Fake Marriage to a Baller: A Wilder Brothers Romance

by Aria Scott

  I brought this up with Aubrey as we both stood in my walk-in closet and got ready for the party.

  “Okay, so tonight, it’s do-or-die,” I told her, as I buttoned up my silk shirt. “John Clarke’s going to be there, so we have to look like a real couple. We have to make him believe we’re in love.”

  She was in the middle of slipping a white cutout dress on. “You told me what he looks like. I’ll keep an eye out for him.” She paused to pull the dress down, which hung past her knees. “How do I look?”

  I studied the way the dress flowed over her ample curves and revealed just a tease of cleavage. She looked hot, in an understated way. “You look delicious.”

  A flush turned her cheeks pink. “Thanks.”

  But I wasn’t about to be diverted from the topic dear to my heart. “We have to be careful, and make a good impression on him. He’s the one who decides whether my contract gets renewed.”

  “Want me to chat him up?” she asked.

  “Just be yourself.” I pulled my belt on, and slipped my feet into Italian loafers. “We’re probably going to have to kiss in front of everyone.” I slid a glance her way. “You have to act like you can’t wait to get me into bed. Think you can handle it?”

  “I can handle it,” she said confidently, and pulled on tan suede heels. She moved to stand next to me, so that we were both in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. I put my arm around her waist and studied our reflection. She smiled and slipped her arm into mine, and I felt the heat of her, smelled her scent.

  We were a gorgeous couple, I thought, with me a head taller, my body dwarfing hers, and both of us looking polished and healthy. Anyone looking at us would think we were lucky to have found each other.

  The anxiety reared up in me again. I squashed it down and kept her arm against mine as I led her out of the bedroom.

  “The car’s waiting,” I said.

  About an hour later, we were mingling in the Papillon d'Or, one of Miami’s finest restaurants. My agent had arranged the party and invited the entire team, along with the managers, coaches and team owner. About half of them had showed up, which still made for a pretty big crowd of people. Paparazzi were clustered outside the door, trying to get a few pics of Aubrey and I, the team quarterback, the owner, and anyone else who paused long enough in front of the window.

  I was used to all of this and dismissed it without thinking about it, but I could see a glint of panic in Aubrey’s eyes. I tried my best to hang all over Aubrey but, as parties often go, others eventually pulled us apart. The football wives carried her off to one side of the room, and my agent cornered me on another, behind a couple of potted palms.

  “Chase, my friend,” Joe said, with that wide smile of his. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Just about one hundred percent,” I told him, and it was true...all of that physical therapy had done its work. I hardly had a limp any longer. “You clean up nice,” I observed, as I studied his black tux, the gold cross around his neck. He’d plastered his thick black hair down with some kind of pomade. I saw no evidence of his usual six-o’clock shadow. “You actually shaved. I’m honored.”

  He gestured toward the party-goers. “You owe me for this one, buddy. It wasn’t easy to set up.”

  “You even got the team owner here,” I observed. “Great job. Thanks a lot.”

  “Clarke’s been eager to meet your wife-to-be.” His gaze settled on Aubrey. “Speaking of which, how goes it with your partner-in-crime? You manage to bang her yet?”

  I quickly glanced around to make sure no one was within listening distance. “Christ, Joe, keep it down. You want the whole word to know what’s going on?”

  “Take it easy. You’re being paranoid.”

  “My career’s on the line, here,” I reminded him. “This has to work.”

  As I stood there arguing with Joe, I noticed that John Clarke was watching both Aubrey and I very closely. That was enough to ratchet my own panic up to a whole new level.

  “Well, I gotta say, I’m not too impressed so far, with the two of you,” my agent said. “You look like two stiffs. Two strangers.” He paused and thought about it. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened like saucers. “You haven’t banged her yet, have you?”

  “She doesn’t want sex to be part of the arrangement,” I admitted, feeling a strange sense of shame over the whole thing.

  “Are you shitting me? She won’t let you fuck her?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t believe it.” He slowly shook his head. “You’re losing your touch.”

  I hesitated. Struggled for the right words. “She doesn’t want to get emotionally involved,” I finally said.

  He let out a shocked little laugh. “She’s gotta get emotionally involved, or you’re fucked.”

  I shrugged helplessly, and didn’t like how it felt. “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “She’s obviously making you work for it. How hard are you trying?”

  “Hard enough.” My voice sounded clipped. Annoyed.

  “Try harder, my friend. Because it ain’t working so far.”

  I blew out a harassed breath. “What do you suggest?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you start by buying her an engagement ring?”

  His suggestion hit me like a punch in the gut. How the hell could I have forgotten to give her an engagement ring?

  “Yeah, you screwed up, Chase,” he said, and his tone suggested he enjoyed saying it. “You’d better get your act together or Clarke’s gonna realize this is all a big pile of bullshit.”

  My gut grew a little tighter. I had a vision of the whole situation coming down around my ears.

  Joe paused for a moment, as if thinking, then nodded sharply. “I have a suggestion for you: go see Dr. Arjun Goswami. He’s a sex therapist and a relationship coach. He teaches tantric sex--my wife loves him.”

  “A sex therapist?”

  “You’re aren’t getting down her pants, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you need his help.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” Joe wagged his finger at me.

  “Fuck you, Joe.”

  “No, not me, Chase. The redhead. You gotta fuck the redhead.”

  I briefly considered punching him in the face, then let go of the idea.

  “In fact, now’s a great time to get some practice in,” Joe announced. “I’m going to bang a spoon against a champagne glass. As soon as I do that, everyone else will start banging their glasses, too. That means you gotta kiss her in front of everybody. So make sure you do it right, okay? It’s your big chance to show everyone that you two are in love.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him no, that neither of us were ready for that, when suddenly, the palms that were hiding us parted and a muscled jock walked through. My eyes widened when I recognized him.

  Ron Tillman, a redneck fucker from Jacksonville.

  A recent college grad and a first round draft pick.

  A wide receiver, in fact, who’d been the fifth overall pick of last year’s draft.

  Kids like this put guys like me out of a job. Luckily for me, he was playing for a team on the other side of the country. So what the hell was he doing at my engagement party? I raised my eyebrows toward Joe.

  “Hey, Ron,” Joe said smoothly, without batting an eyelid. “Glad you could make it.”

  “No way I was gonna miss it,” Tillman replied, with an easy smile for me. “A rookie like me needs to learn from the older guys--”

  “Ron signed with me a few months back,” Joe cut in. “He wanted to check out the city.”

  “Miami?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I love it down here,” Tillman replied.

  “Oh, really?”

  “I brought him out here for the weekend,” Joe said hurriedly. “Since he’s down here, I was hoping you’d spend some time with him. Show him the ropes.”

  “Give me some pointers,” Tillman added.
<
br />   I looked from Joe, to Tillman, and back again. I only had about six years on Tillman, but these guys made me sound like an aging, grizzle-haired wizard with a duty to teach youngsters at a magician's school.

  Something didn’t smell right.

  “I don’t know that I’m gonna have any time,” I said with a tight smile of my own. “Aubrey and I, we have a lot to get done.”

  “Really would appreciate it, Chase,” Joe repeated.

  I frowned. “I guess I have a few hours tomorrow morning.”

  “Great,” Joe replied, and gave me a grin that reminded me of a shark’s.

  We spent a few more minutes talking about the game, who had signed where, and other trivial things that did nothing to reassure me. Finally, Tillman ambled off, taking his smarmy attitude with him.

  I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to grill Joe about this Tillman business, but didn’t get out anything more than what the fuck-- before Joe picked up a champagne glass and started banging on it with a spoon. Still banging, he led me out of the potted palms area like a pied piper--I had no choice but to follow him. Just as he’d predicted, others chimed in with their glasses and spoons, and soon the room was filled with ringing.

  I searched for Aubrey, and saw that a small group of football wives had her in the corner. This was a different group than before. They were coming at her in packs, I realized, one after the other, and a spasm of grim anxiety twisted through me. The party was beginning to feel like an inquisition. What was next, thumbscrews and the rack? How the hell were we supposed to survive it?

  I took a deep breath and, rigidly maintaining an outward show of calm, I walked to her side. Her big green eyes held the same apprehension that I was feeling. I smiled gently, trying to calm her, and pulled her closer. She resisted ever so slightly, the smile she was wearing pasted onto her face.

  I pulled again, more insistently. She stumbled a little, then fell against me. Aware that we couldn’t look less like a couple, I lowered my lips to hers.

  All around us, the spoon-banging went on and on.

  Trying to ignore her deer-in-the-headlights look, I teased her lips with mine. She didn’t move. Didn’t open her lips. She just stood there. Slowly, gently, I coaxed her lips open. Slipped my tongue inside her mouth and tasted her sweetness. Sensed her vulnerability. Something inside me turned over painfully, a emotion I couldn’t name. I slid my arms around her waist and when her knees buckled, I held her up.

  I heard the spoon-banging become clapping.

  She was so warm against me, so soft; and when the tip of her tongue hesitantly touched mine, heat scorched through me, a fire I wasn’t ready for. She must have felt it, too, and been just as surprised by it. All at once, she yanked herself out of my arms and stumbled backward. The look she gave me then was wounded, like I had hurt her somehow.

  The clapping stopped. I heard a few hushed whispers. But my gaze was locked with Aubrey’s. I couldn’t look away. Something had happened between us that I didn’t understand.

  Finally, Aubrey put a hand up to her throat and dragged her gaze away. This broke the spell. I became aware of a hundred sets of eyes on us, none the least of which were John Clarke’s. I grabbed Aubrey’s arm, smiled and nodded my thanks to everyone, and brought her over to the bar.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I shouldn’t have pulled away.”

  “It’s okay,” I insisted, though I wasn’t sure it would be. “We’ll have another chance.”

  She frowned miserably. “I need a drink.”

  I waved the bartender over and ordered her some tropical thing that tasted like every other drink in Miami. “How are you doing, otherwise?”

  She groaned. “The wives of your teammates are all over me.”

  I noticed that she had her hands clasped into a fist. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”

  “That’s why you’re paying me a hundred thousand, right? Because this is so hard?”

  I stiffened a little. Here she was again, reminding me about the money. “You wanted to play, remember?”

  “I’m not sure how much longer I can last,” she continued.

  “Think about your dog rescue.” I grabbed the drink that the bartender slid toward me and passed it along to her. “If you want to get paid the full amount, you’re going to have to finish the game.”

  She toyed with the little paper umbrella that came in the drink. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Oh, sure, I know how tough it is to kiss me,” I agreed, a tinge of sarcasm entering my voice. “You’re just going to have to find a way to get through it.”

  She heaved a sigh, then picked up her drink and gulped half of it down.

  Frowning at the top of her red head, I ordered a shot of Cuban rum from the bartender. “Yeah, I need something, too. To get through this.”

  The bartender delivered the shot, and this time, it was her turn to frown as she watched me down it.

  A few moments later, some of my teammates joined us at the bar. With a lot of back-slapping and comments about how lucky I was to have snagged a babe like Aubrey, they began ordering more shots, and soon we were all getting drunk. I’m pretty sure I was the only one who noticed Aubrey slip away and head towards the opposite side of the room, where the crowd was thinner.

  Chapter 12

  Aubrey

  Chase and I had been at the engagement party for a few hours, and I was getting tired of constantly being on guard. I needed to go home. I tried to catch Chase’s attention from across the room, but he was busy entertaining a crowd of well-wishers with his effortless appeal. Men and women alike gravitated toward his natural charisma like the invisible pull of a magnet. I had been all but forgotten.

  After that first kiss at which we’d failed miserably, Chase had stuck close by my side. He kept trying to cop feels of my ass and stealing kisses under the guise of promoting our sham engagement. To be honest with myself, I hadn’t been annoyed at his juvenile behavior, but more horrified to admit a growing attraction. There was no denying the physical chemistry between us, and even the certain pride I felt at having landed such a guy. I had felt a swell of satisfaction standing next to him as his bride to be.

  Yet, it was all fake. And I resented the hell out of it. It made me feel inadequate and uncertain.

  I smiled in response to one of the football wives as she walked by tapping my arm as she passed. “I love your shoes, Aubrey.”

  I shifted on my feet, precariously balanced on the razor-thin and sky-high stiletto spikes of my brand new suede heels, which were held together by a few thin scraps of leather clasped around my ankle. Paying $800 for a pair of shoes seemed not only crazy but outright foolish at the time.

  Now I was glad I had let the sales lady talk me into buying them. My shoes were the only thing about me that was receiving any attention. Despite the hefty price tag, my white dress, which the sales lady had assured was elegant and classy, now seemed somewhat dowdy - virginal, even.

  Before we had stepped through the door of the Papillon d'Or, I’d felt like Cinderella, all dressed up for the ball. Besides the insanely expensive dress and shoes, I had splurged with Chase’s credit card and his blessing for a mani-pedi, and had my unruly hair swept up into a sophisticated yet playful up-do at a swanky hair salon. I had even imagined that I detected a beam of pride in Chase’s eye as he led me into the party. Now, I no longer felt like Cinderella. I felt like the clock had already struck midnight and I was revealed for the imposter that I was.

  No matter how hard I tried to fit in with his crowd, I just didn’t seem to live up to their expectations. It bugged me how disappointing that was to me. I tried to tell myself that my growing frustration was only because I took my job seriously, but I knew in my heart that it ran deeper than that.

  If I was going to make it through this painful night, I needed a new drink. I turned to head for the bar, but practically walked into three football wives.

  One of the women immediately
gushed at me. “Hey, Aubrey. Congratulations, honey.” If her sincerity was measured by how many octaves her voice rose, I knew her congratulations were fairly superficial. “Love that dress you’re wearing.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled politely, but suddenly felt about two inches tall.

  Another of the women added, “Well done. You managed to snag Chase Wilder when no one else could tame that beast of a man. And believe me, many have tried. What’s your secret?”

  I bit my tongue to stop myself from blurting out something rude. “No secret. Just did it the old-fashioned way.” I’d leave that up to their interpretation. With this bunch, I was sure there would be rumors flying that I was pregnant before the night was through.

  The third woman, Maggie- I remembered from earlier introductions, smiled profusely. She was obviously bombed. “Well, show us your engagement ring, Aubrey…”

  She went on babbling about carat size or something, but I didn’t hear her. My engagement ring! How could we be so stupid as to forget the ring?

  I twisted my hands together nervously. “Oh. The ring. Well, It’s being reset. Uh, it used to belong to his grandmother. I was so disappointed it wasn’t going to be ready for the party, but Chase didn’t want to postpone anything. He’s so anxious to get married!”

  All the excitement deflated from Maggie’s eye as she glanced at my bare hand. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  Stepping around them, I mumbled, “excuse me ladies, I was just heading to the bar to get a new drink.”

  I quickly made my escape, but not before I heard them erupt into a fit of laughter. Who knew if they’d bought my flimsy excuse or not? At this point I didn’t even care. I just needed to escape.

  The bar where Chase had ordered me that tropical drink wasn’t too crowded at the moment. I headed back there and sat down. The bartender glanced my way. “What’ll it be?”