Fake Fiancée, Bride Forever (Billionaires of Europe Book 8)
Page 8
“Very well,” Magnus agrees.
“And the rest of it? The additional resources I requested?”
“You’ll get them,” Magnus says. “You know perfectly well that I’ll give in on whatever you want. You’re determined to feel like a victim, but the truth is that you hold all the cards, Leah.”
I feel the simmering rage within me froth to a boil again. “I am not determined to feel like a victim!”
“Then why can’t you see this as a good thing?” he asks. “You’re getting a financial backer, and I’m getting a green card. There’s a price, but it’s nothing onerous. A little time spent in each other’s company? I’m glad to pay it, personally. You are a beautiful, intelligent, feisty woman. And let me remind you, nobody is forcing you into this. I made a proposition, and you accepted it.”
I pause for a moment, realizing that he complimented me. That was unexpected. I’m not quite sure how to respond, so I say goodbye.
I hang up the phone and lean back in my seat, staring at my computer screen, where the tabloid with my picture is still open. It looks like my future is about to contain a whole lot more Magnus.
Chapter 10
Leah
What do you wear on a first date with your future husband when he also happens to be the person you can’t stand most in the world?
I find myself deeply conflicted as I look through my admittedly limited wardrobe selection. There’s a huge part of me that wants to be overly formal, dressing as I would for any business meeting in a pencil skirt and a blazer. But I know this is more complicated than what I want. We’ve already come too far to make it just about my preferences now. The only reason we’re going out at all tonight is so that we can lay the groundwork for anyone who might be looking into our relationship, and for that to work, it can’t look like we’re meeting to discuss taxes. I have to look eager to see him, even if that’s not how I’m actually feeling at all.
Aimi would have come over to help me dress. In fact, she offered. It didn’t take long for news of my “engagement” to make its way around the office, just as I predicted, and my friend’s reaction was just what I’d anticipated.
In the days since the article appeared, she’s hardly left my side, following me around and pestering me with questions about my relationship with Magnus. Why hadn’t I ever told her we were having a secret affair, she demanded, and how long had it been going on? Nothing I said could convince her that it wasn’t a big deal, and to be honest, I couldn’t really blame her. If any of my friends had suddenly announced an engagement to a man I hadn’t realized was a part of her life, no matter who he was, I would have felt just as staggered by the news.
Aimi was hurt when I declined her offer to come help me get ready for my date, but I couldn’t face it. Tonight is going to be non-stop acting as it is, and I’m desperately thankful to have these last few minutes to be my authentic self before the curtain goes up. If Aimi were here, I’d have to be on already, making up some clever backstory about my relationship with Magnus and how it had progressed so far without anyone knowing. I’d have to be feigning excitement about seeing the alleged love of my life in a few minutes’ time. As it is, I can express the trepidation and dread I’m actually feeling. There’s relief in that.
Eventually, I decide it makes no difference what I wear. If Magnus and I had truly been dating for five years, I wouldn’t be worrying about dressing up to impress him, would I?
I pull on my favorite pair of jeans and a cute-but-comfortable sweater, the same kind of outfit I would wear for a night at the movies with a girlfriend. I skip makeup entirely and let my hair hang loose around my shoulders. Then, because I’m nervous and still waiting, I check my reflection in the mirror and add a bit of gloss to my lips. I look nice, but not as if I’ve made an effort, I think. Perfect.
The doorbell rings precisely at eight, as planned, and Dragon goes nuts. I scoop him up in one arm on the way to answer the door.
Magnus is dressed similarly to me, in dark jeans and a fitted shirt, and he exclaims at the sight of Dragon, “What a cute dog! He’s a Cockapoo, right? Can I pet him?”
I’m totally disarmed. The way to my heart is through my dog. But this is Magnus Johansen. I’m not softening toward him this quickly, surely.
“Go ahead,” I tell him, reminding myself that, despite who he is and everything he’s done, it’s no reason to deny Dragon a scratch behind the ears.
Magnus rubs Dragon’s head while he talks to me. “I thought we’d go to the Great Wheel tonight, if that’s all right with you? I’ve never been, and I’ve always wanted to see the view from the top. And then on to dinner.”
I shrug, trying to give the impression that I don’t care what we do. In large part that’s true, but I can’t deny that I love the Great Wheel.
I love all Ferris wheels, but the Great Wheel was the first one I ever rode as a child, and the views from the top are some of my favorite memories from growing up. For a moment it occurs to me to wonder if Magnus did some research into my past, something that would have led him to this idea for a date with me, but I discard the thought quickly. He doesn’t care any more about impressing me than I do about impressing him. This is business.
We pass the car ride in relative quiet. I don’t know anything about cars, but I can tell Magnus’ is expensive by the smooth way it glides over the road and the fact that the engine makes almost no sound. It smells new. I wonder whether he gets new cars regularly. He seems like the sort of person who might.
When we get to the top of the Ferris wheel, Magnus turns to take a picture of the two of us.
“What’s that one for?” I ask. “Are you planning to send it to a magazine or something?”
“You’re still angry,” he says. “I don’t blame you. I acted rashly. I see that now. And no, I won’t be sending any more pictures of you anywhere without asking for permission first. I apologize.”
“You won’t get permission,” I say. “And thank you.”
“The picture is for my social media accounts,” he explains. “I need to show that I’m involved with someone. It’s not enough to allay the suspicions of one person who might have guessed that our engagement is a farce. It has to really look legitimate.” He pauses. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I’m sorry, I just…” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you’re on social media, that’s all. It seems so…”
Ordinary is the word that comes to mind. But I don’t want to use it. I don’t want to let Magnus know that I think of him as extraordinary. I don’t want to give him any reason to think that I think of myself as less than him in any way. I’m sure he thinks that already himself, but there’s no reason to feed into his ego.
“Is it all right for me to post the picture?” Magnus asks. “And I’d like to connect with you on social media, if I can. I have an app that will allow me to change the date of the connection, so it will look like we’ve been following each other for years.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Go ahead. Do I need to do anything weird on my end for that to work?”
“No, just accept my requests when you receive them.” He turns his back to me and looks out of our Ferris wheel cart and over the city. “This really is a beautiful place,” he says quietly. “The Seattle skyline isn’t one you hear that much about, is it? But I think it rivals the most majestic skylines in the world. It would break my heart to leave.”
“I feel the same way,” I say, surprised that we have this little thing in common. “I love the view from here. I’ve always thought Seattle was beautiful.”
“You’re very lucky to call this place home,” he says. “When I came to the U.S. to compete in Vipers’ Nest, I had no intention of staying. I thought I would soon return to Norway, where I would establish my true headquarters. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I suppose I fell in love.”
He smiles easily at me, seemingly unaware of the vein of ice that stabbed through me when he mentioned Vipers’ Nest.
“That’s not exactly a pleasant memory for me,” I say quietly. “I would have liked to compete on the show, but for me that was just a round-trip flight to California with a hotel stay in the middle.” And the death of a dream, of course. But I don’t mention that.
“Well,” Magnus says blandly, leaning back and putting his feet up on the seat, “it all worked out in the end, didn’t it.”
It all worked out in the end? Is that actually what he believes?
I want to snap at Magnus. I want to tell him it’s outrageous of him to assume that things have worked out for the best for everyone just because they’ve worked out that way for him.
But I can’t. Because I’ve asked him to invest in me, and he’s agreed to do so, and because he’s under the impression that my professional life is full and satisfying, I have to pretend that what happened between us all those years ago doesn’t still haunt me.
I have to figure out a way to let go of my anger.
Slowly, gradually, the Ferris wheel lowers us back down to the ground. As we drive to the restaurant, Magnus crows happily about how wonderful the experience was and how glad he is that we were able to do it. He doesn’t even seem to notice that I’m keeping quiet. I know I need to relax and recover my composure before I try to engage him in conversation again. It’s a shame because I was actually starting to enjoy myself up on top of the Great Wheel. But then, I remind myself firmly, that didn’t have anything to do with Magnus. I’ve always loved the Great Wheel. I’d have a good time up there even if it was Ian beside me.
The restaurant Magnus has chosen for our dinner is one I’ve never been to before, and as soon as we step inside, I can see why. This is the kind of place where dinners cost more than my week’s rent. I’m woefully underdressed, and as a member of the staff approaches, I’m afraid we’re about to be kicked out, but instead the man greets Magnus by name and leads us to a small table by a window.
“You come here often, I take it?” I say, accepting a menu from an immaculately dressed waiter and scanning the options. Steak and lobster. I have to admit it looks delicious.
“An indulgence, I know,” he says. “But there really is nothing like a five-star meal.”
I remember, suddenly and strangely, a moment from my very first evening with Magnus. We went back to his hotel room, which was an upgrade from mine, and he confessed to me then that he liked to indulge in upscale things. But that was before he made his fortune. I’m not sure why that particular memory suddenly seems so important, so resonant, except that perhaps it means I’m witnessing a real part of Magnus’ personality here. Maybe he didn’t bring me to this restaurant to show off or intimidate me.
Maybe he really does just like the food.
And once our meals arrive, I have to admit that I like it, too. The lobster dish is cooked perfectly, the meat tender and flaky and buttery. It pairs perfectly with the wine Magnus has chosen.
I find myself relaxing as we eat and drink. Magnus keeps refilling my glass, pausing every time to ask me whether I’d like another so I feel sure he isn’t just trying to get me drunk. He asks about Dragon, and I tell the story of finding him at an animal-rescue event at the local pet store. He was just a puppy then, and he was so eager to play.
“I fell in love with him right away,” I say, laughing as I remember the joyous and tail-wagging bundle of fur that scampered up to me that day. “I knew from the moment I saw him that he was the dog for me.”
“I never could bring myself to get a dog,” Magnus says. “I would have liked one. But I suppose I always knew that my life here in the States was too precarious. It would have made me too sad to get a pet and then have to be separated from it if I were ever forced to go back home. Not that I ever thought about it consciously. I guess I just never fully felt that I was here to stay.”
“And now you do?” I ask.
He leans forward on the table, drawing my attention to the thick muscles in his arms.
“Now I realize I always did,” he says. “It’s just that the issue has been forced now. I wish it hadn’t taken this set of circumstances to make me realize what I should have known all along. Maybe I could have made other arrangements sooner. But I’ll never know now.”
I sip my wine and regard Magnus across the table. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the satisfaction of a good meal, or some unknown factor, but for some reason I’m finding that tonight was much more enjoyable than I expected.
True, there are times I remember everything Magnus did, all the reasons I have for disliking him and not wanting to be around him. But there are also times when I’m able to forget about that. And in those moments, I see him not as the man who thwarted my ambitions five years ago, but as a pleasant, genuine, and undeniably attractive person. If this was a first date—a real first date, without any of the accompanying baggage Magnus and I have—it would be a good one.
But I can’t allow myself to get sucked into that way of thinking. That’s exactly what happened the last time I got too close to Magnus, after all. I let myself be charmed by his good looks and winning personality, and the next thing I knew he had stolen a golden opportunity from me. Now, finally, I have another chance to make something good happen for myself. But if I let myself get distracted by Magnus’ hard muscles and witty stories, I’ll get hurt all over again.
I have to stay strong. I’ll go through the motions of engagement and marriage, just as I promised Magnus I would. I’ll let the tabloids and the public and anyone else who’s interested see the two of us together and believe we’re a real couple. But I have to lock away my feelings.
I can’t afford to invest my heart.
Chapter 11
Leah
I don’t see Magnus again until the following Saturday. In the interim, I try to make the most of what I’m coming to think of as my “Magnus-free hours,” the time when I don’t have to think about him. All too easily, they become polluted with thoughts of and worries about Magnus and what the future holds for the two of us.
On Saturday morning, before he picks me up for our scheduled date, I’m relaxing with some sesame seeds and my favorite reality TV show when it occurs to me, not for the first time, that I really am getting married. Magnus is serious about us projecting the right image, which means that once we’re married, we’re going to have to live together. Will I be able to sit around in the living room eating my favorite snack and watching trashy television, or will I be confined to my bedroom for such indulgences? For that matter, where are we going to live? I’ve resented the sparseness of my apartment before, but now it suddenly feels homey and warm. But I can’t imagine Magnus, billionaire Magnus, moving into this place. I’ll have to give it up and go live wherever he’s living.
Thoughts like that swallow the rest of what should have been a pleasant afternoon, and I’m not able to shake them before Magnus arrives to pick me up. Today he’s dressed more casually, in a navy blue T-shirt, and I’m glad for my choice of nice jeans and tank top. I quickly toss off the cardigan I picked out to help dress up the outfit if it was necessary. Clearly, today’s outing is going to be an informal affair.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
“It’s a surprise,” Magnus says, grinning from ear to ear. “Something really special, though. You’re going to love it, I promise. No, don’t wear sandals,” he says as I begin to step into them. “Have you got sneakers?”
“Sneakers? Why? Are we hiking?”
“Nothing like that,” Magnus says.
Intrigued, I pull on some sneakers and carry my sandals with me just in case we end up at a nice restaurant again.
Magnus takes me by the hand and leads me to the car. The gesture is so natural that we’re almost all the way there before I remember that I don’t want to hold hands with Magnus; I’m even more surprised to find that I don’t want to let go.
The drive is
surprisingly short. I don’t even have time to get fully uncomfortable with the idea of sharing such a close space with Magnus before we’ve arrived, and he pulls into a virtually empty parking lot and kills the car’s ignition.
I look around, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. There’s nothing here. It looks like the parking lots I’ve seen at abandoned storefronts. You could almost imagine a giant tumbleweed blowing by, it certainly wouldn’t be out of place.
“Where are we?” I ask.
In response, he gets out of the car, comes around to my side, and opens my door for me. I step out and allow him to turn me to face directly behind us.
And, abruptly, I understand. The building that rises behind us looks like a giant stadium, but the sign tells me what it really is.
“We’re at the racetrack,” I say as the realization hits me.
I’ve never been here myself, but I’ve seen it on TV when I was flipping through channels, and occasionally I’ve paused to watch the brightly colored cars whip around the track. But I’ve never seen the racetrack look the way it does now—abandoned, empty. Like a ghost town.
The answer comes to me as quickly as the question did. This isn’t a race day, so of course no one would be here. What a strange thought, that places like this exist outside the insane level of activity I associate with them. That this stadium is always here, and often quiet.
“Follow me,” Magnus says.
I trail after him toward the building’s main gate. I’m expecting this to be locked, thinking Magnus is going to have us peek in at the track itself, but to my surprise he pushes the gate open and walks right in as if he always knew he’d be able to enter. I jog after him, struggling to keep up in both the physical and the mental sense.
We turn and head down a ramp into a sub-level parking lot full of cars. Even I can tell that these vehicles are top-of-the-line, featuring sports car names I recognize, painted in outrageous, eye-catching colors. The smell of new leather rises up from them, and I breathe in and close my eyes as if I were in a bakery.