His Fake Fiancée: BBW Romance (Fake it For Me Book 1)

by Fiona Murphy

  Catching my hand, he sucks on my finger before nipping at the tip. “You grow up on a council estate with dark skin, you make it a mission to learn to cut glass.”

  Huh?

  “It’s a class thing, while we’re there, you’ll hear the differences more clearly. Kind of like how people here in the States assume people with a Southern accent are less intelligent or wealthy. A cut-glass accent is more posh. You are treated differently, instantly, the moment someone hears you speak. Your upper-class status is declared without it needing to be said.”

  He shrugs. “I did what I had to do. I worked for a woman doing odd jobs, and she had the most cut accent I had ever heard. I spent a lot of time with her, listening to her go on and on about her children and grandchildren and the war. Before long it became rote—I didn’t even have to think about it. It made for less issues with schoolmates and the teachers were much more helpful as well. Old habits die hard, unless I’m around you. You make it so I can’t even remember my name sometimes.”

  I blush. He has no idea what the admission means to me.

  “Which is why I felt so bad about Rebecca saying shit about you. I know what it’s like to try and hide who you are, the guilt, but knowing it’s what you need to do to get through the day.”

  “But I don’t try and hide it.” Woah, no need to yell. I take a deep breath. “How am I hiding something when I’m not black? Because my father was Irish and pale as snow, my skin is nothing more than tan. My skin color isn’t even dark enough for most people to think I’m the Latina I am. Which is what Cuba falls under.”

  “A part of me feels guilty sometimes, like I’m denying the label because I don’t want to be considered black but that’s not it. I understand there are people in America who proudly embraced the identity as black, but the way I was raised, how my grandparents were raised it wasn’t about the color of their skin, it was the country they came from.” I sigh as I remember past arguments with other minority friends I’ve had.

  “My mom was Cuban. Her parents are Cuban and proud of that label. They never thought of themselves as black until they came to this country because it wasn’t a part of how people think in Cuba. Why is it such a big fucking deal to be defined by our skin color when it has nothing do with who we are?”

  Ivan catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them.

  “I love Abuelo, but the man is insanely racist because he’s been so beaten down by being treated like crap for so many years for the color of his skin. He wasn’t always as bad as he is now, it got way worse when Abuela died and she wasn’t there to—I don’t know, reassure him. It’s so sad how hate keeps breeding hate.”

  Sagging against him, it all comes out. “Then there’s the other guilt. I don’t have to deal with all the things my mom had to. It’s one of the reasons Abuelo was so demanding. For me and my mom and her brother, we all had to be better just to be called good for a black person.”

  Ivan nods in understanding.

  “Then there were times I think he resented me for not having to go through it, how easily I was accepted and liked. The difference between a white little girl and a black girl were playing out right in front of him and it hurt him. It’s one of the reasons I tried so hard to please him, so he would love me even though a part of him resented the color of my skin.”

  Ivan hugs me close. “I want to talk to the man, and yet it’s the last thing I want to do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, everything. Just thank you.”

  Pulling back, his hand catches the back of my neck. “If you really want to thank me, you can climb on my cock and show me how grateful you are.”

  The glitter in his black eyes hints at the laughter he’s holding in.

  “I swear you are insatiable. Not happening.” I push off his lap. “Fine, at noon we go shopping. With Lydia?”

  “Yes, with Lydia, since you liked her so much.”

  “Where’s my clip at?”

  He hands it to me.

  “Ivan, you broke it.”

  “Good, I hate when your hair is up. I prefer it down.”

  “It’s a pain in the ass when it’s down,” I grumble, hoping I have a backup clip in my bag.

  Ivan’s phone beeps, he hits a button. “What?”

  “Gemma is calling, said she’s called your phone five times, it’s an emergency. It’s about your mother.”

  I’m almost to the door. Ivan sighs, he shakes his head at me. “Go on, love. Close the door, please.”

  I want to argue, worried at what might be wrong with his mother, but I don’t dare.

  ***

  Christina

  Tim does a good job of pretending he didn’t hear anything, but I’m not doing a good job in the slightest of pretending I’m not worried. Ivan hasn’t taken any calls since Gemma called. I watched his line, and he was on the call for almost a half hour. He sent an email to me and Tim saying hold calls until he said otherwise and to clear his calendar for the rest of the day.

  Almost ten minutes ago he sent me a message telling me I would be going shopping alone. But he was adamant I should still go. I didn’t even hesitate to say okay. I wasn’t going to argue with him.

  When the time comes, Tim tells me Lawrence is waiting for me downstairs. I send Anna a text letting her know I can’t do lunch after all. She laid into me the last time I forgot. While she was happy for me hooking up with Ivan, it was not cool to leave her hanging. Her frowny face is followed by a back and forth of her suggestions on what I should buy.

  Shopping isn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be when I spend the whole time worried about Ivan. Lydia does her best to draw me out of my mood, picking the sexiest dresses that go against every one of Ivan’s commandments of no slits up the side, short skirt, or cleavage on display.

  I don’t pick all the ones she selected but enough to poke him, just a little. There are still a bunch of the dress styles he wanted me to wear, especially considering the fiancé’s conservative culture. When we are done the bill is so large I shudder.

  Lydia laughs. “Hey, all we are doing is following orders.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not intimidating as hell,” I mutter as I lift my hair off my neck, overheated after leaving it down because the clip kept getting caught while I was changing.

  “So, all of this is for the whole meet and greet of his family?”

  “Yeah, I tried arguing but he knows me too well. The idea of being around a bunch of people with a fuck ton of money is stress-inducing. I’ve come a long way thanks to Ivan’s repeated, whole-hearted love of my body, but the idea of my fat ass around all the rich, skinny bitches in Prada and G&B had me closing my mouth and following orders.”

  “Hmm...in that case, can I make a suggestion, and you please understand it’s from a place of wanting to help and not take offense?”

  Our first shopping experience already solidified Lydia would never hurt another person’s feelings if she could avoid it, so I nod.

  “I have a great relationship with a spa I think you should spend some time at. Let them give you a facial, clean up your eyebrows a little, get a manicure and pedicure and give you a haircut.

  “Your hair is beautiful but it’s too long for you to show it off the way you should—trust me, I know. Mine used to be almost as long. If you were to cut off four or five inches you would still have hair past your shoulders, but you could actually style it, not spend your days battling it.”

  I consider her words. I’ve had two manicures and pedicures and stopped because Abuelo thought it was a waste of money. I’m so sick of this hair. “Yes, please.”

  She pulls a card out of her pocket. “I called them when we stopped for a potty break. Leave now and you’ll make the appointment I set for you.”

  I give her a hug. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Have fun meeting the fam. I would wish you good luck, but you don’t
need it. Between that ring and the whole one-eighty the man has turned in the last week, they’ll be falling all over themselves to welcome you into the fold.”

  “How do you know about the one-eighty?”

  “Elise, Dmitri’s wife, is a close friend of mine. She’s dying to meet you. When you come back, we’ll do lunch. The only reason she didn’t crash us today was because she thought Ivan was going to be here. Don’t look so worried, I promise she’s the sweetest thing.

  “Elise has a soft spot for Ivan, with how closed off he is. To hear her tell it, he and Dmitri are a lot alike, well, they were before she and Dmitri got together. So she’s been hoping someone would come along and save Ivan the way she did Dmitri.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you when I get back.” The allure of hearing all about Ivan from someone who has known him for so long beats out the daunting idea of meeting Elise Markhoff.

  ***

  Christina

  Two hours later, I’m buffed and polished to within an inch of my life. While I have lost five inches of hair, it is still a few inches past my shoulders. The woman wielding the scissors swore if I cut anymore I would be crying, no matter how good it looked. Keeping it a bit past my shoulders allowed me not to see the huge difference, I would just feel all the weight gone. She’s right, it didn’t seem like I lost much, merely gained the ability to style my hair more easily and no more headaches.

  I check my phone wondering what is going on with Ivan. Determined to do anything I can to cheer him up, I make a stop at the lingerie store and take the lovely woman’s advice on all the naughtiest lingerie she offers me. I don’t even wince when I see the total—it’s worth it if it makes Ivan happy.

  When I get home, Lilly is waiting at the front door. “Thank goodness you’re home. I was beginning to worry about you too.”

  “Me too? What’s going on?”

  “Ivan’s in the gym. He got home a few hours ago and he hasn’t stopped this entire time. I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself. He said once you got home you’d both be on a plane out to Manchester.

  “I’ve already packed up all your clothes that came from the store and sent them ahead to the jet.” She points to a small carry-on. “This has your toiletries and a change of clothes for when you land.”

  Fuck. Why the hell couldn’t he have told me something was wrong? I would have come right home. Going into his home gym, I find him beating a heavy bag until I’m wondering how it hasn’t ripped apart yet. He’s wearing nothing but black sweat bottoms. Normally he plays loud, thumping hip-hop music while working out; the silence is eerie.

  He doesn’t see me, so I say his name a few times. Nothing. I yell his name but he still doesn’t stop. Reaching out, I put a hand on his back; he freezes then turns, his eyes ice cold. They flick over me, and he frowns when he gets to my hair. Yet he says nothing, just starts pulling off his gloves.

  “What’s the matter? Please talk to me.”

  “I need a shower. Have Lilly call and tell the pilot we’ll be there in forty-five minutes.” Then he walks past me out of the room.

  I’m pacing the living room when he enters. He’s suited up again, this time in black with a white shirt and black tie. Is it a funeral? Is she dead? What is going on? “Ivan, what happened?”

  He shakes his head, takes my arm and walks me out the door. Once we’re in the car, I try to take his hand. For the first time he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t pull away, but it hurts when he doesn’t take it the way he always does.

  “Will you please talk to me? What is the matter with your mom?”

  His only response is to pull his hand from mine to scroll through his phone. If he had hit me, I don’t think it could have hurt any worse.

  Boarding the plane, he settles into a corner with his laptop. For the next few hours the tension builds and builds. He buries himself in work, not stopping to eat, ignoring my every question. I can’t take it anymore and go into the bedroom and close the door.

  Breaking down, I text Hannah, asking what is going on. Her response is almost immediate.

  Mum took an overdose of pills. Ivan told her he was selling the house and she had a month to get out. Now that Gemma is moving out to live with Aari and I’m moving to London at the end of the month, Ivan had no reason to keep it. She’s out of A&E as of an hour ago and stable. So sorry you’re walking into this. Mum is a raging drama queen. This isn’t the first time she’s done this. With all the attention on Gemma, she’s gone mental.

  Oh my god, what a bitch. She’s done it before? How could she do this to him? Poor Ivan, there didn’t seem to be a shred of emotion in him for her, but this had to have hurt him deeply. I fumble a half dozen times trying to respond.

  Sorry, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’ll do my best to stay out of the way. Just here for Ivan.

  I blush at her response.

  I love you already. So grateful you’re here for Ivan. He hasn’t let anyone be before.

  Is that what’s going on? He doesn’t know what having someone he can depend on looks like, and that’s why he’s going strong and silent? What if, like making him happy, I had to show him what it looked like for someone to stand beside him no matter what?

  I fall into a restless sleep. I wake up to Ivan sliding into bed with me in the darkness. Thank god is my last thought. There are no words, no moans, the way there usually are, and I try not to worry. He is rough, then he’s greedy, then he’s so gentle I fight back tears. As I fall asleep, I cling to him, confident we’ll get through this.

  16

  Christina

  All the confidence I fell asleep with disappears minute by minute within seconds of me waking up. The flight attendant is the one to wake me, warning me we land in twenty minutes. He lets me know it’s a little after seven in the morning and that while it is chilly now, it will warm up within a few hours.

  It takes less than half the time it used to for me to put my hair in a French braid. Getting dressed, I smooth down the skirt of the chiffon halter maxi dress I’m wearing to please Ivan. It goes up to my neck and down to my ankles. The pretty coral, pink, and purple chiffon compliments my skin, and the cinched belt at my waist shows my curves without screaming them. I hate that it’s sleeveless, though, so I grab a thin pink chiffon jacket to go over it.

  Walking into the cabin, Ivan doesn’t even look up when I say good morning. I buckle into a chair at the attendant’s request with a sinking sensation in my stomach.

  The ice is back, he’s cool, no touching or looking my way on the drive to his house from the airport. I get out when the chauffer opens my door only to realize too late that Ivan isn’t. The car pulls away without Ivan saying a word.

  Weary, I turn back to what looks like a set for a PBS period drama. Not a castle exactly, but definitely not a house. The place is enormous, even the freaking door is huge. I’m still taking it all in when a woman comes outside wearing an old-fashioned maid’s uniform. She’s young, maybe early twenties.

  “Ma’am.” Odd, it sounds like she’s saying mum. “Are you coming in? Mr. Volkov says I’m to see to your needs while you’re here.”

  For a heartbeat, I imagine walking away. Ivan would follow. He wouldn’t let me get far, and maybe while he was dragging me back he’d talk to me. Only I don’t want to, not really.

  I hate the whole manipulation thing, and with whatever the hell is happening right now it would add to his stress. As angry as I am with him, I don’t want him stressed any more than he is. I nod and follow the woman.

  Walking inside, my jaw drops in awe at the large grand entryway. I didn’t know wood could be shiny, but the wood on the walls is a dark golden color gleaming under the massive crystal chandelier.

  “Would you like me to show you to your room or the drawing room? I can have cook prepare tea.”

  “I just want to lie down for a bit.” I’m getting overwhelmed, between this place and the way Ivan was behaving. I just want to hole up.

  With a nod she moves t
o the stairs. The stairs are stunning, carved in such rich detail I can’t imagine the time it would have taken to do it. I shake my head as I take in the oil paintings along the walls. This whole place is something off a movie set.

  We’re on the second-floor landing, when a woman appears.

  I have no doubt who she is. Caramel skin, jet-black hair and eyes, she looks like a Bollywood actress walking off a poster.

  “Well, well, well, you are not at all what I imagined. I had no idea Ivan has a thing for fat birds. No wonder he’s not interested in me.”

  After the last day, I am in no fucking mood. Ice settles over me, a lesson learned from Ivan. “Ivan isn’t interested in you because you’re a bratty child and he doesn’t play with children. He prefers women.”

  Turning away to follow the maid, I don’t give her another thought.

  Mishka grabs my wrist; her eyes are on my ring. “You’re a whore and you don’t deserve him.”

  I yank my arm back. “Ivan loves me. He’s going to marry me. You need to get over it and get on with your life. I get it, he’s gorgeous and every woman who meets him falls a little in love with him, but Ivan knows what he wants. There is not a single doubt in his mind, ever, there is no changing his mind. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. He wants me and I’m not going anywhere. If he had wanted you, he would have had you already. Don’t go away mad, just go away.”

  Without a look back, I follow the maid to the third floor and into a massive bedroom with a sitting area in front of a fireplace as big as I am.

  It isn’t easy, but over the next few hours I work on an acquisition I’m hoping will appeal to Ivan. I wimp out and have breakfast and lunch in the room. I’m starting to wonder if Ivan is ever coming home when he walks through the door.

  “Is she okay?”

  He goes still. “Who?”

  What? “Your mom.”

  Another freeze before a small nod. “Yes. I’m going to have a shower. Dinner is in a half hour. You look fine, no need to change.”