Don't Mind If I Do : A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy

by Everly Ashton

  “I was as surprised as anyone by what my grandfather did. And you know better than anyone that my life’s goal isn’t wealth.”

  “Oh, what is it these days? Making the gossip section of the Herald?”

  Her tiny fists bunch and I smirk. I’ve gotten under her skin.

  “I see you’re still not over what happened. It’s been how long, Nick?”

  My smirk falls. “Nor will I ever be. Goodbye, Mazzy.” I spin around.

  “No, wait. I need you.”

  My eyes squeeze shut. I wish hearing those words from her mouth didn’t do something to me, but my dick stirs regardless. Fucking traitor. I turn back around to face her, some of my anger spilling out. “Why? Why do you need me?”

  “Because I won’t get any of the money from my grandfather’s estate until I’m married for six months.”

  I shake my head, chuckling. I was an idiot to think for even a second that she might have had a greater purpose. “What’s wrong, did you blow all your trust fund at Sak’s?” I stick out my bottom lip in a fake pout.

  Her eyes narrow. “No, that’s not why I need it.”

  “Why then?”

  Her chest heaves. “I just do.”

  “And that’s my cue. Take care, Mazzy. It’s been real.”

  She doesn’t try to stop me this time, and I march down the hallway to the break room, which is thankfully empty. I sit in a chair to compose myself. It’s not every day the woman who broke your heart shows up asking to be your wife.

  Nine

  Mazzy

  I’m listening to Payton go on and on about her decorator’s choices for her and her husband’s summer home and all I can think is that I could not care less. I don’t care that the chintz pattern the decorator chose is so last decade and the contractor insists that the guest house will take an additional six weeks to complete.

  The only thing that has been running through my head for the past few days since I saw Nick is that I have no idea how I’m going to fulfill the terms of my grandfather’s will so that I can help Pembrooke Financial. Oh yeah, and of course how damn good Nick looked.

  I wish that wasn’t one of the things on my mind when so many good people’s jobs are on the line, but I guess I am a shallow, shallow woman like Nick thinks. Because he looked better than good. He looked… like the man I always envisioned would be in the pictures that adorned our walls after we got married. He wears a five o’clock shadow now, and it’s a little darker than the light brown hair on his head. His eyes are the truest blue, framed with dark lashes, and he’s more muscled than I’ve ever seen him.

  But as delectable as he looks, what’s really haunting me is the look in his eyes when he looked at me. As though it pained him to do so. And that right there is how I know there is zero chance he’ll stay true to his word about a silly high school pact.

  “Mazzy, did you hear me?” Payton’s voice draws me from my thoughts.

  “Sorry, my mind wandered.” I give her a sheepish smile and take a sip of the tea the waiter left in front of me.

  “I asked if you thought navy or burnt orange would be better for the accent pillows.”

  “I’m sure either will be amazing.” I give her my most encouraging smile.

  She tilts her head to study me. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  She nods knowingly. “That’s because you don’t have a man in your life to tire you out in the sheets. You know, Thomas has a cousin who’s still single. I could introduce you.”

  Would he be willing to marry me rather than date me? “Thanks, but I’m not really into dating right now.”

  She huffs and crosses her arms. “Sweetie, you need to move on. I understand that the divorce was difficult and embarrassing, but you can’t remain single forever.”

  “Can’t I?” I don’t know why I’m argumentative today. Payton is a good friend. But she’s a fair-weather friend.

  “Of course not. You need to find someone else, move on, have babies.”

  “Or what? What will happen if I don’t do all those things?” I snip.

  She sputters as though she can’t possibly say the words out loud. Then she leans in and whispers, “People will talk and wonder what’s wrong with you. Wonder why you can’t snag yourself another husband.”

  A retort is on the tip of my tongue, but my phone ringing in my purse saves her from my heated words. “Excuse me.”

  I pull the phone from my purse and I’m shocked to see Nick Ryan on the screen. I programmed him in when I called him the first time, but never did I expect to see him calling me.

  “Hello?” I answer. I keep my voice even so that I don’t spark too much of Payton’s interest. She went to school with us and is well aware of the history between Nick and me. The last thing I need is for her to spread this through the vines before we even announce it.

  “I’ve been giving your proposal some thought and I’m willing to talk it out.”

  “Okay… now?” I glance across the table at Payton.

  “If you’re available. I thought maybe you could come to me. I have no desire to go to the city.”

  “Of course. Yes, of course I can.”

  “Great, I’ll text you my address.” He hangs up.

  It takes me a moment to pull the phone from my ear. “I’m sorry to cut lunch short, Payton, but I have to go.”

  “What? You’re just going to leave me here by myself? To eat alone?” Her voice sounds panicked.

  I shove my phone back in my purse and swipe the napkin off my lap to lay it on the table beside my salad. “I’m sorry. There are worse things than eating alone in a restaurant. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” I step over to her and lean down to air-kiss her cheek.

  “You’d better,” she calls as I rush away.

  I try not to get my hopes up that Nick changed his mind, but I feel as if there are bubbles in my veins as I stand outside and text my driver to come get me. Maybe today is the day things start going my way.

  Nick’s opinion on wealth obviously hasn’t changed, so I have my driver take me home to grab my car, and I drive over to Nick’s house by myself. Though pulling into his driveway in a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car isn’t much better, it shows more independence than having a driver.

  I’m not sure what I expected his place to be like, but it wasn’t this. He lives in an older home with cream-colored cedar shake outside, except for the stone chimney that separates two windows on the left side of the house. On the other side is the front door and a porch with a couple of olive-colored chairs. The house looks well cared for and not overly opulent. It’s what I might think of as homey versus the contemporary bachelor pad I expected.

  My stomach somersaults as I step out of the car and walk up the bricked pathway to the front porch. I thank my lucky stars I was out for lunch when Nick called—at least I’m not sporting a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Despite what people might think, I’m not the vainest person, but let’s be honest. Any time you have to be in the same room with someone you used to like, you want to look good. No one wants to look like the hot mess express in front of an ex. Although technically Nick’s not an ex, it sure as hell feels like he is.

  I ring the bell and wait, fiddling with the zipper on my purse. I hear movement behind the door, and when it swings open, Nick stands there with a scowl marring his handsome face. Someone observing this scene would think he’s not happy to have me here, when in fact he invited me.

  “Hi,” I say before he gives me his first snippy response of what I’m sure will be many, invitation to be here or not.

  “You didn’t have to get the full glam to come over.” His gaze trails from my head all the way down to my toes.

  I suck in my stomach and stand straighter so my chest pushes out more than usual, still wanting to look good to this man. “I was at lunch when you called.”

  “Ah yes. Ladies who lunch. That was my mother’s full-time vocation when I was g
rowing up.” He steps back from the door and waves me in.

  I accept his invitation and ignore his dig, walking into what is a lovely home with neutral décor. It looks lived in and inviting—like some place I’d want to stay awhile. Nothing like the showpieces we grew up in, with their uncomfortable antique furniture and priceless art.

  “I was surprised to hear from you.”

  “Not more surprised than I was to be making the call, believe me.” He gestures for me to follow him into the living room.

  I sit on the couch and he chooses to sit in the chair farthest from me. My gaze washes over the room. “How long have you been here?”

  “We’re not going to play catch up like old friends.”

  “Must I remind you that you’re the one who invited me here?” I’m tired of taking his shit. I know I hurt him—terribly—and I would do anything to go back and change the past, but I can’t. I had to come to terms with the fact that I did something I’m not proud of and I accepted the consequences, but I won’t take hit after hit just for his amusement.

  “I’m well aware. Let’s just get down to it. I gave your proposition some more thought…”

  A fission of excitement tickles my stomach from the inside. “And?”

  “And I want to help you out.”

  I tilt my head because that was so fast, I feel a catch. I should be doing my happy dance despite the four-inch stilettos I’m wearing, but I want to know what changed his mind. “Why?”

  He looks uncomfortable, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “I have my own situation I need help with.”

  “Does this have something to do with the video of you making out with the nurse?” Setting my purse on the cushion beside me, I cross my legs and don’t miss the way his gaze dips to watch. I may purposely slide them together once or twice. Oh, you’d do it too.

  A frown line appears between his brows when he narrows his eyes at me. “I see Google has been your friend.”

  I shrug, unashamed. “I tried to dig up some intel on you before I reached out. I didn’t know if you were already married.”

  He guffaws as if that’s the stupidest thing in the world. “Not likely. I like my relationships like I like my women—short and sweet.”

  I roll my eyes, but the image of Nick being a playboy of some sort and working his way through various women sends a dull ache through my body.

  “Who is the nurse to you then?” I try not to show how eager I am for his answer.

  “No one. Just a colleague who can’t take no for an answer.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means she’s been pursuing me for a while, and I’ve turned her down every time. That video that was leaked missed the part where she ambushed me, and I pushed her away. Regardless, the hospital board is pissed and wants me to clean up my act. Garner some good press for myself and the hospital as a by-product.”

  “And marrying me will help you achieve that.”

  “Being married to Mazzy Pembrooke will help my image and hopefully restore me into the board’s good graces. And at the same time, get Lucy, the nurse, to back off.”

  I nod while blood dances in my veins. I’m going to save Pembrooke Financial! “Makes sense. When do you want to do this?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  A whoosh of air leaves my lungs. I can’t believe it. I’m going to marry Nick Ryan. My fifteen-year-old self is high-fiving me right now.

  Ten

  Nick

  The look of relief on Mazzy’s face makes me curious what her plan is once she gets her hands on her grandfather’s money, but at the end of the day, I don’t really care. I want to get what I need out of this arrangement and move on.

  “But first we need to figure some things out.”

  She nods. “Sure, okay.”

  “What do you need for this to work on your end?” I ask.

  Her forehead wrinkles in confusion, which surprises me. I figured everyone in her circles would’ve been heavy on the Botox. “I told you, I need for us to be married for six months.”

  “Right, but what does that mean to you? For instance, I need this marriage to look like the real deal. It’s not going to help me at all if people are questioning its authenticity.”

  She nods in understanding. “Right, okay. So we need to be seen in public, go to events and that kind of thing.”

  “As much as it pains me, yes.” The idea of returning to Boston society nauseates me, but it’s the fastest and easiest way to get out the word that Nick Ryan is a respectable one-woman man.

  “That seems easy enough. Any conditions of your own?”

  “No one in my life can know the real reason we’re doing this,” she says. “As far as everyone in my life is concerned, they need to think we’re in love.”

  “And how exactly are we going to sell that since most of the people in your world know about our falling out?”

  Shame crosses her features at the mention of the end of our… whatever it was. I’m surprised I don’t feel more elation at seeing her uncomfortable. Instead it makes me want to change the subject.

  She seems to think for a moment. “We tell everyone we ran into one another unexpectedly somewhere and rekindled what we once shared, then we ran off to get married because we didn’t want to waste another moment when we’d already lost so much time together.”

  “That’ll work.” I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at me. With regret. As if maybe she wishes what she’s saying were true.

  Whatever.

  “So when do you want to do it?”

  When I hear the word “it,” my mind goes to sex and the consummation of our marriage, which just goes to prove that men can be led around by their dicks. I don’t even like this woman, but with the slightest suggestion, I’m thinking about what it would be like to sleep with her.

  “If by ‘it’ you mean get married, the sooner the better. You need six months, right? That should be more than enough to turn my image around too. After that, we can get a quickie divorce, say the whole thing was a mistake and that we’re better off as friends than spouses, and never see each other again. Deal?”

  She hesitates, but eventually nods. Still, I see something clawing at her from the inside. I may not have seen her for nearly a decade, but I knew her twice as long as that. As it turns out, I can still read her emotions.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just… after this, I’ll be divorced twice.” The corners of her mouth tilt down.

  “Well, maybe the third time will be the charm for you.” I wink and stand from the chair. “Glad we got this all sorted.”

  “Wait.” She raises a hand, and with a beleaguered sigh, I sit back down. “We have more to figure out. Where are we going to live? When and where are we going to get married?”

  How the hell hadn’t I considered the fact that we’d have to live together? Can I live with this woman without wanting to lash out at her every moment of every day? I’m not sure. But I do know one thing. “I’m sure as hell not living in Boston, so you’ll have to live here.”

  She glances around the space as if assessing whether it will fulfill her needs.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re going to have to rough it.”

  She stiffens. “Fine. I’ll have some of my things brought over before the wedding. Which will be…”

  I shrug. “Sooner the better. I’ll let you figure out the details, though I think even with your money, you’ll be hard-pressed to pull together a lavish ceremony like your first wedding in such a short amount of time.”

  The pictures from her first wedding—which were strewn all over the Boston Herald society section—float through my mind, making me tighten my fists on the sides of the chair.

  “I don’t want a wedding like my first one.” Her voice is small and full of pain, but that’s not going to soften me.

  “Good. Let’s just head down to city hall or something.”

  She shakes her head
. “Someone will call the press and they’ll be ready to pounce the minute we leave. I think we should control the narrative on this one. Put the announcement in and send in a picture.”

  “Whatever. As long as it’s done and people know about it.”

  She looks around my space. “What if we do it here? What’s your backyard like?”

  “Depends on who you’re inviting.”

  “No one.”

  The idea of having lifelong memories of marrying Mazzy at my house doesn’t thrill me. Thinking about being here after this rouse is over and she’s gone back to her life in Boston isn’t ideal. Then again, she’s living here, so by the time this is over she’ll be imbedded into every inch of this house. And the last thing I want is a big wedding, so whatever, I need to suck it up. “It’ll do.”

  “Great. We’ll need witnesses.”

  “I can take care of that. Do you remember Ollie? He’s engaged. He and his fiancée can be our witnesses. Unless you want one of your friends to stand up for you?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want anyone from my world there.”

  “Perfect, we’re actually on the same wavelength for that. All right, count them in then. Just let me know the details when you have them.”

  “Wow. We’re really going to do this,” she whispers.

  If you’d asked me a month ago whether I’d ever agree to this, I’d have said you were batshit crazy. But Dr. Schwartz called me yesterday to tell me the board is putting pressure on him to get rid of me, and I refuse to give up what I worked so hard for.

  Marrying Mazzy isn’t ideal, but it works to reach my end goal.

  Eleven

  Nick

  It takes a few days for Ollie and me to sync our schedules to be able to head out for a beer so I can fill him in on what’s going on. It’s not really a conversation I’m looking forward to. My best friend can be uptight and has a tendency to look at what can go wrong with a situation rather than what can go right.