The Billionaire’s Fake Wedding: Crystal Beach Resort Standalone Series- Book 3

by Hart, Hanna

  When the ship docked, Fiona had called for a taxi and waited by the walkway for it to arrive.

  She felt absolutely exhausted from getting up so early for the sunrise. So tired that her eyelids began to sink down over her vision like heavy blankets. But she had to force herself to stay awake. She had to make a good impression on Maggs.

  There was a little girl with an adorable afro done up with pink clips in front of Fiona. She smiled at the little girl, and the toddler smiled back. Fiona couldn't stop watching the girl and her mother. It made her miss Ruby so much.

  She took a deep inhale, suddenly feeling lightheaded, and walked along the edge of the water. It was roped off, a single, thick, drooping braided rope that Fiona found quaint. It was getting harder to breathe, and she wondered if it was just the unpleasant fumes from the shuttles coming into the ferry docks or if it was the overwhelming smell of the ocean.

  But no.

  Fiona began to have heart palpitations—her body pounding out strong, irregular beats. She'd had them before, but never for this long. She bit her lip and stared down into the watery blue, hoping they would stop soon so she wouldn't end up making a scene.

  "Somebody grab her; she's falling!" she heard someone say and went to look but quickly realized it was she herself who was falling.

  When she woke up, she had been stripped of her clothes and was laying in a hospital bed.

  "What happened?" she nearly shouted, still feeling somewhat incoherent. She looked up at the clock in the lavender hospital room and realized she had been unconscious for six hours now. Well past her meeting with Maggs, and soon it would be creeping past her dinner plans with Beckett and his friends.

  There was a nurse in the room watching her whom she startled with her cry. He put his hands up, and in a gentle voice he said, "I'm going to go get the doctor."

  Fiona heaved her breaths and ran a hand through her hair. She scanned the room for her belongings but couldn't see anything. Not even her purse.

  "How long have you had dilated cardiomyopathy?" came a stern, low voice of a man who she could only assume was the doctor on call.

  "M-my file," she said sluggishly. "My doctor is Doctor Harper, from Georgia. My file, he sent it."

  "We have your file, Miss Miller," the doctor said calmly as he pressed a hand against her forehead. "But I don't see where it says—"

  "I was born with it," she said quickly. "Since birth."

  "And it says here your father passed away from cardiomyopathy?"

  She nodded and asked, "What happened?"

  The doctor was a tall islander with tan skin and a long face. He fixed his glasses as he looked down at her chart and said, "You fainted. Actually, you fell into the water at the ferry dock. One of the crew jumped in and pulled you out in a rescue boat. Do you remember that?"

  Fiona swallowed and felt her face go pale. "No," she said.

  "He brought you here," the doctor said.

  "Are we on Nani Makai?"

  "No," he said. "You're on the mainland. You've been out for hours. I'm Dr. Thompson."

  "Hi," she said sheepishly. "I was having heart palpitations, and I must have lost my balance."

  "Fainting attacks are fairly common with cardiomyopathy," he said evenly. "Have you ever fainted before?"

  "Yes," she admitted. "But not for a few years."

  "And you're on medication for your condition," he said as he looked over her chart. "Are you limiting your caffeine and alcohol intake? Do you smoke?"

  "Yes, yes, and no," she answered.

  There was a pause in the conversation that seemed to stretch on forever. The doctor looked down at her chart for so long that Fiona became uncomfortable, though she couldn't think of what to say to break the lull.

  The doctor looked like he wanted to say something, but perhaps he couldn't find the words, either.

  "It's bad, I know," Fiona finally said.

  Dr. Thompson looked relieved by her words and then nodded, flipping the pages of her file back down. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "It's very bad."

  Chapter Eleven

  Beckett

  Fiona.

  Even thinking her name could practically bring Beckett to his knees with happiness. He had a lovesick rush of a teenager with a crush. His feelings made him sick and excited him all at the same time. He wanted to keep getting to know Fiona. He wanted to watch the sunrise with her every morning the way they did today.

  He thought about her all day at work. He thought about the single dimple in her right cheek when she smiled, her deep blue eyes, and the shy demeanor that he'd somehow managed to crack through. He thought about the jealousy he felt earlier when she spoke about her past relationships. He thought about life and moving on and how it could feel so wonderful and like such a betrayal at the same time.

  By the end of his shift at Rendezvous, he just felt happy.

  He was excited to see Fiona later and show her off to his friends.

  These positive feelings soon swirled down into resentment and embarrassment as she went on to be four hours late coming to his get together.

  "Wow, your wife's really late, Beck," Shooter said as he leaned into the pool table and shot the solid orange five into the left corner pocket, just as he had called moments earlier. "Trouble in paradise, already?"

  "Yeah, did she realize what a workaholic you are and bail?" came another tease from his friend Marty.

  "She was meeting Maggs for some wedding stuff," he said with a shrug. "Guess they made a day of it."

  "Looks like the newlyweds need a little help with their communication," Shooter said with a laugh. Catching Beckett's irritation, Shooter patted him hard on the back and casually said, "Hey, it happens. Girls and their gossiping. Gossiping leads to manicures, manicures lead to drinks, blah, blah, blah."

  "Wow, you have a very shallow view of women," Marty said as he took the last sip off his beer.

  "It's a gift," Shooter grinned and then gestured at the solid four-ball in the top right pocket and proceeded to make the shot perfectly. "And so is that!"

  Beckett laughed along with Marty at their friend’s ridiculous talent. He twisted the chalk cap over the end of his pool cue and didn't even bother making a call as he tried, and failed, to get the striped ten to sink in any hole.

  "Boy, we should have bet money on this game!" Shooter chuckled victoriously as he sunk the eight ball. He shot his fist into the air in victory and Beckett shook his head. He could live a thousand years, and he would never beat Shooter at pool.

  Beckett made pizza—thick crust with pepperoni, green pepper, and mushroom, drizzled with his favorite truffle oil—and the three of them sat on his sectional for the rest of the evening watching the football game.

  By the end of the night, Beckett had called Fiona’s phone four times, only to have it ring and ring and then go to voicemail. At first, this didn’t surprise him, since Maggs hated when people used their phones during meetings, like the one she had today with the bakery. But as the day wore on, Beckett started feeling worried.

  This worry was exaggerated when, at eight at night, Maggs rang him up.

  “Maggs?” he said, wondering if maybe Fiona would sound off on the other end. Maybe her phone had died, and she had only just felt brave enough to ask Maggs to use hers.

  “Beck,” his sister said on the other line. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” he said as an almost automatic response. “Wait, why? What do you mean?”

  “Well, your wife never showed up today. I’m just making sure everything’s alright.”

  “She didn’t show up? Ever?” he asked, and his heart sank.

  “No,” she confirmed. “I didn’t even get a call.”

  “You guys were meeting at two,” he complained, “How are you just calling about this now?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “I heard there was a problem with the ferry earlier, so maybe she got held up. Figured she lost my number or just went back home o
r something.”

  Beckett shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Gee, thanks for letting me know.”

  “Give me a text when you find her so I know she’s okay,” she said, and Beckett hung up the phone.

  “She never showed,” Beckett announced as he walked back into the living room.

  Shooter looked up and cocked his head to the side. “What, seriously?” he said. “She okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Beckett said.

  Shooter said something else, but Beckett couldn’t hear him anymore. He was having horrible flashbacks of Lynne. Getting the call—there had been an accident. He remembered the panic that washed over his body like a wave, wondering how bad the accident was.

  The is a sick rush in not knowing where your loved one is or if they are okay.

  While Beckett didn’t think Fiona was a recipient of his love, the panic he was now feeling was eerily similar.

  “Beck!” Shooter repeated himself, loudly. “You want to go look for her?”

  Beckett looked over at his friend, and it took another moment for him to understand what was just asked. When it finally registered, he said, “Yeah.”

  It was only as they were all getting ready to leave through the sliding doors at the side of the house that Fiona finally came home.

  He heard the front door close behind her, followed by her bare footsteps against the cold floor. Shooter offered him an encouraging smile—a silent plea for him not to argue with Fiona or to take his panic out on her. He took a breath and decided to let it go. He was just happy she was home.

  But, when he heard her immediately race up the stairs, he felt a fire rise in his stomach once more.

  "Wife!" he called out in an attempt to be playful.

  Her footsteps halted, and the three men made their way to the spiraling marble staircase. What he saw was a shock.

  Fiona looked like a wreck. She was pale and breathless. Her clothes looked disheveled, and her hair was damp. Her makeup had washed off her face, making her look tired and worn.

  Had she been out swimming? Did she return to The Queen and flirt with some of the men there who would inevitably have hit on her? Did they take her out on their boat?

  His mind swirled with jealousy and worry as he ascended the stairs halfway to meet her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Fiona offered a heavy, exhausted smile and nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “You missed your meeting with Maggs,” he said, briefly looking down at Shooter before turning his attention back to Fiona.

  She seemed cagey and unapproachable, even though her smile.

  “Right,” she said, seeming faded. “I’ll have to call her and apologize. I got lost.”

  “Hey, we’re gonna call it a night,” Shooter called from the foyer. Marty followed quickly behind, and Beckett gave them a silent goodbye with a single signal of his hand.

  “Goodnight, Fiona,” Shooter called, and Fiona offered him a weak smile. “Glad you’re okay!”

  “Goodnight,” she said with a nod, and the two of them watched as Shooter and Marty walked out the front door.

  When the door clicked shut, Fiona immediately resumed her walk to the top of the stairs.

  Beckett followed behind her, annoyed, and wandered into her bedroom. Feeling his presence behind her, Fiona spun on her heel and said, “I’m tired.”

  “Are you alright? Where did you get lost?”

  Fiona seemed annoyed as she said, “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have been lost, would I?”

  “Why didn’t you call a taxi or look it up on your phone?” he asked.

  “The ferry port has bad reception,” she said, which was true. “I just got overwhelmed, and I just bailed. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and watched as she walked into the ensuite bathroom and pulled a fluffy beige towel out from the cabinet. She turned the shower on and cranked the tap left to the heated end.

  “So, where have you been?” he called from over the water.

  Still dressed, Fiona peeked out from behind the bathroom door and said, “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you got lost…” he paused. “Then what did you do for the next seven hours? Where did you go?”

  Fiona inhaled a sharp breath, and for a moment he wondered if they were about to have their first fight. Instead, she let her breath out all at once and began to cry.

  Beckett’s features twisted at the sudden emotion and he rushed over to Fiona, pulling her into his arms and stroking her hair. He hushed her as she cried and watched as the bathroom filled up with steam from the shower.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked in a soft tone. “What happened?”

  “I fell in the water!” she said in a tone that was so cute, it was hard for Beckett to imagine she was upset. “Okay? I fell in like a big idiot!”

  “You…” Beckett blanched. “Fell in the water?” he repeated slowly. “At the marina?”

  “Yes,” she whined through her tears and Beckett began to laugh. “I fell in when we reached the mainland, and one of the workers had to come in and save me, and I felt so embarrassed and stupid, I just couldn’t show my face at your sister’s meeting smelling like a fish!”

  “You silly,” he said with a chuckle and hugged her tighter. “You silly, silly girl,” he repeated and kissed her on the forehead.

  “It isn’t funny!” she said as she cried, but as she listened to him, she began to laugh herself.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said genuinely, pulling away from her. “Go shower. I’ll grab you some food, okay? My poor baby’s had a big day.”

  “Beckett!” she laugh-whined, waving him off. “It was embarrassing!”

  “I’d rather you tell me an embarrassing story than find out you were hurt or that something happened,” he said. “I was really worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She looked solemn.

  “Go shower,” he said again. “Come down when you’re all dressed.”

  Fiona took in a ragged, weak breath and nodded. He went downstairs, preparing to reheat some of the pizza he had made, but the longer he waited, the more he realized she wouldn’t be coming down.

  He let an hour pass before locking the house up and making his way back up the stairs. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to barge into a girl’s room unannounced, so knocked gently on her door.

  Beckett cracked the door open gingerly and saw Fiona laying on her side in the middle of the bed. He watched her for just a moment before turning to leave but decided he couldn’t end the night without talking to her properly.

  He stepped into the room and watched her to see if she would stir. She did. She rolled halfway onto her back and stared at him curiously. His pulse raced as he crawled into the bed. Fiona was buried under the covers, still watching him. He stayed above them, for the sake of propriety, and came up behind her.

  “You okay, Sunshine?” he whispered.

  He wondered if Fiona would scream or tell him his company wasn’t welcome, but he quickly realized she was crying and so held her tighter.

  “It’s not that bad,” he said sweetly. “So, you fell in the water. Big deal,” he teased. “There will be some new tourist doing something else silly tomorrow that people can obsess over.”

  “What about your sister?” she said quietly.

  “Pfft,” he murmured as he began to stroke and tickle her arm, leaving goosebumps on her skin in his wake. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “And you’re not mad?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m not mad.”

  She nodded and cuddled in closer to his body heat. She felt absolutely chilled, even despite the thick down blankets and hot shower.

  Beckett ran his hand through her hair and held his breath as she suddenly whispered, “Will you stay with me a while, until I fall asleep?”

  He swallowed nervously and nodded. “Sure. Until you fall asleep.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Beckett

  Today w
as the day to end all days.

  Today, Beckett was deciding to be free. Free of loneliness, of his pain, and of the strange conviction he had that in order to be free of his past he would be doomed to be alone forever. Shut off from the rest of the world.

  Life was nicer with someone by your side, he decided. Life was sweeter when there was someone to wake up to. Someone who makes you coffee.

  Such things weren’t special because they were an act of servitude, but because they were a simple kindness. An expression that someone was thinking about you.

  Life was also nicer when there was someone to bump knees with when you shared a booth at a restaurant. Someone to look up at the same stars you’re seeing or to watch a movie with.

  It was midday and Beckett had just come back from checking up on work. Upon pulling into the driveway, he saw Fiona out on the second story balcony. He couldn’t wait to get to her.

  He made his way upstairs, into her room, and out through the patio doors. He wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered, “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

  “And just what’s that supposed to mean?” she said wryly. "It better not mean what I think it does, or I may just have to smack you."

  He was glad to see her back in good spirits. She had been just shy of lethargic for the last week, having bursts of energy in the day and then falling asleep before ten at night. She said it was the intense heat that tired her out or the hours she now spent swimming laps in the indoor pool each day.

  "It means that I'm going to take you on the full Beckett tour," he said slyly and leaned into the crook of her neck, taking in her floral scent.

  "That's a little self-involved, isn't it?" she giggled.

  "We live in a generation of egomaniacs. Join the club."

  "And does this little tour charge admission?" she asked and he shook his head with a smile.

  "Not for pretty girls," he said.

  "Ah," Fiona said, almost in resignation. "Then I probably have to pay double!"