The Billionaire's Fake Fiance

by Annika Martin

  I tell her how I engineered things to make Lizzie stay. How I scoured the different walking routes she and Mia take for a space she’d like. How I found one and bought out the current tenant to make it available. How I figured out the timing of her walks so my broker could be there.

  “Wow. It’s impressive. Not in a good way.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “She was going to move temporarily. It didn’t have to mean the end of a relationship.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I say.

  “She was different.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “She’ll be back in eighteen months.”

  I nod. It’s not entirely helpful. “On the upside, I’ve taught myself to make omelets. You want one?”

  Thirty-Six

  Lizzie

  * * *

  I walk home from my catering gig enjoying the rich tapestry of noises and smells that make the city feel so alive. I’ll miss that. I’ll even miss the people who stand at the top of the subway steps.

  I probably won’t miss the conundrum window.

  Mia and I put on fun outfits and hit happy hour at our favorite place for one last time, a fusion taco place that has crazy margaritas.

  She doesn’t have any auditions this weekend and my catering job is really slowing.

  After margarita number two, Mia talks me into going to the old restaurant where we used to work, which seems like a great idea at the time. But then everybody finds out I’m leaving in a week, the drinks are suddenly lining up in front of us.

  And we’re laughing and feeling wild, except for the time when we cry so hard about how we’ll miss each other that we get mascara spiders under our eyes, and then we laugh-cry.

  The restaurant closes, but we stay around, having wild fun with our old coworkers. Mia dances on top of a table, but I’m not in the mood.

  It’s around 4:30 in the morning that I’m outside the bathrooms calling Theo. Or at least trying to call him. The numbers on my phone are so stupidly close together.

  “No, no!” Mia rips the phone from my hand.

  “What?”

  “Friends don’t let friends drunk-dial.”

  “I’m not drunk-dialing; I’m doing a wake-up call.”

  “You can’t call him.”

  “I’m rethinking this leaving thing.”

  “Not while you’re trashed,” she warns.

  “What if I was too hard on him?”

  “That’s a question you have to ask yourself sober.”

  I flop back against the wall. “I like him so much.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s such a cute space, too. But how can I trust his heart? I need to trust his heart. That’s the most important thing.”

  “The decision will still be there in the morning, won’t it?” She hands me my purse, pretty much shoves it into my stomach.

  Before I know it, we’re in the back of a Lyft.

  I look at my phone. “I wish he was on Facebook. I just want to know how he’s doing. Or would that be torture?”

  “Torture,” she says. “Do I need to take your phone away for the night?”

  “Maybe.” I sigh and lean back.

  “I want you to stay, Lizzie, but only if it’s the right thing for you to do. Not as a tequila decision.”

  “Are tequila decisions so bad?”

  “Are you honestly asking me that? You remember that guy you almost screwed last summer? The juggler in Clinton Park?”

  I cringe.

  “Do you remember the night of hate and gyros? When we got into that fight?”

  “Yes,” I say sullenly.

  She hugs me close. “No tequila decisions,” she whispers.

  I don’t know how I make it up the stairs to our place. I wander into my half-packed-up bedroom and collapse. I sleep long and hard, sleeping the sleep of the drunk until well into midmorning.

  * * *

  “Thank you.” I’m leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen/living room. “For stopping me.”

  Mia’s on the couch looking half dead. “You’re welcome.”

  I collapse next to her. “It would’ve been cruel to call him and patch things up. Because today I’d have to break up with him all over again.”

  She says nothing.

  “I have issues with guys controlling me and he wants to manage everything around him. It can never work.”

  I can tell by her expression she was half hoping I’d still change my mind and make a relationship-repairing call. That I’d take the space and stay in the city.

  It’s so tempting. Too tempting.

  That’s when I decide it. “I need to rip the bandage off,” I say.

  “Meaning what?”

  “Leave today. I’m pretty much all packed. You have work and rehearsals all this week—you won’t even be here.”

  “To stop you from giving him another chance?”

  “Exactly,” I say. “And last I checked, I could get that van early.”

  “I’ll be here a little bit…” But I see in her face that she gets it. I’d just be waiting here alone to leave. Trying not to call him. “Honey.”

  “And you can help me load this way.”

  She snorts. “Oh, I see. I get it now.”

  Of course the day would be beautiful. Sixty and sunny with that fresh, crisp March air. We find a parking spot for my rented U-Haul right in front of our building. A whole passel of our friends from last night show up to help me.

  The hauling goes fast—almost too fast. We have a farewell meal of pizza and beer in the empty space that was once my bedroom.

  I eat the pizza sans beer—I’ve got a long night of driving ahead of me. I want to at least get to Pennsylvania before midnight.

  We say our tearful goodbyes. Mia promises again and again to make a summer trek to Fargo.

  I head out.

  Midtown is jam-packed with Saturday evening traffic. Everybody heading out to dinner before Broadway shows. It makes me sad.

  Not that I ever go to Broadway shows, but I could’ve gone to them, and now I can’t.

  I tell myself it’s only temporary, that I’ll be back. I’ll again be one of those people who could go to Broadway shows but doesn’t. I’ll once again be hanging out with friends and going to restaurants in the same five-square-block area I love.

  My pep talk to myself goes on.

  In Fargo, I’ll work alongside my parents, and we’ll be the Three Musketeers again. I’ll be able to see stars in the night sky. I’ll drive my own car, and there will be giant parking places everywhere I go. There will be grass all around. Green grass. It will be awesome.

  And I’ll get on my own two feet and nobody will be able to control or manipulate me.

  There’s construction everywhere, including on Harlem River Drive—my detours have detours and eventually I’m in a sea of honking cars on Willis Avenue Bridge, being carried along in the massive crawl of traffic.

  And there, just up the river, I see the Third Avenue Bridge. The bridge.

  The crawl slows, and eventually it’s gridlock. And I’m stuck there with the memory of Theo’s intense guilt echoing in my heart. The tragedy of his family. The sense of responsibility that seems to drive him.

  He thinks if he’d stuck around and taken the keys away from his father, that his mother would be alive.

  It’s probably not true, but he thinks it is.

  Just like he thinks it’s up to him and him alone to invent something to save wounded people from dying of blood loss in remote regions. The whole world on his shoulders.

  The ultimate control freak. How can I be with somebody like that?

  But as I go over it now, locked in a parade of honking horns, an alternate perspective takes shape in my mind.

  He handed me something of vast importance that day under the bridge—a vulnerable secret truth from deep in his heart. Something he’d never told anybody ever before.

  He told me a secret, but it’s more than a se
cret—he gave me the ability to see him in a way other people can’t. To see what drives him.

  Theo is a controlling guy who thinks he’s responsible for everything. I thought that doomed our relationship.

  Now I see what his control issues really are—they’re dragons. Dragons that we can fight together. Because we’re good together like that.

  You make me believe impossible things.

  I feel as if some kind of fog has lifted. I want to turn around. I want to find him and apologize. But what if it’s too late? He apologized so many times on text and voicemail, even tried to see me.

  I ignored him. I gave up the fight too soon. I ran from the edge.

  What have I done?

  I call Theo, but I get his voicemail. I take a look at the time—after six. He’s at his banquet. The eating part has already started. He wanted me there. So badly.

  I call Mia.

  She picks up on the first ring. “Lizzie? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I’m just stuck in traffic. But I’m wondering, should I have listened to the tequila?”

  “What?”

  “Was I hasty? With leaving?”

  “Well…”

  “I’m thinking I was.”

  She sucks in a breath. “Are you sure?”

  I tell her my thoughts, ask her whether I’m being stupid.

  “He’s not Mason,” she says.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I did! I said exactly that! Before we found your storefront. Remember?”

  She did, yeah. “Well, I’m coming back.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “But I need you to do something.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Lizzie

  * * *

  People always complain about time flying by too quickly. They gripe that they wish they could slow it down.

  Those people should try renting a U-Haul, double-parking it outside the massive Sturdyven Concert Hall in Midtown on a rainy Saturday night, and having people honk at them nonstop. Do that, and the minutes feel like hours.

  I make the universal I’m sorry gesture to the drivers who pass by, hoping a cop doesn’t come.

  Sleek cars pull up in front of me, one after another, and discharge glamorous people in eveningwear.

  I hope I’m not too late. I want to be in the audience for him, to be the one person really with him.

  A cop comes by and makes me move. I drive around the block and park again.

  Finally there’s a knock at the passenger window. It’s Mia with the dress. She slides into the cab, and I undress and put the thing on, which is a combination contortionist and bra-exhibitionist show. She helps me fix my hair, then takes over the wheel.

  “You good?”

  “So good,” she says.

  I jump out and run down the sidewalk with my purse, smoothing down my hair. I hit the red-carpet covered steps and pop up them, toward a pair of doormen who aren’t holding the doors open anymore. “Ticket,” one of them says.

  “I’m a friend of Theo Drummond’s.” I point to the sign on the easel that proclaims him to be the winner of this year’s Locke Award. “I need to get in and see him. It’s very important.”

  “You’ll have to talk to him another time.”

  I peer helplessly in at the vast expanse of red carpet under glittering chandeliers, at the set of doors on the far side. Probably leading to the auditorium. Theo will be accepting his award in there. Feeling alone onstage. Like nobody knows him. Like nobody gets him. Like nobody’s with him.

  I’m here.

  I’m with you.

  I turn away and text Willow. I still have her number from when Theo texted me from her phone that one time.

  It’s Lizzie. Outside. I messed up. Can you get me in?

  After what seems like forever, she texts back.

  :(

  A frown. What does it mean?

  I go back to harassing the doormen. “You have to let me in,” I say. “He needs me there. It would mean everything.”

  “Then he should’ve given you a ticket.”

  “He asked me, but I thought I couldn’t at the time,” I say. “I was moving away, but I changed my mind over Willis Bridge. I turned my entire U-Haul of stuff around—”

  “That was you out there with the U-Haul?” The one doorman shakes his head. The U-Haul detail doesn’t help my case.

  “Please,” I say.

  “We’re going to have to ask you to move on,” the one grumbles, already sick of my story. “Now.”

  I start down the steps, wondering if I could sneak in some other way. Or at least wait for him on the sidewalk?

  “Hey!”

  I turn, and there’s Willow, holding open the door.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  I run back up the steps. “Your brother,” I say breathlessly. “I have to see him. I need to apologize and tell him…just so many things!”

  Willow turns to the guards. “She gets to come in. She’s Theo’s important friend.”

  “Not without an invitation,” the guard says.

  The other guard is on his phone, probably with the cops. Nervously, I smooth down my red dress.

  “Come on, I’m Theo Drummond’s sister.” Willow points to the sign. “I’m his sister.”

  “I don’t care if you’re the Pope,” the other guard says.

  There’s another figure in there, a woman in a green dress crossing the lobby. At first I think she’s carrying a fuzzy white purse, but then I realize it’s a little white dog—possibly the cutest dog I’ve ever seen.

  She pushes out the door. “Willow? What’s going on out here?”

  “Vicky,” Willow says. “This is Lizzie. We need to get her in. She’s with Theo.”

  “You can’t have pets in there,” the first guard says.

  “He’s not a pet,” Vicky says. “He’s Smuckers. A very important member of the Locke family.” She turns to me. “God, I love your dress. You’re with Theo?”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I left him. But now I want to be with him. “It’s a long story, but I need to be in the audience. He needs to know I’m there.”

  “Cosign,” Willow says, with a hand on my back. “It would mean everything to him.”

  “Come on, we’ll get you in.” Vicky thanks the guards and leads the way. Willow and I follow. The little dog peers back at us, riding happily, wee little tongue poking out his mouth.

  “Thank you,” I say to her.

  “Thank Smuckers for having to pee.” Vicky leads us down a side hall and pushes open a door. “Shhh! Go on,” she whispers.

  Willow and I sneak in and the door closes behind us. The vast ballroom is a dark sea of tables covered with white tablecloths. Bright dresses glow softly in the candlelight. There’s somebody on the stage talking about construction. Green buildings or something.

  Willow takes my arm. “At the next break, I’m gonna lead you to our table up front. You can take his seat.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “More than sure!” She squints at the stage. “He’s up soon, I think.”

  “How’s he been?” I whisper.

  “Miserable. He’s just been holed up in his lab. I don’t think he wrote any kind of speech. Certainly not the dog-and-pony show Locke likes.”

  “I feel so bad.”

  “Don’t. Trust me, I know how he can be. He’ll be so happy to see you.” Willow squeezes my hand. “I know he messed up.”

  “So did I. But I feel sure we can work it out.”

  People start clapping.

  “Now,” Willow says, dragging me around the edges of the ballroom to a table in the front. There are two empty seats together.

  An announcer comes on and starts talking about Theo, about inspiration being found in tragedy. It’s bright up onstage.

  I whisper to Willow, “Can they even see us from up there?”

  She shrugs and shakes her head.

  He fin
ally calls Theo’s name.

  There’s applause as Theo walks out in a tuxedo. Theo in a tux is even hotter than Theo in a lab coat. He accepts the shiny award, and shakes the man’s hand.

  The room hushes.

  He thanks the Locke Foundation, talks about how honored he is.

  I wave at him, but his eyes glide right over me—over all the audience. He can’t see with the lights burning onto him—just as I feared.

  He goes on to speak about how much he wanted to partner with Locke. He then starts in on his struggles with dehydrated Vossameer.

  “Wow,” Willow says. “I didn’t know he was going to talk about all that.”

  “Inspiration comes in many forms,” Theo is saying. “I’ve been trying to nail this formula with all my might. Power it out. And then one day…” He steps aside. There’s something in his hand. He raises it to the screen and a goat video flashes up. Little goats playing. Everybody laughs.

  “Oh my god, he’s gone insane,” Willow whispers.

  I’m just grinning. Theo is showing baby goat videos at a giant banquet. He’s talking about randomness, about chemical structures. How he was looking at things in a too-rigid way. How the goats at play showed him something. A way to solve the problem.

  My smile stretches ear to ear, like it might break my face.

  The people are eating it up. Well, who doesn’t love baby goats?

  He announces that they’re gearing up for clinical trials that will be expedited once they have FDA approval. He hopes they can get the new formula out into the field as quickly as possible. People clap. They all know what it means.

  “I was going at it all wrong,” he says, and that’s when he sees me. Or squints at me, like he thinks it’s maybe me. They turned the lights down for him to show the goat videos. Willow and I both wave like crazy.

  Then I do it, there in the dark. I raise my middle finger.

  I know you. I’m with you.

  His lips twitch. He’s looking right at me.

  He sees me.

  Theo, I mouth.

  “Wake-up calls come in many forms,” he says, looking directly at me now. “Sometimes baby goats show you you’re being too linear. And sometimes it’s a literal wake-up call that wakes you up to a world that’s wider than you ever imagined. Let’s never stop discovering ways to make it better and more beautiful. Thank you.” He raises the award to thunderous applause.