Fake Marriage with the CEO (A Billionaire Romance)

by Amanda Horton

  “We’re here, Miss.” The chauffeur’s announcement cut into her reverie.

  Miranda looked out the window. The ‘Doorway to Hope’ building was ablaze with lights. Her eyes welled up as she noticed beautiful paper cutouts decorating the windows and entrance. She smiled, blinking back her tears. Thank god Diane Hawkins was still on vacation! Wolfe’s mother would have winced at the sight of the paper flowers, but Miranda knew it was a sign of her guests’ desire to make her wedding special.

  She recognized Wolfe’s car parked near the side entrance, and her heart soared, knowing he was inside waiting for her. Another car was parked right beside Wolfe’s. The passenger door opened and revealed two familiar figures.

  Miranda gasped. “Noelle! Hunter!” she screamed in delight. She’d thought her friend and her husband were still on holiday.

  Noelle Mancine and Hunter Blackwell approached her with wide smiles on their faces. Noelle hugged her friend tightly as Hunter engulfed her hand in a tight squeeze.

  “You really didn’t think I’d miss your wedding? Not for the world!” Noelle beamed.

  “But how? I thought you were still on vacation.” Miranda clung to her friend, not trusting the evidence of her senses telling her that Noelle and Hunter were truly there.

  “Wolfe hunted us down. We talked for a long time. He told us all about your crazy plan for the wedding.” Noelle smiled, releasing Miranda from the hug. “You hooked yourself a good man.”

  Miranda was close to tears. Everything was even more perfect than she expected and she was touched once more by Wolfe’s thoughtfulness. “Would you both walk me down the aisle?”

  Hunter ushered them both towards the closed door. “It would be our honor, Miranda,”

  Lexi waited at the threshold beaming, ready to fulfill her role as bridesmaid. She high-fived Miranda. “Ready to turn New York upside-down?”

  Miranda shook her head. She couldn’t get over Lexi’s exuberance—you’d think she was the bride! But as she opened her mouth in protest, she heard the strains of a string quartet signaling the start of the ceremony. Miranda’s eyes grew wide in surprise. “Please tell me he didn’t hire an orchestra!”

  Noelle took her arm. “I’m afraid that’s me. A wedding is not a wedding if there is no music.”

  “Ready?” Lexi positioned herself at the start of the party as Hunter fell into place on Miranda’s other side.

  The door was opened from within. A hush fell and the wedding party slowly made their way inside.

  Miranda searched the crowd until she caught sight of Wolfe. He wore beige colored pants with a white shirt rolled all the way to his elbows to complement her dress. A brown suspender and silk tie completed his ensemble. His air of authority was softened, and his jaw, freshly shaven for once, seemed to have lost its edge. When their eyes locked, Miranda’s heartbeat accelerated. Wolfe’s face shone brightly with an indefinable emotion. Some sixth sense told her it was the same emotion that suffused her now.

  She looked at the eager faces turned toward her as she walked down the aisle. These were her people. Vagrants, tramps, derelicts, and drifters, who had now found a permanent home in ‘Doorway to Hope’. The men's hair were slicked back, while the women had painted their lips and nails to celebrate the wondrous occasion.

  “Hey, Miranda, you here to cook for us today?” A familiar voice called out, sending a wave of laughter across the room.

  “Not today.” Miranda grinned at Ben. “Today I’m just here to get married.”

  As her eyes fell on each familiar face, memories flooded in. Miranda knew she would never forget being one of them. It would stay with her always—but it would no longer hold her back. As she remembered Noelle’s kindness in saving her from the street, Miranda vowed to meet the future with the same kindness. The future she now shared with the man eagerly waiting for her at the altar.

  Miranda stifled a sob of pure joy. She felt Noelle press her hand and knew she understood. The road ahead was rocky, full of twists and turns. But given the option, Miranda knew she wouldn’t change a thing from the past. It had brought her to the present.

  Reaching the foot of the altar, Noelle offered Miranda’s hand to Wolfe. He accepted it, locking eyes with his bride as he led her to the final steps to the altar. In that moment, Miranda knew that her future contained a true happily ever after.

  *****

  THE END

  If you enjoyed this story, or felt there was something that could be improved, then please take out a minute to flip through to the end and leave a review! Thanks in advance!

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  Don’t miss out on the FREE preview to the prequel to this novel: Fake Marriage to a Single Mom ( A Billionaire Romance) and a short story in the remaining book.

  Novella Sample

  Fake Marriage with a Single Mom (A Billionaire Romance)

  Chapter 1

  The girl crouched by the wall was wearing a flamboyant red sweater. With arms wrapped around her abdomen, her sweaty face flinched as pain flashed sporadically between her legs. In between bouts, she lit a half-smoked Marlboro, holding the stick delicately between trembling fingers, blowing the smoke into the air above her head. Her straggly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, emphasizing the gaunt lines of her face.

  Noelle Mancini spotted her as she turned the corner leading to Eats Well, the delicatessen she owned in Queens, NY. The first blush of dawn struggled with remnants from the night sky, and like a silent siren, New York’s unwashed denizens responded to the call. The scene was familiar to Noelle. A week didn’t pass by that she didn’t find a drunken tramp, bag lady or a street urchin just outside her door. They didn’t cause any trouble, just needed a warm cup of coffee or a sandwich she could spare. Anything always tasted better on an empty stomach.

  “Hey,” Noelle called cheerily, “I have a turkey sandwich with your name on it,” Noelle said grappling with a set of keys to open the café entrance.

  The girl looked at her in surprise, hesitated, then backed away ready to flee.

  “Come in,” Noelle encouraged, surprised at her hesitation.

  Her surprise turned into alarm as the girl doubled over and fell down on her knees. It was then that Noelle noticed the red stain seeping through the girl's crotch and pants.

  “Are you alright?” Noelle asked with concern, rushing towards the stooped form.

  “Please…please, don’t call the police,” the girl replied in a panicked whisper.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Noelle asked.

  “No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I-I just had an abortion…a bad one.”

  Noelle immediately knew what was happening. Illegal abortions were usually done in the seedier parts of the city without proper hygiene and post-care. Women entered and left like they had just gotten a manicure. But this girl was in really bad shape. Her ashen face may have been a result of too much bleeding.

  “I promise I won’t call the police. Just come inside and let me help you,” Noelle entreated.

  The girl staggered back to her feet then swayed lightly. Noelle placed an arm around her waist and half-carried her inside.

  “I have a bed in the back office,” Noelle said, as she huffed with strain from the girl’s weight.

  They traversed the front of the store, down a narrow hallway, and into the back. Noelle deposited her gently down onto the bed. The girl grimaced in agony as another wave of pain hit her.

  “I’ll be fine. The doctor said to expect some cramping. That’s all this is, really.”

  Noelle was curious about the girl and where she came from. But now wasn’t the right time. She needed to get her off her feet immediately. Noelle hoped the doctor was right and the bleeding was only a side effect. If things didn’t improve in the next 30 minutes, she could then
decide what to do next. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  “I have some overnight pads and a clean set of clothes by the drawer. You can use them. In the meantime, can you at least tell me your name?”

  The girl looked up at her. Indecision was clearly written on her face. Then she mumbled softly, “My name is Miranda…”

  ***

  Noelle looked around the 1800 sq. ft of her little kingdom and whispered a prayer of thanks. The coffee machine was spotless, the sandwich prep table was clean, and the chrome on the pastry case and sandwich display cases were gleaming. She had paid for all the equipment, all thanks to hard work and her determination to succeed. The cheap rent, plus constant flow of changing demographics with her customers added up to culinary gold and an assurance that there will always be hungry regulars to feed. The café was doing well and it provided her with a semblance of a normal life.

  A stab of fear ran through her heart. The thought was always at the back of her mind and it was like summoning bad juju. Not really wanting something bad to come, but knowing that eventually it will.

  The letter came today.

  It was from the Immigration Office, reminding her that her work visa was about to expire, in 30 days to be exact. The letter was electronically generated and impersonal, but it had enough to fill her with dread.

  Her application for adjustment of status was still pending and her work permit was based on the sponsorship of her Afro-American mother who passed away before the proper documents could be filed. If she didn’t get the adjustment status soon, there was no way she could apply for another work permit and continue operating the café. It was a tedious process and Noelle knew the clock was ticking.

  The possibility of being deported, together with her son, was something she feared. Going back to Italy was not an option. She had no family there, having lost contact with her dad when she was still a child. Besides, she had put so much of herself into this little café and had amassed a constant stream of regulars.

  Sometimes the desire to lash out at the memory of her mother assailed her. Why didn’t she accomplish the legalities of what needed fixing during the years Noelle was growing up? Instead, she wallowed in sadness because her marriage to Noelle’s Italian father didn’t work out. All her life she kept saying they would go back to Italy and work things out with her dad. That day never came.

  Meanwhile, Nikko, her son, was starting kindergarten. They were still engaged in the constant battle of tears and separation anxiety. Her daily promise to be "right here at the gate when you come out of school,” didn’t always work. The long hours she had to put into running the café still provoked tantrums from her child. And it was all part and parcel of the day-to-day tribulations of being a single mom.

  Noelle shrugged the thought aside. There was work to do. In a few hours a hungry crowd, expecting their usual orders, would come trooping through her doorway. She hoped that Miranda, the sick girl at the back, was only a temporary problem. She had been sleeping soundly when Noelle left her and even though she wondered what Miranda’s story was, she decided to attend to her later.

  She checked her inventory of sandwiches inside the refrigerated cooler and made a mental note to stock up on the French Ham and Cheese Sandwiches, which were always crowd pleasers. The countertop condiments needed to be filled with salad greens, onions, and tomatoes and Noelle realized that she had a lot of slicing and dicing to do.

  She reached for a deep metal mixing bowl, heaved a small sack of flour with her other hand, and headed towards the preparation table.

  “Eggs, I need eggs… and where did I leave the olive oil,” she muttered as she headed to the kitchen at the back. She found what she was looking for and gathered all the ingredients for making bread. Her Italian blood dictated that she make them from scratch and not settle for the ready-to-eat kind from the supermarket.

  Working with her hands always calmed her. And Noelle loved to bake, a trait she may have inherited from the Italian side of the family even though she had never really met any of them.

  ***

  83 miles away, in an extraordinary residence sitting on 10 acres of land, dawn light had triumphed. An oceanfront estate, regarded by many as the finest in all of the Hamptons, stood like a silent sentinel. A series of decks and patios led to the red dunes and onto a private, sandy beach. Two custom-made swimming pools and a sunken all-weather tennis court were invisible from the highway, hidden by strategically hedged lawns.

  Inside the master’s bedroom, a double king-sized bed dominated the space, while glass windows leading to the patio provided an unobstructed view of the ocean and the ceaseless waves. A solitary figure stood on the patio, unmindful of the chilly wind on his naked body. Security cameras that were manned on an 8-hour basis guaranteed complete privacy. The security personnel were paid well to understand that discretion was a value topping the list of their job requirements.

  The master of the house stared out into the ocean, the breeze gently ruffling his hair. He missed the long mane he used to have but admitted that this current look added character to his personality. It was a concession he made to the committee - one of many.

  Hunter Blackwell was a man who answered to no one, except to his dad, whom he idolized. Blackwell Senior was a self-made man who hardly finished high school, but possessed a keen sense of perception that made everything he touched turn into gold. With an initial investment of $100, he made his first big profit and earned half a million in the stock market. He then decided to try his luck in a stock-trading firm with an investment career, and proceeded to quintuple his net worth as he adhered to a philosophy of long-term value investing. His next move then caught his associates by surprise when he invested all of his wealth into the mining sector. That bold move made him one of the richest men in America under the age of 40.

  His only son and heir, Hunter, took over the reins of the family fortune after finishing a Masters in Finance from Harvard University. The business acumen of the old man was passed on to the equally brilliant son who took risks that lesser mortals would never even consider. Hunter diversified into electronics, shipping, real estate, hotel industry and other businesses.

  Money can buy you material happiness. But only in serving people can you ever experience true self –fulfillment.

  The memory of that mantra that his dad used to say was especially more poignant today while Hunter stared out into the blue beyond. As a young boy, when his dad would bring him to school, they passed by tenement houses and saw other boys his age out in the streets.

  “Why aren’t they in school, dad?”

  “I guess school doesn’t work for them, son.”

  “Why?’

  “Maybe just being out on the street makes them happy.”

  “School makes them sad?”

  “Maybe. Or they find school boring.”

  “When I grow up I will make school exciting for everyone so that every kid will want to go.”

  The old man looked fondly at the solemn boy and replied, “Yes, you do that son.”

  Running for senator was the beginning of Hunter’s journey towards self-fulfillment. He had a vision of the change he wanted. But it wasn’t easy, he realized that now.

  Last night, he had to summon every ounce of restraint not to tell all of them to go to hell. He wanted to walk out of the meeting and shut the door in their faces. But he exercised even more restraint on his temper because he wanted that nomination more than anything else in the world.

  Hunter knew they meant well. To the world, he was the epitome of confidence and cockiness. He exuded power because he had earned it. But deep inside, he was sensitive when it came to his private life, even if that side of him was constant fodder for gossip by the media. A string of celebrity girlfriends, wild partying, his luxurious homes, fleet of cars, even his Gulfstream jet – they all made the news.

  He wondered what the old stiffs would think, seeing him stand boldly naked on the patio of his home.

  Or
the blond sleeping on his bed? Shit.

  He couldn’t even remember her name. A tinge of disgust sprouted in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought. The juvenile side of him blamed them for the presence of the blonde in his bed.

  Last night, he needed to release the frustration that had sprung out of him after being told to change his lifestyle and settle down…if he wanted to run for senator.

  That was the reason he stopped by the bar on his way home. Their eyes met as he ordered his whiskey and the rest of the night was predictable from that time on.

  Hunter sighed.

  Normally, sex managed to invigorate him, made him feel alive and ready to meet any challenge. But now he felt like he was just a ball of energy, waiting to explode.

  Maybe the old men were right. He needed to change something in his life. After all, random sex with strange women only confirmed what the council thought. And what could be more random than not even remembering the name of the girl he had just slept with hours before?

  He crept back silently into the room, not wanting to rouse the sleeping girl. His team would know what to do when she woke up. He pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped both feet into a pair of sneakers. Pulling a white shirt from the pile in his closet, he grabbed the key of the Audi and tiptoed out of the room.

  Chapter 2

  The morning breeze felt good on his face. It cleared the cobwebs of frustration stemming from his memory of the council’s rebuff. He inhaled stubbornly. It was an obstacle he would conquer his own way.

  He stepped on the pedal and sensed the car obey his every command. Being in control was more like it. He relished the sensation. The hum of the powerful engine was like a balm that soothed his soul. He had no particular destination in mind, just a strong urge to get away. He had no idea how long he was driving until he recognized the familiar landmarks of Queens.