The Billionaire’s Fake Bride: (Crystal Beach Resort Standalone Series: Book 2)

by Hart, Hanna

  Cooper looked at Levi and, at the same time their father was speaking the words, they both mouthed: ‘Dead in the water!’

  “I was sinking. My whole life was sinking! My parents died in Hurricane Sasha. I had inherited the island at seventeen with no family to guide me. The resort was in pieces. The whole island ravaged!”

  “We know, pops,” Cooper said, landing a hand on his father’s shoulder from the seat next to him. “You did good. Ma helped you. We know, we know.”

  His mother let out a long sigh, and all three men looked her way. She stared down at her bisque for some time before looking up and giving a pointed glance at Levi.

  “I want grandbabies,” she said flatly. “And until that happens, neither of you are off the hook!” Tilly paused. “Now that I’ve said my peace, I think I may have a solution to our problems.”

  Cooper swallowed nervously. “What’s that?”

  “Cooper must get married,” his mother announced. As if it were as simple as that.

  “We find a woman who's willing to marry Cooper,” she said, and Levi stifled a laugh. “We will write up a contract wherein she must stay with him for thirty days, living together on the island as husband and wife. This will legitimize their marriage publicly. After the thirty-day span, she is free to leave the island, but she must remain married to Cooper indefinitely.”

  “Indefinitely?” Cooper’s father repeated.

  “Or,” his mother continued, waving a dismissive, regal hand into the air, “Until Cooper decides to remarry.”

  His father brought a dark hand to his bearded chin and thought on it. Cooper and Levi exchanged wary glances with one another.

  “It’s perfect!” their father announced with a wide grin on his face.

  “It’s perfect?” Levi repeated with a laugh. “What woman is this who’s cool marrying a complete stranger for life? A gold digger?”

  Cooper winced and looked at his mother before asking, “Ma?”

  “No, of course not,” she said. “And who said anything about it being a stranger? What about that Katie Pretenna girl, dear?” she asked Cooper. “You’re good friends, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah,” Cooper shrugged, “But she’s pregnant. And married. Both, I think, put her out of the running.”

  “What about Daphne? That girl you dated that one summer?” his father asked.

  “Um,” Cooper laughed, “I was fourteen. I don’t think it’d be appropriate to come back fourteen years later asking her to marry me.”

  “What, don’t tell me you’re seriously considering this?” Levi scoffed.

  Cooper thought about it.

  He’d married Brielle for love, and look where that got him. Marrying someone to save the island and their family’s legacy seemed like a noble reason, if anything.

  “I don’t want her to have any part of the island,” he said with a relenting shrug. “I’d do anything to keep her away from it.”

  “This…” Levi said, his thoughts petering out, leaving him with a dead stare. Eventually, he said, “This is a horrible deal, as is. But… if you really want it to work, and you’re really considering stripping some girl of the ability to get married, she has to get something out of it. Something worthwhile.”

  “One million dollars,” their father announced as though he were the Godfather. “She’ll get a million. But, if she divorces him and leaves the island, she gets nothing.”

  “Fine,” Levi waved their father off and leaned in, looking across the table at Cooper. “What about you then, big guy? You gonna let us sit around deciding your fate or are you going to pipe in at some point?”

  “I guess I have a lot to think about,” was all Cooper could think to say.

  “Well, decide soon, dear,” his mother warned, “You only have a few weeks left.”

  Chapter Seven

  Grace

  Grace looked over the wedding ceremony from the back of the aisle, standing near the garden hedges.

  The wedding was so beautiful, and the couple looked so stupid-happy that Grace considered herself lucky that she hadn’t busted into a panic attack as the bride began walking down the aisle.

  She was overcome with a vision of her wedding. Grace, marching naively toward the aisle, all the while her guest’s knowing that Shane had already left the wedding site and probably feeling humiliated for her.

  “They’re probably wrapping up here in a couple of minutes,” a voice said through Grace’s headset.

  Even though the woman on the other end couldn’t see her, Grace nodded out of habit. “Standing by,” Grace said back.

  Most of the weddings she oversaw loved to have island themes to their ceremonies and receptions. Lots of shells, macramé, warm colors and palm fronds, blue glass and pearlescent plates. She'd even seen one bride with a bouquet consisting entirely of dried seashells and starfish.

  But sometimes, on special occasions like today, she would see something spectacularly different. This wedding was inspired by beautiful florals. It was set up on one of the resorts only grassy spots—a beautiful garden that had been staged with a giant flower chandelier hanging above the pagoda where the couple exchanged their vows.

  Local island flowers of white and vibrant pinks hung over them as they were pronounced man and wife and Grace's heart ached as she watched. She pressed a button on the headset she was wearing and, in between her tears, said, “Cue the exit music and signal for throwing of the flower petals.”

  She turned her mic off after that and tried to shake off any personal feelings she had toward her job today, shaking both her hands back and forth and then pressing them flat against her thighs as she stood.

  The intensely blonde Turkish Ainsley walked up beside Grace and wrapped her arm around her as they watched the happy newlyweds descend the aisle.

  “And another one bites the dust!” Turkish said under her breath. “They've got two hours set aside for pictures. We need to have all this torn down by then so we can focus on the reception.”

  “Right, I know,” Grace said with a nod.

  And then the true rush of the day began. Thankfully, there was enough to do between now and the outdoor reception.

  Now it was Grace's job to shadow Turkish as she acted as a liaison between the bride and the vendors coming in. She helped set up the cocktail hour, serving up a grapefruit and champagne themed signature drink called the firework. Then she oversaw the wait staff as they served up oysters, tuna, and crab-stuffed mushrooms on square glass plates that look like sheets of ice.

  When the bride and groom returned from their photo session, the bride, Andrea Wheeler, was in clear distress. With Turkish nowhere to be found, Andrea made her way up to Grace in an absolute panic.

  “Everything's a mess!” Andrea said frantically.

  “What's wrong?” Grace said, setting a hand on the clearly rattled bride's shoulder. “Talk to me, Andrea.”

  “Turkish just told me that the catering truck got delayed!” Andrea cried.

  “Okay, stalk calm,” Grace said, putting a shoulder around the girl and guiding her away from the guests and back toward the rented area of the resort designated for wedding guests.

  They entered the bridal room where Andrea and her bridesmaids had gotten ready earlier in the day and Andrea pressed her back up against a honey-marble pillar.

  “It's ruined!” the bride cried, her southern accent making things seem all the direr. “It's just ruined!”

  The bride had wanted to use her father's seafood restaurant, Bait and Grill, as the source of the food for her reception. It was a popular restaurant on the island known for its lobster that was served with three different kinds of butter on the side.

  “It's not ruined, but you have to tell me what happened,” Grace said in soothing tones. “Why is there a delay? They should have been here hours ago.”

  “I know they should have been here hours ago!” Andrea said, her eyes wide with dripping mascara and fury. “The driver got pulled over by the police on t
he way here! They were late and were speedin' tryin' to get here. Then Bud was pulled over and taken into the police station for mouthin' off!”

  Bud? Grace shook her head. This was the exact reason why both Turkish and Grace had insisted on using in-house caterers for the party. But no. The Wheeler family insisted.

  “Can we send a different driver to retrieve the truck and just have Bud stay at the station?”

  Andrea looked incensed. “Bud's been workin' for my daddy for years!”

  Well, Bud shouldn't have been speeding, Grace wanted to say. Instead, she let out a quiet breath and offered, “We'll send out a driver, and I'll have a member of our staff go and talk to the police, okay?”

  “We're supposed to be havin' dinner in an hour,” Andrea cried harder, sinking down to her bum, still leaning against the grand marble pillar. She wept into her hands dramatically.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Grace cooed, kneeling down in front of Andrea and grabbing her hands. “We have a restaurant in-house, we can—”

  “—No!” Andrea shrieked. “It has to be my daddy's restaurant! Everyone is expecting it! We ordered two-hundred lobsters for this wedding!”

  Grace nearly cringed. “Alright, it's going to be okay. Your father has everything cooked already, right? The truck was just for transport?”

  Andrea nodded.

  “Here's what we're going to do. We're going to send a driver to pick up the truck and bring it back here. That puts dinner off by one hour—” Grace said and was nearly interrupted by Andrea again. The girl took a sharp inhale of breath but Grace put up a halting hand, “—but that's fine. We'll keep the cocktail hour going, and we'll go right into the festivities. We'll start off with the introduction of you and your new husband and go straight into speeches. While the speeches are being given, we'll have hors-d'oeuvres from our in-house buffet coming in and whatever is left from the cocktail hour. By the time speeches are over and you've had your first dance, we'll be ready for lobster.”

  “What if it's still not here?” Andrea sniffled.

  Grace pulled some tissue from her purse and handed it to the woman, watching as she blew her nose. “We have the firework show that supposed to go off after dinner,” Grace offered, “We can do it as a preamble to dinner instead, okay?”

  Andrea blinked quickly Grace watched as tears fell quickly from her client's branch-like lashes. “Okay,” Andrea said, child-like. She took Grace's hand and Grace helped her to her feet.

  “Now,” Grace began slowly, “I'm going to call Dierdre in here to fix your beautiful face and then we'll start directing the guests to the reception, okay?”

  “Okay,” Andrea repeated once more.

  Grace made her way back to the festivities and informed the crew of what was happening. Within minutes, the black and white outfitted staff was rushing to the in-house restaurant and gathering up enough food and signature cocktails to keep the guests happy.

  When there was finally a moment to breathe, Grace caught up with Turkish, who was sitting in the offices overseeing some of the final touches on the reception.

  “Did you find Andrea Wheeler?” Turkish giggled as Grace fumed into the offices.

  “You mean the princess?” Grace snapped. “Yeah, I found her.”

  Grace was incensed. She'd been helping at weddings here for years. She'd heard some outlandish requests by brides, but today she'd heard enough.

  “The truck’s already on its way,” Turkish said, throwing a jellybean into her mouth and reaching her hand into her black dress pants to fetch another one. “Think she'll live?”

  “No! I don't! Because it needs to be daddy's food and there needs to be lobster and Bud needs to be bailed out of jail, otherwise the wedding's ruined!”

  Turkish laughed and shook her head. “Brides,” she said with the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Can't live with them, et cetera.”

  Grace frowned and could feel her throat tighten with emotion. For whatever reason, Andrea’s spoiled outburst stayed with her for the rest of the day. No matter what Grace did for the next five hours, she remained furious with the girl.

  As evening fell over the beach reception and the couples began dancing, Grace was practically counting the hours until she could go home.

  The reception had dwindled down to just a handful of people and only a quarter of the resort staff remained. It was past midnight, and Grace was standing on a small three-step wooden staircase that overlooked the dancefloor. It was at the side of the building, giving her the perfect opportunity to watch the slowing festivities in private.

  Then she heard it. Nat King Cole's Unforgettable played through the sound system, and Grace's heart went cold. Her whole body stiffened.

  That was her and Shane's song. Correction, that would have been her and Shane's song. They had a fifties-themed wedding. Grace with her lace tea-length dress, Shane in his capped shirt and gray vest. They had a whole crooner-themed playlist ready for their reception.

  No modern music. Just classic.

  It was then, hearing the deep bass and beautiful stringed instruments, that Grace finally lost her cool.

  She set a hand on the banister of the small staircase and lowered herself down, covering a shaking hand over her mouth as she sobbed into it.

  Then it occurred to her. The reason why she had been so mad at Andrea Wheeler.

  Here was a girl who was furious and crying over seafood—who had been insistent on her father’s business being a part of her reception buffet. Someone who was more obsessed with serving lobster than reflecting on her actual wedding vows.

  All Grace had wanted was to marry Shane. She couldn’t care less what was served at dinner or who many guests RSVP’d.

  But, as it turned out, she wasn’t Unforgettable at all.

  She cried harder into her hands and then, at the worst possible professional moment, Grace heard the familiar voice of her boss, Mr. Grant.

  “Hey, Grace,” he said with a lilt of surprise in his voice as he approached the wooden steps. “What are you still doing here?”

  Grace looked up at her boss with tears in her eyes. She could tell from the streaks on her hand that her mascara was running absolutely everywhere. She imagined she looked like some sort of swamp monster or a teenager who was just learning to smudge eyeliner.

  She gulped a few breaths, wiping her eyes as best she could. She couldn’t even speak.

  Mr. Grant looked her over. She could feel his eyes glossing over her frame. He had gone deathly silent.

  Then he sat down next to her, sitting close enough that their thighs were touching.

  “Fun day?” he asked, nudging her with his arm.

  She laughed a little at this and shook her head.

  “I-I’m just w-waiting for the last of them to leave,” she said through her tears, pointing vainly toward the last few hangers-on at the wedding reception. Just a handful of islanders that had one too many glasses of wine still boogying down. It was in her contract to stay until two a.m. or until the last person had left the reception. Whichever came first. Then she would assign the crew to clean up and go home for the night, crawl into bed, and try and get a solid five hours of sleep before coming back to do it all over again.

  “Is it okay if I keep you company?” Mr. Grant asked.

  She shrugged awkwardly and pushed her feet deep into the sand. Mr. Grant watched her do this and then began taking off his shoes and socks. He pulled up the hems of his dress pants and pulled them up to his calf before following suit, burying his feet into the cool, dry sand.

  “Did something happen?” Mr. Grant asked.

  “No, no,” she said with a hand to her forehead, “I'm just... it's been a long week.”

  “Cheers to that,” he said with an equally tired tone to his voice. “My week has been pretty awful, too.”

  Grace stared down at their feet but said nothing. She could have brought up how she saw Brielle come into the office and start World War III; try and find some common ground with Mr
. Grant.

  After all, if anyone could commiserate about being a part of the rumor mill on their small island, it was Grace. But, she opted not to.

  She was embarrassed, but she was also in full meltdown mode and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Solid days of keeping herself together had finally come crashing down on her.

  Although she was mortified that it was her boss, in a way, it felt nice having someone next to her.

  Grace leaned back on the small porch so that she was propped on her forearms. She leaned her head back and closed her swollen eyes, listening to the sound of the waves hitting the surf in the distance. It was the only relaxing part of the whole wretched day.

  Mr. Grant nudged her knee with his thigh and her eyes shot open.

  “Thanks, for the other day. With Brielle and your very well-timed clapping, by the way,” he clarified.

  “No problem, Mr. Grant,” she said.

  “Cooper, please,” he insisted, and although she felt entirely wrong about it, she nodded and corrected herself: “Cooper.”

  It was the first time she had ever noticed how truly handsome her boss was with his curly brown hair and deep eyes.

  “How much did you all hear?” Cooper asked, leaning back on his hands to look at her.

  She shrugged. “Not much.”

  “So, basically everything?”

  Grace laughed. “Well, not everything. But, it wouldn’t surprise me if Mirna was holding a cup against the wall.”

  “Mirna,” he said, pumping a fist comically as though he were a superhero and Mirna were his nemesis.

  “She’s sort of, ‘in the know’ about stuff like that, so, don’t feel too special if you catch her eavesdropping on you.”

  Cooper set his fist against his chest and teased, “Ouch.”

  Grace drooped a shoulder as if to say ‘thems the breaks’ and closed her eyes, leaning her head skyward once more.

  She could feel Cooper’s eyes on her once more, but she didn’t move.

  “Do you… want to go for a walk?” he asked suddenly, and she sat upright.

  “What about the wedding?” she asked, darting her eyes toward the reception.