatened my whole end goal. Shame for what these lies did to his family. The sharp prongs of jealousy for a woman I’d just met because she probably knew more about the man I was going to marry than I did. Confusion because all of these feelings wrapped around a guy who wasn’t supposed to be anything but a stepping stone to what was next. Inferior because...well, I didn’t even know how to pinpoint the source of that particular feeling.