by Eva Luxe
“Yeah well I appreciate you helping me carry out my mother’s purpose and now helping me honor my father’s memory as well,” I say.
“There’s nothing I like better than cooking,” Nikki interjects and I laugh because I know she’s being facetious. She hates to cook. But she loves me and does what I want. “But seriously I’m really glad I got to see you before you were whisked away to some far away land in your new life as a princess,” she says.
“Me too,” Nikki says, and comes over to kiss me on my cheek.
Aunt Ashley comes up to me and gives me a hug, our aprons bumping into each other in the process.
“I’m really gonna miss you, kiddo,” she says. “But I’m so proud of you.”
“This is all thanks to my fairy godmother,” I tell her. “And you know you can come visit me anytime.”
Soon it’s time for the residents to be served so we stand in line to feed them dinner.
“We’re sure going to miss you,” say so many of the different staff, residence and co-volunteers. “We’ll make sure to send you more stories of your mother as we think of them,” they say.
I can’t believe I’m really leaving.
But once we’re done volunteering, and my Prince intertwines his dirty fingers with mine to lead me to where our chariot— or his servant driving a limo— awaits outside to take us to our new life, I’m beginning to think that ours is really a fairy tale story and that it really does have a happy ever after.
Extended Epilogue
Ella
The sun is rising as our plane lands in Ambrosia after an overnight flight and it’s one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. I’m tired, but it’s the hazy kind of tired that puts me into a dream-like state and makes me feel like I’m viewing everything through a lens of happiness.
“I’m so glad you could come here with me,” Gregory says, kissing my head.
“So now that we’re fake married, that’s all I get?” I tease him, lifting my lips up to him for a better kiss. “Fake wifey just gets a peck on the head? I’ve been downgraded, kiss-wise?”
“All right, all right,” he says, meeting my lips for one of those full, passionate kisses I love so much. “Geez, you drive a hard bargain.”
“I want breakfast in bed, sex on the Baltic Beach, and long, deep kisses from my Prince,” I demand.
“I think those are all requests I can fulfill,” he says, with a laugh. “I guess you’re not that hard to please after all.”
“You two calm down back there,” his mom calls from the seat in front of us. “You’ll make everyone else jealous.”
Some strangers sitting next to her turn around and smile at us, and she brags to them, “This is my son, I’m sure you know him, Prince Gregory, and his new wife, Princess Ella. Yep, they’re newlyweds.”
Leave it to Queen Calinda Carringly to make a big spectacle out of everything, I think. But it’s cute that she’s so proud of us. She took the news of the switcharoo quite well, considering. In fact, she seemed relieved that Gregory hadn’t married Meredith.
And she seems to have taken a quick liking to me. I guess you could say she approves of our marriage, even though she knows it’s a fake marriage, and she’s rooting for it to become real. I secretly— or maybe not so secretly— am too.
“Awww, how sweet,” says one of the ladies, in response to my new “mother in laws” bragging.
“Is that your name?” asks the other one, extending a hand to me over the seat in between us. “It’s nice to meet you. I could have sworn the papers said something else…”
“In the United States she goes by Meredith, as it’s common to go by your middle name there. But here in Ambrosia she’ll go by Ella since that’s her first name,” Calinda quickly says.
She’s been prepared with this explanation since Gregory and I talked to her and told her the truth. It’s not much of an “explanation” but it’s the best she could come up with. She thinks it’s better to get out in front of the questions and tell everyone my name up front, rather than the other alternatives we discussed, which were to just wait and see if they remembered Meredith’s name, or even to say I’m Meredith for a while and then say I’ve decided to by Ella because Meredith is harder for the locals to say.
Gregory had said there’s no way he’s letting anyone call me by that wretched name; they’ll call me by my real name. I was glad he’d said that, and I agreed with him, as I certainly wouldn’t want anyone calling him Paul!
“I see,” says the lady, with a slightly confused shrug.
She must not care that much, because she’s quickly onto the next topic of interest.
“So, I heard you had what Americans call a ‘shindig’ to celebrate your ceremonial marriage in Denver.”
“Yes,” I tell her, even though no American I know regularly calls anything a “shindig.”
“And when do you plan to have a real, royal wedding here at the Palace?” she asks, boldly.
I look at Gregory and give an awkward laugh.
“I don’t know, honey… when do you think?”
He smiles and says, “As soon as we recover from that big shindig we had out there, ya’ll. Yee haw!”
The lady gives a frozen smile, clearly not likely the vague answer, and turns back around in her seat after saying “Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you… Ella.”
I bury my face in Gregory’s chest, trying not to laugh out loud.
“You really picked up some American English while you were in Denver,” I tell him. “I’m impressed.”
He shrugs, and whispers, “Whatever it takes to get rid of the lookey-loos.”
He squeezes my hand and adds, “I like her idea about the real royal wedding, though. We’ll have to look into that.”
I smile as I snuggle against his strong chest, my face buried into his warm neck.
I have a feeling I’m going to love living here in Ambrosia. Or anywhere with him.
***
When we arrive at the Royal Palace, I’m stunned by its beauty and splendor. There are crystal staircases, marble floors and stain glassed windows. I can’t believe this is going to be our new home. Everything in my life has changed so much, for the better.
“I have someone I’d like to introduce you to,” Gregory says, taking my hand and leading me to a bedroom off one of the long hallways.
“Oh yes,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “I’m excited to meet your dad.”
He cautiously opens the door and his dad, who looked as if he was sleeping at first, wakes up quietly, one eye blinking at us.
“Hey Dad, how are you doing?” Gregory asks, as he approaches him and hands him a glass of water from the bedside table.
“I’m doing a bit better, these days,” he says, but then he begins hacking and wheezing.
My heart hurts for the man, and for Gregory. If this is what doing “better” looks like then I would hate to see “worse.” I found the shock of both of my parents’ deaths to be hard, but now I realize I can’t imagine what it would be like to watch them slowly suffer.
“Dad, I wanted to introduce you to Princess Ella,” Gregory says, motioning for me to step forward.
I approach the King and hold out my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” I say, realizing for the first time I don’t really know what to say when meeting royalty.
His dad can barely raise his hand to meet mine, let alone shake it, but he smiles and looks up at Gregory.
“You did a great job, Son.”
Then to me, he says, “Very pleased to be able to meet you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Gregory says, almost visibility swelling with pride. “She wasn’t the princess I was going to marry. I pulled a last minute switch.”
“Your mother told me,” the King says, laughing softly, which causes more wheezing. When it calms down, he says, “You about gave her a heart attack. But I think you did the right thing. Which is what I had told you to do— follow your he
art.”
“You’re right, Dad,” Gregory says. “I followed my heart and it steered me to Ella.”
The King gently pats my hand. “That’s great. Exactly what I would have wanted for you both.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“I’m going to give Ella a tour,” Gregory tells his dad. “We’ll be back later.”
“Sure, Son,” his dad says. “I appreciate you dropping in. Come back whenever you want to play some Gin Rummy,” he says to me, with a wink.
“I sure will,” I promise.
Gregory is quiet and somber for a moment as we leave. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about his dad in front of him.
But as we get further away, his tone becomes more playful.
“When I told my dad I was giving you a tour, I didn’t mean of the Palace,” he says. “Nor the Castle. Not just yet, anyway.”
“Oh really?” I ask, loving the mischievous sparkle in his eye.
“Really. I need to give you a tour of the beach first.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me.”
As we walk outside and around the garden and courtyard, I’m amazed at how much land the Palace sits on. And yet also how close to the ocean it is at the same time.
“This is gorgeous,” I say, looking at the blue expanse of ocean, clearer than I’ve ever seen it look anywhere.
“Just like your eyes,” Gregory says, pulling me close and kissing me.
I’ve never felt so comforted as I do in his embrace.
“Well, I promised you sex on the beach,” he says, leading me to an enclave in the sand, in between two large rock formations. “And the good thing about being royalty is that this is private, secluded land.”
“Oh darn,” I joke, as he begins removing the blouse I’m wearing. “There goes the excitement of wondering if we’re going to get caught.”
“Oh,” he says, as he drops my skirt down in the sand, falling beside me shirt. “I wouldn’t say that. There are still a lot of people who can come on the beach. Family and friends of family. Trespassers. Groundskeepers.”
“I see,” I tell him, as he traces his fingers down my stomach and back up again, before taking off my bra and panties, and my shoes. “I figured you would like it better that way.”
“Mmmm,” he says, kissing me as he begins to rub my nipples. “I like it any way with you.”
He lays me down in the sand and the water begins to lap at my legs. His tongue travels up the expanse of my thighs, until it rests on my clit. Then it makes slow circles, teasing, taunting me, drawing it out until finally he’s sucking on it hard and fast as the waves pound our bodies.
“Yes,” I tell him, feeling electricity running all throughout my body. “That feels so good.”
I grab his head and move it up and down while he licks and sucks me to the rhythm. He alternates playing with my nipple and then fingering my pussy.
“Yes,” I cry out, an orgasm causing my whole body to spasm. “Oh my God, Gregory, yes!”
I lay panting in the water for only just a minute. Because then he flips me over so I’m doggy style in front of him, with my legs spread open, ready to take him. He takes off the clothes he was still wearing and puts on a condom.
“Are you ready?” he asks. “Here comes your sex on the Baltic Beach.”
“I’m ready,” I tell him, my pussy throbbing for him, aching for him.
He plunges his cock into me, filling me up completely. I grab ahold of some sand and rocks, anything to steady my balance while he pounds me like the waves are pounding both of us.
“I love to fill your tiny, tight pussy hole with my cock,” he says, thrusting in and out of me.
I reach underneath me and grab a hold of his balls.
“Oh yeah that feels so good,” he says. “I love it when my good little princess is so dirty and bad.”
He squeezes my ass and then slaps it.
“You’re being such a bad little girl,” he says, spanking my ass over and over again, to the rhythm of the rocking ocean.
I grit my teeth, loving the pleasure mixed with pain as he plows into me.
“I love how your big cock fills me up,” I yell out, so that he can hear me over the waves. “It’s all the way inside me.”
“Yeah,” he says, “stuffed deep and tight in your pussy. It’s a perfect fit.”
I look around to see if anyone else is approaching the beach. They’re not, but Gregory’s right—it’s exciting to think that they could walk up and see him fucking me, making my whole body shake with an orgasm.
“I’m coming,” I yell out, up into the sky, out into the ocean, my screams joining those of the waves and the seagulls. “I’m coming on your cock.”
“Good,” Gregory says, thrusting into me, and then I can feel him throbbing inside me. “Because I’m coming too.”
He grunts and groans, and says “Oh, my little Princess, you make me feel so fucking good.”
And then we both collapse into the sand, letting the sea meet our most intimate areas, mixing dirt and little rocks and seashells into our hair and our legs.
“I love you, my Prince Charming,” I tell him, as he reaches his head over to kiss me— deeply and passionately, which is our new rule.
“I love you too, Princess Ella,” he says. “And I’m so glad I found my perfect fit.”
THE END.
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Dr. Fake Fiancé: A Virgin and Billionaire Romance
Copyright 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Chapter 1 – Elizabeth Jane
Ten minutes isn't very long. But it feels like an eternity every time I'm waiting for my mom to pick me up in the parking lot by Messer Hall. I swear, I'm the only person whose mother still picks her up from school every day. And "school" for me is now college. So that’s how pathetic it is.
Ten minutes is the amount of time it takes my mom to drive to my campus after she gets out of work, which ends at the exact same time as my last class of the day— evolutionary psychology. That’s pretty fast in terms of a commute time. But it’s plenty of time for a lot of things I don’t want to happen to happen.
For instance, right now Michelle walks by me on her way to her car and doesn’t talk to me. And then Diana walks by and does talk to me.
I don’t know which scenario is worse. Because I have social anxiety, both are bad. The first makes me wonder why barely anyone talks to me. The second reminds me that it’s because I’m weird.
“Hey there, Elizabeth Jane," Diana calls out to me.
I envy her stride— a subtle swagger that combines assertive confidence with laid back unconcern. My walk has always been more self-conscious— when I actually have to walk somewhere instead of fading into the background like the wallflower I am.
“Hi Diana.”
We sit next to each other in class and sometimes talk afterwards—I guess you could say we’ve become friends. Except “friends” isn’t really something I “do”— because of both my shyness and my over-protective mother who is always telling me that everyone’s out to get me.
“Want a ride?”
“Nah, I can’t…”
I trail off, hoping she leaves before my embarrassing mother shows up.
“Your mom coming to get you again?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
My eyes dart back and forth along the road leading to the campus from the main street. I’m praying that I don’t see my mom’s car driving along it.
“That’s what you said last time,” Diana says. “You know, you’re always free to grab a ride with me. Th
at way she doesn’t have to go out of her way. You live over near Ridgemont So, do I. So, your house is on my way to campus.”
Now I have to force my eyes not to widen in surprise. I’m paranoid, wondering how she knows where I live.
“The Wright dissertation,” she says immediately, as if reading my mind and answering my question for me.
That’s right. I remember we worked on a class project together— a dissertation on Wright’s Moral Animal— and we had to fill out our addresses on the information sheet.
I nod.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I appreciate the offer.”
She glances at me as if expecting me to continue— to tell her I’ll take her up on it next time or offer some reason why I can’t. I get that this is how a normal conversation— average human interaction— is supposed to go.
But I have no excuse to turn down her offer to give me a ride that anyone would understand. Just an overbearing, mortifyingly embarrassing mother who insists on taking me everywhere I need to go and picking me back up again.
I’ve tried to gently request— and then openly protest— this “preference” of my mom’s, but her response is always to remind me that I live under her roof and she pays my college tuition, so I must do as she says. Then she quotes her favorite Bible verse to me, from Ephesians, which reminds me that if I obey and honor my mother, things will go well with me and I will live long in the land.
The way she arches her eyebrows and squints her eyes at me after that line is her way of adding her own subtle threat at the end: “And if you don’t, then things won’t go well with you and you won’t live long in the land.”
I swear, my mom should write her own book of the Bible; she is straight out of the Old Testament sometimes.
Now, waiting for Diana to leave, I shift my weight from one foot to the other (which reminds me that I need to go on a diet soon or my mother will give me a lecture about sloth and gluttony). The other times that Diana has offered to give me a ride home, she has eventually taken no for an answer, but this time she seems more insistent, or at least intent on talking to me more.
