His Virgin Bride: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Lila Younger

“Your outfit. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. Besides, I could use something new too.”

  There go my plans. I look at my friend, but there’s a determined gleam in her eye that I know all too well. And it’s not like I could just walk out of here. Macy’s the one who drove us. Was that why she volunteered? I should have known… Yet another reason to hate living in a small town. No public transportation anywhere. I better just get this over with.

  Macy smiles sweetly when she sees that she’s won.

  “I’ll make this quick and painless,” she promises.

  Together we head to Forever 21. Like Victoria’s Secret, it’s one of the few stores in the mall with any customers, but the place gives me a headache. There are just too. Many. Clothes. Racks upon racks upon racks. For people like Macy, it’s a thrilling challenge. For people like me, who could happily live in my jeans and tank tops, it’s daunting. That’s why I never come in here with Macy. She dives into the fray, happy as a clam, piling up clothes in my arms. Once I’ve got a small mountain of clothes in my arms, we head to the back where the changing rooms are.

  “Here,” she says. “I got these for you.”

  She separates out the pile, taking out most of it for herself. What’s left is… much more toned down. I actually spot a few things with sleeves. Could Macy actually be listening to me for once?! Maybe the fact that I’m not as boy crazy as she is finally getting through to her. I take the clothes into the changing room, but before I could start trying things on, my phone vibrates with a message. I pick it up, and my heart skips a beat. I could recognize the chiseled, sexy face in that profile pic anywhere.

  James.

  I unlock my phone quickly and open up Facebook. A message from James, which makes me happy. We don’t communicate all that much, just here or there when I find an interesting article to show him, or he has a cool new band out of Washington D.C. he thinks I’d like or something. Sometimes months could go by before he replies, and I’m too much of a chicken to keep sending him messages. I don’t want him to know that I like him, because that would be too mortifying.

  After all, he’s my dad’s best friend. Yeah, I’m cringing a little just admitting it to myself. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I mean, the guy’s almost twenty years older. Twenty years more sophisticated. What would he want to do with his best friend’s kid anyways? If it wasn’t for these messages once in a while, I’d think that he’d forgotten that I existed.

  He’s sent me a link to a Smithsonian exhibit on Picasso. I can’t believe he remembers that that’s my favorite artist. See, this is exactly why a guy like Ken could never compete with a man like James. All that’s in his head is football, beer, and how much he benchpresses at the gym. He would probably pronounce Picasso wrong too.

  I really want to hold off replying to his message, but I can’t help it. Maybe if I’m fast, he’ll be around, and we can strike up a conversation like we used to, before he moved all the way to Washington D.C. I type something quickly, asking him how his trip to Australia went, but my question just hangs in the void, unanswered. I guess I just didn’t stay on his mind for very long. It really shouldn’t affect me like this, but my whole body slumps from disappointment.

  Ugh, how sad can you get Ava?

  I slip my phone back into my purse, take off my clothes, and put on the first thing Macy’s got me. It’s a dark grey, one shoulder dress. The stretchy fabric, gathered at the side, really enhances the curviness of my body in a way that’s screams sexiness. It’s actually gorgeous. What would James say if he saw me in this? My mind asked. Would he like it? Would it make his eyes stop and notice me as more than just a kid finally? The hem barely stops short of my butt, and I have to keep tugging it. Not that it matters. James moved away almost two years ago and hasn’t been back since. Not for my dad’s birthday, not for holidays, nothing. I get a twisty feeling every time I think about that but I couldn’t blame him for it. Who would want to waste their vacation days on coming here of all places? Last I heard, he was making a fortune flipping houses in Washington D.C.

  But a little tiny part of me still holds out hope.

  I take off the dress and pull another one off the hanger. This one is made of white lace all over, definitely way too fancy for a bonfire and the skeevy pub where we’d go for drinks and dancing. It is gorgeous though. I finger the lace wistfully. It’s the sort of classy dress that James’ girlfriend would wear. Does wear probably, since there’s no way a man as hot as him could be single. I mean, rich people have fancy dinner parties all the time, right? I go up onto my tippy toes and turn a little, imagining James pulling down the exposed zipper on the back, kissing my bare skin…

  Macy bangs on the door.

  “Ava! Come out!”

  I open up the door. Macy’s wearing a red crushed velvet dress with a plunging V neck and bell sleeves.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s very you,” I say.

  “Isn’t it?” She twirls. “I love it. It’s so soft feeling.”

  She stops and turns to me critically.

  “That’s way too covered up,” she declares. “I don’t like it. Here, try on this one.”

  I close the door and do as she says. It’s a black halter neck dress, more like a tunic, banded at the bottom and completely bare in the back. I have to take off my bra for it, and it’s, well, it’s a hell of a lot more than I’m used to showing, that’s for sure. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I wore something that showed so much cleavage.

  “Macy, I don’t think so,” I say as I open up the door. She whistles when she sees me. “For one thing, I’m not even sure it’s a dress. I’m going to freeze to death out on the beach, if my mom doesn’t kill me first.”

  “Wear leggings,” she advises. “You can toss it in your purse once you get out of the house. I think you look good in it. Man, you have the biggest boobs out of all of us I think. You just never show it.”

  I tilt my head at my reflection. I do look pretty good in this. I gather up my hair in a messy updo so that it doesn’t hide my chest at all. Can I really pull this off? Out of the three of us, I’d say Nikki is the most beautiful, but wearing this…

  “It’s a bit much isn’t it?”

  Macy looks over my shoulders into the mirror.

  “That’s the point Ava,” she says. “You are super gorgeous, super smart, and just about the kindest person in the world. You deserve to be noticed. You deserve to be loved. Now I don’t know why that seems to bother you so much, but it shouldn’t. I can’t think of anyone more deserving of a boyfriend than you. And it doesn’t have to be Ken. Nik and I can find you a nice nerdy boy or someone who has their nose in a book as much as you do. But you’ll never get that if you don’t put yourself out there. Advertise that you are single, you know what I mean?”

  I think over her words. Maybe Macy is right. Maybe I’ve been holding onto my silly teenage fantasy of catching James’ eye for far too long. It’s probably not healthy, and more than a little weird. Macy and Nikki know about my crush with James because of a truth or dare back in a sixth grade sleepover. But they think I like him in the way I’d like, say, Christian Grey, not as an actual possibility. That I think would be a little too much for even wild Macy to handle.

  “Okay. I’ll get it,” I relent at last. “But I’m not promising I’ll take off the leggings.”

  “Deal,” my friend says, flashing me a grin. “Tonight is going to be a blast. I promise. Now come help me make choices with mine. I’ve got at least ten more things to try on.”

  James

  It’s another brisk, sunny day in Washington D.C.. It’s actually nice enough to roll back the roof on my Porsche, if I was willing to smell exhaust for the rest of the day. I tap my fingers on the wheel. Even after all this time in Washington D.C., I still haven’t learned that it’s faster to take the subway. It’s a damn waste of my time, and these days, that’s very expensive. I have a few sites to visit today, all commercial properties that have the potent
ial to make me millions. I started out flipping houses, but moved over when I realized that there’s so much more to be made. I bought myself the 911 after my first million dollar deal, a gift to myself for having finally made it.

  My phone pings with a text from my assistant, confirming the addresses of the three properties that I’ll be looking at tomorrow. That’s the life of an entrepreneur. I work 7 days a week, whenever I can. Some days it’s for two hours, some days it’s twelve. Whatever I need to do to keep things running. I answer back, and turn up the radio. I find it’s good to listen in and keep tabs on the city. Knowing what’s going on is a good way to help gauge which areas will be trending up, which neighborhoods I shouldn’t bother with. I tune in just in time to catch the end of a piece on a traveling Picasso exhibit making its way to Washington D.C. Ava likes Picasso, the thought flickers into my head. I grit my teeth. Ava. I’m normally great at shutting her out of my thoughts, keeping that part of me locked up.

  The traffic stalls to a complete standstill. My hand goes for my phone, hops onto Facebook before I can convince myself not to. I don’t use the damn thing. I don’t see a point in it, but I keep it. For her. She’s got a new cover image up, one from Klimt’s golden phase. Ava loves her art, even if she’s stranded in the middle of nowhere. I click on her profile picture, a close-up on the beach. Her eyes, green ringed with gold, are mesmerizing, and her bee stung lips are slightly open. She’s got on this white and blue striped bikini that shows off her creamy skin, her lush curves. She looks beautiful. I don’t think anyone could blame me for looking, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was my best friend’s daughter.

  I hover on the message button, then click on it. The window shows I haven’t talked to her in almost four and a half months. My self-imposed rule was three months, at a minimum. That’s the acceptable amount for someone who she sees almost as an uncle. Any more and I’d be too tempted to do more, to pursue more, and that’s a dangerous path I couldn’t go down. Not when I know how I feel has no place in our relationship. It’s why I moved to Washington D.C. after all. To physically remove myself from temptation.

  My message to Ava is short, just a link. I refrain from inviting her down to see, even though I want to. She’s twenty now, old enough to decide what to do. But what twenty year old is ever interested in a guy almost double her age? The traffic starts to move and I slip my phone back into my pocket. Probably for the best. I rarely indulge myself because it’s too easy to let go, too easy to slip up. The only way to avoid it is to be in control at all times, never let it go too far.

  There are times when I think I’m over Ava, when I manage not to think about her at all. But then something like this will come up, and I’ll see her picture, and the feeling runs me over like a freight train. I can’t find anyone else who can even come close to what she does to my dick. It’s a blessing and a fucking curse, that’s for sure.

  I’m almost back at my house when I get a call. It’s Bill, Ava’s father. I’ve done nothing wrong, but I take a few deep breaths before I answer anyways.

  “Hey Bill, how’s it going?”

  “James. Things… are okay.” Bill says slowly. There’s a weariness in his voice that’s new. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited.”

  “It’s pretty far out of the way,” I reply as I turn onto my street. “You shouldn’t have moved.”

  Bill and Sandra moved from Boston to the little town of Montrose so that Sandra could afford to stay at home and take care of Ava. I didn’t understand the decision at the time, but it seemed to make them happy. Who was I to judge that? It was a two hour drive for me, so I’d often stay on the weekends. That was until Ava grew up overnight, and I found myself wanting to drive up to see her rather than her father. I decided to make the move to Washington D.C. then too.

  “That didn’t use to stop you.”

  “Yeah, well, Washington D.C. is a lot further than Boston. Is that why you called me? To nag me to visit?”

  “Hey, if you’re not interested in seeing an old friend…” Bill tries to keep it light, but years of friendship tell me something is definitely bothering him.

  I open up my garage as I wait to hear what he has to say. I live in a large, Mediterranean style house that could comfortably house at least ten people. Currently there’s one. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog, but my hours would make it impossible for me to take care of one properly. That wouldn’t be fair to the animal. Maybe one day though. I grew up with a dog. If I ever found a woman to settle down with… I steer my thoughts quickly away from that train of thought.

  “Look. We could use your help. It’s the B and B.”

  “Ah.”

  Selkirk House is a rundown old B and B that Bill and Sandra bought a year ago when they got lucky on a scratch ticket. Ava was old enough that she didn’t need her mom at home anymore, according to Sandra, and she’s always wanted to run a hotel. I cautioned Bill against it at the time. A hotel business is tough to run profitably even for someone who’s been in the industry. It would be immeasurably more difficult for someone like Sandra, who’s never done it in her life. Not to mention the cost of repairs. Bill thanked me for the advice and bought the place anyways.

  “Why don’t you get the ‘I told you so’ done with before we go on,” Bill says.

  “Sounds like you already know it,” I say.

  I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder before getting out of the car and closing the garage. The air conditioning blasts me as I go through the garage door. It’s going to be a hell of a summer and I’m not looking forward to it.

  “Then I’ll get to the point. We need your help. Badly. The B and B isn’t doing terribly, but we just heard that they’ve approved a new beach resort about an hour down the 101. It’s going to be fancy. We’re going to have to update and overhaul things if we’re to keep things afloat. I’d feel more comfortable if you were here to oversee things. Make sure it’s going well. I can’t even begin to figure out how I’m going to do a top to bottom renovation. You know that working with my hands isn’t my strong point. And while you’re here, if you’ve got any ideas on how we can raise our bookings-”

  “I know nothing about hotels,” I say as I gather up the mail on the front mat. Junk. Junk. Junk. Is there ever anything else?

  “No, but you worked in one during college. And you know about growing a business. And that’s what we need to do. We’ve gotten comfortable, but changes are coming. I’m hoping with your expertise we’ll be able to weather those changes.”

  I frown as I consider my options. I really shouldn’t go back. Staying under the same roof as Ava is dangerous. My head knows that, even if my dick is urging me to accept. My hand clenches into a fist, imagining what it’d be like to run over Ava’s porcelain skin. Thank God that Bill can’t see what’s in my mind.

  “Let me make some calls,” I say. “I know a guy who can-”

  “No,” Bill cuts in. “I don’t trust anyone else to pull off a renovation this huge except for you. We put everything into the B and B. We can’t afford for some contractor to take the money and run, or do a sloppy job that’ll cost us triple down the road.”

  I drop my head. I should refuse. But I owe Bill a debt. I left home when I was sixteen. For two years, Bill and his family let me stay in their basement so I could graduate school. He’s been my best friend since we met in kindergarten. If he needed me to help him now, I’m going to help. At least, I hope that’s why I’m agreeing.

  “I’ll pack my bags,” I say at last.

  James

  It’s past eleven o’clock at night by the time I pull into the little town of Montrose. Everything looks… unchanged. Not surprising really. Aside from tourism, there really isn’t much to be said about the place. Sandra grew up here though, which accounts for why they decided to move back. It’s not a terrible place by any means, it’s just so different from Boston where I grew up. I can’t even imagine what they do here on the weekends. Maybe that’s why they bought the
B and B in the first place. The freeway exit is crowded with the usual: gas stations, fast food restaurants, everything you need to refuel and hit the road again. I stopped for a bite in Boston, at an old burger joint that Bill and I would frequent, so I’m not that hungry.

  The road eventually connects to Main Street. Small wooden buildings flank the road, along with wrought iron streetlights and baskets hanging off of them. No flowers yet, but that’ll come pretty soon. Even a guy like me, who prefers things plain and simple, can appreciate the picturesque feel of this small town. All the businesses are closed, except for a rowdy pub at the very far end of Main Street. I have the top down on my Porsche now, and I can hear the resounding bass pouring out every time someone opens the door. A clump of people are gathered outside, most likely smoking cigarettes or worse.

  My eye catches on a woman, all sex and curves, wearing what might as well be a towel, it was so damn short. It barely covers her ass, and it’s got an open back that shows she isn’t wearing a bra. Gorgeous, but only for a moment. But then the woman turns around and my eyebrows shoot up. Is that… Ava? No fucking way. She doesn’t dress like that, putting everything on display for the world. I must have mistaken her for one of her friends. I drive on, but then I hear a voice I would recognize anywhere.

  “I said no, Ken! I’m going home.”

  I flick my eyes up to the rearview. It’s definitely Ava, and there’s a big, dumb bastard who’s trying to pull her back inside. Fuck that, I think, my teeth clenching with anger. He doesn’t get to touch Ava like that, like she’s some regular broad on the street instead of the most perfect woman in the world. I react without thinking, slamming on the brakes and u-turning in the street. Good thing there isn’t anyone else on the road. I drive up to the two of them and jump out of the car.

  “Hands off of her buddy!” I growl. I’ve got adrenaline pumping through me, and I’m ready to defend what’s mine.

  The two of them look over at me, the asshole with anger, Ava with surprise.

  “James?” she says, as if she can’t believe I’m standing in front of her.