by Nadia Lee
Table of Contents
About This Book
Series Reading Order
Chapter One
Cleansing
Chapter Two
Never Good Enough
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Titles by Nadia Lee
About Nadia Lee
Copyright
AVA
The meek shall inherit the earth, they say.
Bullshit. Look at me now. What do I have? Nothing.
I thought I wouldn’t get past a second heartbreak. I was wrong. I never should’ve closed myself off in tears when Lucas told me he loved me. I should’ve had faith he wouldn’t betray me.
Regaining his love will mean throwing away my pride, my armor and laying myself completely bare. I have to trust that he won’t crush me at my most vulnerable.
The attempt will leave me bleeding. It might just kill me. But I definitely won’t survive knowing that I didn’t fight for what I wanted: my future.
A future with the only man I ever loved…a man more important than the very air I breathe…
LUCAS
You gotta put yourself out there to get what you want.
My ass.
I bared my heart to Ava. I begged for her trust, her love.
Instead she shattered my soul.
She’s circling me, her pretty eyes vulnerable. She won’t fool me this time. I’ll never give her another shot. I’ll break her before she breaks me…
Note: The last book in Lucas and Ava’s epic love story! No cliffhanger.
Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Reading Order
A Hollywood Deal (Ryder & Paige #1)
A Hollywood Bride (Ryder & Paige #2)
An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1)
An Improper Bride (Elliot & Annabelle #2)
An Improper Ever After (Elliot & Annabelle #3)
An Unlikely Deal (Lucas & Ava #1)
An Unlikely Bride (Lucas & Ava #2)
A Final Deal (Blake & Faith Standalone)
——
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An Unlikely Bride
Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Book 7
Nadia Lee
Chapter One
Lucas
Why are you so dirty?
What did I say about touching me when you aren’t clean? Mother’s voice is always so impatient, so full of exasperation. The muscles in my shoulders pull tight, and I start to feel small and pathetic. Don’t try to manipulate me, Lucas!
My feet are encased in the most expensive and scientifically advanced running shoes money can buy, but they can’t do anything to minimize the damage of my fucked-up gait.
Slap, slap. Slap. Slap, slap.
Fool, fool. Fool. Fool, fool.
Even the rhythm’s uneven.
The day after Ava ended what we had, I stop across the street and stare at the closed door that keeps us apart.
You’re toxic.
We’re done.
Ava’s words superimpose on my mother’s, and suddenly the pain in my left leg cuts through me, hovering over my pumping heart.
“Get cleaned up, Lucas.” Mother looks at Elliot, closes her hand around his shoulder and pulls him in for a quick sideways hug. Elliot tries to shrug her off, but she is stronger and prevails.
I ignore her command and hug her on my way to the bathroom. She pulls away, her nose wrinkling. “Lucas, look at my dress now! What have I told you about mud?”
“He’s muddy too!”
“But Elliot didn’t dirty my dress, now did he?”
My perfect twin. Lovable and worthy…and somehow I’m not. Never was.
There’s something fundamentally wrong with me that goes beyond DNA—something in my soul, perhaps. Or maybe in the way atoms clustered to form me, or the alignment of the stars when I was separating from my twin in the womb. If Ava had known Elliot, she would’ve sensed the defect in me more clearly and chosen him too. He’s always been the better choice.
My mom often told me that I was the greedy twin, the one who stole all the blood from Elliot, that he lived only because of the best care money could buy. If your father had been poorer, your brother would’ve ended up dead right in my womb!
If I want to keep Ava, I should just whisk her away someplace where nothing and no one can reach us. Why not just…take her? Who’ll know? I promised to abduct her to Paris anyway. The plane can be ready to take off anytime.
All I have to do is kick down Eva’s door. Convince her the test was bullshit, we should be together and that I’ll do everything in my power to prove I want her, not the fucking painting, not helping out my siblings.
I start to take a step, but a sliver of sanity holds me back. She’ll hate me even more if I do that. She’ll despise me, wither away. How can she thrive around something she finds toxic? If I were just a little bit more like Elliot, just slightly less offensive…
Suddenly I can’t bear it anymore. Blood roars in my head, and coherence is no longer possible. I turn and run back to my place as fast as my legs can take me. Not slowing down, I smash open the door and rush all the way to my office. There are the photos of me and my family on the mantel. A rough swipe of my arm brings them crashing down on the hardwood floor, the glass shattering. I grab one that didn’t break and hurl it against a wall, watch the expensive frosted glass frame explode into a million fragments.
In the picture, the ten-year-old versions of Elliot and me are smiling. I have no scars, and we look so alike it’s almost scary.
Wrong.
I rip it in half. Then I grab the left side—the one with me in it—and tear it again. Blood smears the glossy paper, the image of the unlovable, fucked-up child. The greedy one. The clingy one. The one who almost cost his twin his life. The one nobody can ever love.
Vaguely I sense my housekeeper Gail rushing inside. Her old, mottled hands grab at me, and I shrug them away.
“Lucas, stop. What’s wrong? You’ve hurt yoursel—”
“I hate this!” I snarl, tearing the picture one last time before flinging the pieces away.
They flutter and fall, coming to rest on the shard-strewn floor. I run a hand over my face, feel the salty sting of tears and the rough scar on my cheek.
I hate this. I hate this and I hate her and I hate him and most of all I hate myself for hating my twin and tainting all that I touch.
Cleansing
The water runs, hitting the bottom of the white porcelain sink with a hiss. It’s extremely hot, almost scalding the boy’s delicate young skin. He grits his teeth and does not c
omplain. His mother set the temperature, and he dares not adjust it and add to her anger.
His mother is furious, almost disgusted. His hands, after he’s played in the garden for a while, are filthy. Dark grime covers his palms, and some managed to get under his small, neatly trimmed nails.
He breathes harshly through his nose and teeth. He does not understand why his mother is so upset about a little dirt. It’ll come off the dress. All she has to do is give it to the housekeeper. The housekeeper always gets stains out. But Mother is upset that he touched her with his gross, dirty hands at all.
After he’s finished, he shuts the water off and wipes his hands on a clean white towel. Nothing comes off on the pristine, fluffy cotton, now slightly damp. Satisfied, he runs to his mother in the living room.
She sits in a plushy armchair, her slim legs crossed. She’s changed into a new dress—a pretty cream-colored one that makes her look sweet and loving. In her hands is a fancy fashion magazine. His mother loves good clothes.
Maybe that’s why she was upset. She cares about her outfits.
“Are you finished?” she asks, not looking up.
“Uh-huh!” He reaches out for an embrace. Surely, his mother will appreciate how well he’s done.
She pulls back. “Let me see.”
Proudly, he shows his hands, palms up. She leans forward without touching him. Her nose wrinkles as she studies his palms, then has him flip his hands so she can examine the fingernails. After what feels like forever, she slowly straightens. “Lucas, you didn’t wash very well. You see that little spot under your fingernail?” She gestures. “That’s dirt. It shouldn’t be there.”
“Where?” He brings his left hand close and stares as though he can will himself to see what his mother sees.
“Right there. I don’t understand why you can’t see it.” She sighs and goes back to the magazine. “You never see anything.”
The boy returns to the sink. He turns the water on, as hot as it was before. Then he grabs the bar of soap and finger brush and starts all over again.
Chapter Two
Lucas
The water runs, hitting the bottom of the white porcelain sink with a hiss. It’s extremely hot, almost scalding. I grit my teeth and scrub. The water has to be hot, or it won’t be effective. I know that from experience.
The cuts from two days ago reopen and bleed, but I slather more soap on my skin. The burn from the water and open wounds blend together, and I smile grimly. Burning means it’s working.
After I’m finished, I wipe my hands on a white towel and study it. It’s damp but pristine. Narrowing my eyes, I examine my hands with care—backs, palms, the tips of the fingers where a lot of people miss, the nails…every line I can see.
But I can’t stop seeing Ava, retreating from me, wiping her hand—the one that I touched—on her jeans, as though she couldn’t bear the grime.
I turn the water back on and start washing again. If I’d been more careful, if I’d just been clean, would she have been less aloof? Would she have been more receptive, tried to understand things from my point of view?
Would she have smiled when I told her, “I’m in love with you”?
She couldn’t have seen my defect, not the way Mom did. Otherwise she wouldn’t have shared herself with me in the way she did… Never like that.
Despite my not sleeping much, two days have given me some clarity and a plan of sorts.
Surely I can fix what’s broken if I just present my case better. And I understand the importance of presentation. Elliot and I would’ve never gotten the funding for our company if we didn’t know how to convince tight-fisted venture capitalists we deserved their money and confidence.
I just have to do the same with Ava…and pray that she never sees how fucked up and undeserving I am. I can probably hide all my flaws with the right props—some charity work, maybe…and spoiling her rotten until she can’t imagine going back to a life that doesn’t have me to pamper her.
But first, I have to be absolutely immaculate.
My hands are red from the hot water, and my skin stings. Still, I don’t feel clean enough.
Unable to help myself, I start the shower and strip everything off. My clothes end up on the bathroom floor in a heap. As soon as I’m naked, I hop under the water, the temperature punishingly hot.
I take soap and scrub myself, my hands rough and impatient and desperate. I have to get all the dirt off me. I have to.
And after I’m really clean, I’m going to try again. I’m going to make Ava see that I did not approach her for some fucking painting.
I keep washing, feeling like a hamster on a wheel. I’m trying so hard, but the effort… I don’t know if I’m getting the result I’m striving for.
Maybe, before I see Ava, I should run Dad’s Wife Number Three over for leaking the family’s deal to the press. It’s the least the bitch deserves for ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me. A grand gesture like that might please Ava. I think. I hope. I can’t decide anymore. My head is a jumble of ideas about how to fix what’s broken between us.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” Blake’s sharp voice shatters my concentration. “Lucas! What the hell’s going on?”
“Go away,” I say tersely. “I’m washing.” I have to be clean so I can make another run by her place. Maybe I’ll get a glimpse of her this time. I can go see her, ostensibly to give her the Lexus back. I had it detailed and waxed again this morning. It is probably the cleanest car in the state of Virginia, if not the entire country.
“I can see that.” He scowls at me from the other side of the glass stall. “The question is why?”
“Why do people wash, Blake?”
“You tell me, genius.” His lips pull apart in distaste. “Much more scrubbing and you won’t have any skin left.”
He opens the door and reaches inside, getting water all over his expensive cashmere sweater. “Goddamn it. Are you trying to cook yourself?” With an impatient, deft twist of a wrist, he shuts off the water. “Get out.” He tosses me a towel.
When I merely grip the soft cotton in my hands, he takes my wrist and drags me out. “Lucas, focus. You’ve been washing for three days now.”
“How did you get here?” I ask numbly.
“Rachel called.”
“Rachel?”
“Yeah, your assistant? Remember her? She was worried about you. I’m pretty sure she would’ve preferred to have Elizabeth here, but our sister’s a little busy. Not to mention, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for her to see you like this.” He gestures at me. “Dry off, for fuck’s sake. You’re dripping water everywhere.”
I scowl, but run the towel along my body. Dripping water is bad. It makes a mess, and nobody likes a mess. I wince at the stinging sensation; it feels like I’ve got a head-to-toe sunburn. “Why not?” I say, referring to our sister. “She always does the delicate work in the family.”
“Because she, against my advice, gave you that information about where your ex was.”
I drop the wet towel in the laundry basket and come to a halt just outside my closet. I’ve been so focused on getting Ava back that I never stopped to consider who sent me the mysterious package that got us together again. “Elizabeth knew about Ava all this time?”
A careless shrug. “Maybe. She has her own ways of finding things out. Never uses Benjamin Clark or any of the other usual PIs, so”—he spreads his hands—“how the hell should I know?”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t know who she uses either, and she won’t share the man’s name…if it even is a man. She guards the person’s identity as though it’s the Hope Diamond. But whoever it is, they’re scarily good.
“I told her to stay out of it. When people don’t stay together, it’s usually for a reason. And I was right as usual. Look at you. Just… What the fuck.”
Blake sounds disgusted, which doesn’t surprise me. Of all my siblings on the Pryce side—three total—Blake fits the image of the old-moneyed and influen
tial family the best. Not only does he have the Pryce features—the dark hair, the classic profile their men are famous for, the arrogant tilt of his eyebrows and that insolent gaze that says he’s entitled to whatever he wants—he also has the temperament to match.
“You lied to me about not knowing Ava.” He denied categorically that he and Ava ever met or had words.
He holds up a finger. “I said I didn’t remember who she was. I don’t keep track of people’s love lives. There are better uses for my brain cells. I’m sort of aware that you had an ex you broke up with two years ago, but even that’s only because of Elizabeth. She thought perhaps you’d be more amenable to smoothing things out with the girl and marrying her for a year.”
Damn Elizabeth. I know she wants Grandfather’s portrait of her… “That’s going way too fucking far.” She should’ve at least had the guts to tell me about Ava herself rather than sending an anonymous envelope.
“You should’ve never revealed you aren’t going to marry. It’s making some people very antsy.”
“Are you saying it’s my fault?”
“Yes, because you give away too much. It’s always best to play things close to your chest.”
Fucker. It’s annoying how coolly he speaks, but he isn’t saying anything untrue. Everything’s my fault, and even though I find Blake abrasive at times, I’m glad he’s here to pump some sense into me. There’s no one quite like him to ground a person.
“People who don’t give a shit tend to get what they want,” he adds. “Just look at Dad.”
Point taken. I should’ve never been so needy and pathetic, telling Ava all the things I felt about her. Did she curl her mouth in distaste when I wasn’t watching? I can just imagine…
Blake steps past, goes into my walk-in closet and tosses a blue shirt and some worn jeans my way. “Get dressed, unless you plan to parade around naked. It may thrill your housekeeper, but I’ve seen enough.”
“Good god. She’s in her sixties.” Not to mention, she seems to believe it’s her number one responsibility to mother me. She cleaned up the mess I made in my office even though I told her to not bother.
