The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend - Part 3 (Contemporary Romance) (The Billionaire Saga)

by Sierra Rose

  I paused.

  “Oh my gosh—you do know!” Amanda declared. “I knew it! Spill!”

  “Absolutely not.” I shook my head with a grin. “As much as I love this ‘raised by a village’ idea, there are certain things that the father has to know first.”

  “I’m your brother. Tell me.” When I zipped shut my lips, he poked me in the ribs. “Fine, just tell me this: is it a girl?

  “Are you serious?”

  “It’s my only question!”

  I giggled, tossing down my paintbrush. “You guys are ridiculous. You’ll know soon enough. Now let’s get downstairs and get the barbecue going…I’m starving!”

  “Fine…” Max pouted. “But only since you’re eating for both you and my…nephew?”

  “Soon enough!” I reminded, shoving him out into the hall.

  They started clambering down the stairs, but before I turned off the light and shut the door, I cast one more look inside. It was quiet now. Peaceful, yet exciting. Like it knew what was on its way. I placed a hand on my stomach and flicked off the light with a smile. Soon enough…

  The barbecue was already in full swing when I got down there a minute later. Mom and Grandma were cutting up onions. Barry was flipping burgers and hot dogs over the grill, and Amanda and Max were dangling their legs in the pool—splitting a bottle of wine. I rolled my eyes. You know those supportive friends who refuse to drink anything if you can’t drink it yourself? Yeah—I didn’t have those.

  I checked my phone for the hundredth time that day, but still no word from Marcus. I didn’t know whether that was a bad thing or not.

  “Becca! Got a hot dog here with your name on it!”

  I tried to put it firmly from my mind and joined the rest of the party. Marcus was right. After all these months of worrying and planning—one way or another—we would know tonight.

  The barbecue carried on late into the night. We ate, swam, selectively drank, and even got the fire pit started after Amanda brought out ingredients for s’mores. It was the perfect way to relax in a normal environment after the craziness that was happening beyond the gates. There was no exaggerating it—the entire world was obsessed with our impending nuptials. We’d received gifts and well-wishes from dignitaries and foreign leaders. We’d even had the request for just one news helicopter—a request that Marcus had shot down with vehemence. It was the fiasco I’d always feared it would be. But sitting here—with the people I loved the most—it was easy to forget all those things and focus on what really mattered.

  “I can’t believe you’re getting married in four days,” Max declared, throwing back his head and gazing up at the stars. We were settled in a loose circle—with three out of the four of us either cheerfully drunk or quickly getting there.

  “I know,” I murmured, following his gaze, “it’s coming up so fast.”

  “I wonder if it’s a bad sign for me…” he said pensively. “I’m the oldest, I should be the one doing this first, right?”

  “We always knew you’d be slow to get married.” Amanda hiccupped. “Ever since you blew it with me in the sixth grade. I cursed you with bad luck.”

  “You did?” Barry asked at the same time that Max sat up and asked, “You did?”

  “Oh yes,” she said importantly, taking another swig of beer. “It was right after you said you wouldn’t watch The Secret Garden with me again. I knew it was over.”

  The four of us collapsed into loud, fitful laughter, oblivious to the outside world. It wasn’t until the gate to the pool pushed open that I realized we weren’t alone.

  Marcus was standing there, his eyes wide and his face unreadable.

  I leaped to my feet immediately, running to take his hand. “What is it?” I was almost afraid to ask. “What did Takahari say?”

  The rest of them froze as every eye turned to Marcus.

  He gazed around the circle in a stunned daze before his eyes finally fell on me.

  “He signed the papers.”

  Chapter 21

  The big day had arrived. Not the big day—not the wedding itself. But as far as the media were concerned, it might as well have been. You see, the press had been banned from the wedding. Both the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony the next day were limited to friends and family. But that meant that the reception and the big party the day before were still up for grabs.

  And people were grabbing for it!

  “Rebecca, would you rather the ambassador from India or the Republic of East Timor was seated at the Section B head table? There’s only one slot left.”

  “Rebecca, did you have a chance to sample the edibles from the thank-you baskets? We still need to decide between Belgian truffles and cinnamon starlets.”

  “Rebecca, I know you said you were fine just playing a tape of the Vitamin String Orchestra from the main sound stage, but the thing is, they’re asking to come and play it live, and I don’t think it would be the best decorum to—”

  “All right people—listen up!” Amanda shouted. She had come to take her maid of honor duties very seriously, and after the last three days of her tyrannical dictatorship, the rest of the wedding planners were on edge. “We’re going to go with India—because until a moment ago I was unaware that Timor was a real place; truffles—because Max is allergic to cinnamon; and of course, the orchestra can play live. You’ll just need to clear it with Niles in security and Pam—who’s handling the loading docks.”

  When no one moved, she clapped her hands loudly.

  “Let’s go, people—move!”

  “Okay, remember what they did to Marie Antoinette when she decided to throw one too many parties…?” I asked gently, trying to temper her spirits.

  “Ha! I’d like to see them try.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked out over the grounds. “Niles would have them down in two seconds flat. Then that wretched bird of yours would eat the remains.” I shuddered automatically, and she turned to me with interest. “How is that going, by the way?”

  Before I could answer, we were interrupted by a very angry Russian.

  “Well, if it isn’t Rebecca White.” Tatiana stomped her way through a flowerbed in spiked stilettos, sending the obsessive compulsive gardener into hysterics behind her. “The bane of my existence. Do you know you’re late for your final fitting?”

  I glanced down at my watch as Amanda stared innocently off in the other direction. “By, like, four minutes! I was on my way there now.”

  “Four minutes when I could have been sewing Australian sapphires into the hem of your gown! Tell me, Rebecca, do you enjoy seeing me suffer? Are you trying to be a…how you say…a thorn in my neck?”

  “…a thorn in your side?”

  “Переехать! Теперь!”

  I took that to mean…I should probably get inside to my fitting.

  Leaving Amanda to amuse herself directing the troops, I followed my Russian keeper across the sweeping grounds to the miniature sewing studio she’d set up in Marcus’s sitting room.

  When I’d suggested that we get married here at the villa instead of flying out for some destination themed extravagance, I truly thought that it would be simplifying things.

  I could not have been more wrong.

  The next day, I wandered downstairs on a break from nursery decorating, there were at least two hundred new people scurrying about the house. There were cleaners, painters, decorators, florists, cooks, bakers, musicians…everyone you could imagine. A girl from the ice-sculpting crew actually handed me a stack of drawings to take to the main designer before realizing who I was and apologizing profusely. It was like a game of Chinese checkers. Multiple people on multiple teams were bumping into each other, all scrambling to get to the other side.

  But perhaps the fiercest of these teams was Tatiana’s, and the crowds parted without a word as we cut through the middle and made a beeline for the studio. After doing what I swear was a coded knock, the heavy door swung open and we were shown inside. The lights had been doubl
ed and brightened, and a mini-platform had been constructed in the middle of the room—so that by the time I stepped into the center, I felt like some sort of test tube experiment under microscopic surveillance.

  “Now.” Tatiana seemed more relaxed now that she’d gotten me into my dress. “How is the bride relaxing before her big day?”

  I would have laughed if there weren’t a dozen pins pointed at my ribcage. “You’re kidding, right? This house is a circus. I can’t even hear myself think.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s very good,” she muttered, tuning me out as she examined a seam. “It’s important to take a step back and breathe. It is your day, after all.”

  I tried to follow her advice, but she immediately slapped my hand.

  “Don’t breathe now, Rebecca—we’re at a critical stage.”

  “Right.” I sighed but did my best to hold still. As much as she and I butted heads, this was actually my favorite part of the wedding prep so far. At least it was quiet, and I was under strict orders not to move. Considering the mayhem outside, it was a welcome relief.

  “So what about your other dress?” she asked offhandedly. “I hope you followed my advice and went with the amethyst. It will look brilliant with your eyes.”

  “What? It will look brilliant with my not-amethyst eyes?” I asked sarcastically. She poked me sharply with a pin and I straightened up. “But yes…I’m going with the purple.”

  “Not-amethyst eyes…” she muttered. “Does that mean no color contacts? I thought Geima and her people finally had you convinced.”

  I threw up my hands. “No—no color contacts. At no point was I even remotely convinced. It is my wedding after all. I’d like to look a little like, I don’t know…myself.”

  “Hmm. That’s a shame.” She glanced up at my face and quickly corrected herself. “Not about looking like yourself—about the contacts. It would have brought out my own jewels.” She patted the gown fondly.

  “Not that I’d know,” I said petulantly. But she nudged me, and I grinned.

  In our first meeting, Tatiana had shown me a dozen samples of her work—each of which dazzled me beyond belief. All of which I wanted to wear to my own wedding. So when she slyly requested that I give her free rein and let her surprise me on the big day, I’d thought, sure, what’s the harm? Turns out, not knowing what you’re going to look like on the day of your wedding causes a little more undue stress to the nerves than is prudent.

  “Come on,” I asked, already knowing the answer, “just a little peek…”

  “Rules are rules,” she answered firmly, but she gave me a little wink. “That being said, I think you are going to be very pleased with the end result. It’s some of my best ever work.”

  My heart leaped with butterflies, and I smiled in spite of the pressure. Although I could say with more certainty than ever that I was definitely not a “wedding” kind of girl, it was starting to actually dawn on me that in less than twenty-four hours, I was going to be marrying Marcus.

  And that…? Yeah, that called for a little smile.

  There was a distant crash followed by a chorus of screams, and the smile slid off my face.

  This was getting ridiculous. They’d start to unionize before long. Already some of them were trying to press their luck and sneak into the forbidden second story to decorate and clean. It was up to me to stop them. Well, me and Amanda and Niles—the villa’s terrifying head of security. But still, the little devils were sneakier than you’d believe. Look away for two seconds, and bam—there were peonies nailed to your door.

  And where was Marcus during this entire catastrophe, you might ask? Well, Marcus had been given carte blanche to leave the mansion whenever he so desired to tie up any and all loose ends with Takahari. Because apparently, all a man had to do to get married was throw on a tux and walk outside.

  “You’ve got that ‘gender inequality’ look on your face again,” Tatiana noted. unsympathetically, speaking through the pins stuck between her teeth. “Try to look happier, like a bride.”

  “It’s just ridiculous,” I muttered. “I’m growing a baby inside me—I’m busy too. Why am I the only one who’s getting hounded about place settings and table linens?”

  She looked up at me seriously. “Let me tell you: I couldn’t care less. My job is the dress. The glorious…magnificent dress.” Her eyes glowed warmly for a second before flickering up my way. “Which you can take off now, by the way.”

  “I’m finished?” I asked doubtfully.

  “You’re done.” She helped me slide the fabric up and over my head. “Just don’t gain or lose twenty pounds between today and tomorrow, and we should be fine.”

  I chuckled breathlessly and slipped back into my normal clothes. “I’ll try.” I headed outside but paused at the door. “Hey, Tatiana…thanks. No matter how it looks, I’m sure I’m going to love it!”

  Her eyes softened, and she gave me a true smile. “You’re more than welcome, Rebecca. And no matter what color your eyes are, or how many people are stressing you out in this house, you’re going to be a beautiful bride at a beautiful wedding. With a perfect dress,” she added.

  I chuckled and wandered into the foyer, only to run into Amanda at the base of the stairs.

  “Hey—I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I couldn’t get into the ‘sewing room.’ I honestly think they have a secret knock.”

  “It’s a definite possibility.”

  “Well, the rehearsal is starting in about an hour, so everybody’s going to clear out except the wedding party themselves. The second we’re finished, we’ll head right inside to change for the big party. Guests get here at six. Press gets here at seven.”

  “So we’ve got to get going—”

  “Now.”

  Chapter 22

  For the rehearsal itself, I wore a tee-shirt and jeans. My mother was appalled, but there were just friends and family present. Even Billings had been relegated to the house, where I could see him glowering through a window. To make me laugh, Marcus had worn swim trunks. My mother made him change promptly. I thought it was hilarious.

  We went through the motions, timing out our steps to the music and figuring out exactly when we were to turn and hold hands. For the most part, it felt like we were just playing pretend.

  This couldn’t actually be happening, could it? We couldn’t actually be getting married tomorrow…starting a marriage…having a baby?

  Then, before I knew it, it was over, and we were whisked inside by the staff to change into our gowns before the big shower-engagement-press party. I stood behind the curtains at a second-story window, peering down as hundreds upon hundreds of guests flooded down the lawns. As strange as it may sound, I felt almost as if I was just one of them. It was still too surreal to imagine that they were coming to my house and this big party they were attending was for me.

  The sound of the band drifted up through the open window, and Amanda jumped a little as the strings on her corset were suddenly pulled tight. That’s right, you heard correctly. She had been talked into wearing a corset.

  “I can’t believe women used to wear these every day,” Amanda panted, loosening it up the second time I wasn’t looking. “It’s no wonder they were all known to faint.”

  “Yeah, well,” I tightened it all over again, “beauty is pain.”

  Amanda helped me get into my gown. I couldn’t wait to see it. When I was finished, she took a step back and spun me around toward the mirror. “And you do look beautiful, Bex.”

  I had to admit, it caught me off guard. I had tried on the dress beforehand, of course, but that was just to make sure it fit. I hadn’t really had time yet to examine it on me.

  It was a waterfall of sleek, flawless satin—stained a deep amethyst with little trails of lace sneaking up the slitted sides. One of those kinds of dresses that could almost pass as lingerie before you did a double take and saw it was actually just couture. The sleeves fell loosely off my shoulders and the back laced up my bare skin like a c
orset in thick, black ribbons.

  “Marcus is going to love it!” she beamed, straightening the little train. “He’ll probably just make you wear this tomorrow…if he doesn’t rip it off you tonight.”

  “Would you stop?” I laughed, smacking her. “None of that talk in front of the baby—and, you know perfectly well that Marcus and I won’t be seeing each other tonight. He’s sleeping in the guesthouse since it’s the night before the wedding.”

  “That, I don’t get.” She adjusted the bodice on her own dress, tilting this way and that to examine the finished effect. “I mean,” she cocked her head toward my stomach, “the cat’s kind of out of the bag.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I raised my head stiffly.

  “Ha—yeah, sure! Where was that on Good Morning America?”

  There was a knock on the door and Marcus stuck his head inside. “Hey, girls, the rest of the party’s starting to get underway and I…wow.” His eyes widened as they took in every inch of my dress. “Bex…you look…wow.”

  “Told you.” Amanda winked and swept out the door. “I’ll meet you down there.”

  The second we were alone, I twirled the fabric playfully. “You look handsome.”

  “Thank you. And you’re ravishing.”

  “It’s not too much?”

  “Too much?” he repeated incredulously. “Are you kidding—it’s perfect! You look…” He crossed the room and planted a huge kiss right on my lips. “You look perfect, heavenly like an angel.”

  I danced a step away, still swishing the fabric. “No, I mean…it’s not too much for you. I don’t want you to get…” I snaked it slowly up my thigh. “…distracted. What with our guests…”

  His eyes grew both mischievous and heated all at once. The next second, he had me down on the bed. “Fuck the guests. The guests can wait.”

  “I hope I didn’t just hear that right!”