Fake Wife Needed (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Mia Carson

  “Good, because I… uh, I can’t have them anyway. Kids, I mean,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  A twinge of concern flickered in his mind. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, shit happens.” She turned to face him. “Look, I know you have questions about my past, and eventually, I might tell you.”

  “No, you will tell me. That’ll be part of the agreement,” he insisted. “It doesn’t have to be soon, but I’m willing to open my life to you. I expect the exact same from you.”

  She clenched her jaw as she straightened. “If you really want to know.”

  “I do,” he said and took another step closer. “I want to know why you flinch when I raise my voice or a hand, or when I suddenly step closer to you. Why you look like a rabbit caught in a trap all the time. I saved you, and like I said before, I deserve some damn answers.”

  “Aren’t you the gentleman?” she snarled, but her voice shook.

  “No, I’m not,” he divulged. “I’m the furthest thing from a fucking gentleman you’ll find in this whole city, but for better or worse, you look like you’re stuck with me.”

  Max wished deep down he could be that man. Suave and handsome, say the sweet things and flirt, but he had been a blunt, hard kid and hadn’t changed. After the accident, he turned into an even harder man and assumed the personality of the man people thought he was before he ever opened his mouth. The scar defined him—or it had with everyone but Mia. He knew without a doubt that she saw him when she looked at him, not the scar.

  When she still looked uncertain, he held out a hand for her to shake and waited patiently for her to take it. Hesitantly, she slipped her petite hand into his larger one. “We may not always get along,” he warned her, “but I swear on my life I will never hurt you, Mia. You’re safe with me. You can trust that.”

  She held his hand tighter in hers. “Destros.”

  “What was that?”

  “Mia Destros. That’s my full name.” Her stormy grey eyes rose to meet his, and a streak of defiance appeared in their depths.

  “I’ll have my lawyer draw up papers. In the morning, we’ll go shopping, and you will be Mrs. Maxwell Ward by tomorrow night.” He released her hand reluctantly, and the subtle shift to her body said she was growing uncomfortable being so close. “You sure this won’t be a problem—to act like you love me around family?”

  She smiled brightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve played a happy woman for longer than I can remember, Max. Don’t worry about little ol’ me.”

  “I won’t,” he muttered. She strolled away, grabbed her duffel, and disappeared down the hall. The door shut more loudly than was necessary, and his body hunched forward as he buried his hands in his pockets. Now he had a last name. After he called the lawyer to draw up the papers, he’d do a little digging on her and see what he could find. Then he’d hit the gym on the floor above the penthouse and work off his sudden, pent-up energy.

  He’d spent barely a full day with Mia, and already, he cared about her, wanted to know what she was hiding from and why she’d had to spend her life playing the part of a happy woman. The fear in her eyes told him one thing: as soon as he learned the truth, he would be hell bent on tracking down this person and ensuring he ruined his life as much as the fucker had ruined Mia’s.

  5

  Married. She would be married tomorrow. The idea was foreign to her, and Mia expected to wake up from this crazed dream, but every time she opened her eyes, she was in Max’s penthouse. Night fell over the city before she left the bedroom again to find a note taped to her door. She took it down, reading the words aloud as she walked.

  “Went to work out in gym upstairs. Help yourself to fresh food in fridge, booze in cabinet over oven. Lawyer will need the following information.” She flipped the paper over. “Well, that man certainly knows how to be romantic.”

  This was not the marriage she had dreamed about as a kid, but when she was a kid, she’d hoped she would never fall in love. Her parents’ relationship had been abusive. She grew up watching her mom being beaten down by a husband who thought she couldn’t do anything right, his daughter no better. Mia’s hand slipped to her stomach, remembering the one and only beating she’d ever received from her dad for trying to stop him from punching her mom in the face again. He’d kicked her hard enough that it would continue to hurt her even after he dropped dead of liver failure. She would never have children of her own. The one thing she could thank her father for, as twisted as it was. She had hurt enough to go to the hospital, though they didn’t take her for several days. She’d had an infection and the scar tissue to go with it. Her chances of having a child without surgery, which probably wouldn’t do much anyway, were extremely low.

  Rather than her dream marriage, she was selling herself into a marriage with a man she didn’t know. At least he swore he would never hurt you, a voice whispered. Do you believe him?

  When he’d said those words, she considered calling him out on it and laughing in his face. He might be gruff, but the honesty in his blue eyes shone back at her. She sensed deep in her bones that he told the truth. What was the harm in being married for four years? It would give her a chance to get her life together and figure out what she wanted to do and where she could go. She didn’t believe in love anymore. It was a fairy tale, a faraway concept she wanted nothing to do with.

  Mia found the takeout pasta in the fridge and heated it up while she jotted down the missing information for the lawyer on the back of the note and added one more item to her list. Wondering what he would think of that, she smirked and found more tape to put the note on his bedroom door. It was closed, and her curiosity nearly got the better of her. However, it seemed wrong to push her luck when he’d offered her what was essentially a new life and a new identity. Once there was food in her stomach, she pushed a chair over to the cabinet over the stove and peeked at his liquor collection. Keith had never let her drink. He said it would only harm her in the long run and she would turn into an alcoholic like her drunk of a mother.

  “Fucking son of a bitch,” she snapped as she snagged a bottle of tequila and stepped off the chair. She pulled off the cap, and without bothering to find a shot glass, she pressed her lips to the bottle and drank. The harsh taste caused her to cough, but she wiped her mouth on her arm and took another as the last two years of her life played out for her like a filmstrip.

  Keith telling her she had to quit school, that she wasn’t smart enough to finish her degree in writing. That her poetry was shit and drivel, not good enough for him to wipe his boots on. Him telling her she had to wear makeup if she left the house so no one could see her massive pores. How she had to wear her hair long because only beautiful women and women of worth wore their hair long enough for a man to tangle his hands in it. Picking out her clothes. Not letting her get a license, carrying on a tradition from dear, old Dad. With every thought, she took another sip until the bottle was half empty. The liquor made her giddy, and she giggled even as tears burned her eyes.

  She managed to stagger into the bathroom in the hallway and gripped the bottle in her white-knuckled grasp as she stared at her reflection.

  You think you can escape me? Keith’s voice snarled in her mind.

  Mia whipped around, her heart thundering in her chest, but he wasn’t there. “Go away,” she whispered.

  Why? No man will ever have you, Mia. They can’t. You belong to me and no matter what, you’ll always come back to me.

  “I said go away!” she screeched.

  You’ll ruin this, just like you ruin everything else. It’s your fault your dad beat your mom, your fault for everything. Always your fault… you’ll never escape… never…

  Mia screamed and raised the bottle to smash into the mirror but stopped herself just in time. Her nostrils flaring and eyes raging, she set the bottle down slowly and tugged on a strand of her long hair. She dug through the bathroom cabinets but didn’t find what she wanted, so she ran back to the kitchen,
unsteady on drunken legs, and grabbed the shears from the knife block. When she returned to the bathroom, she fumbled with the scissors and picked up a heavy lock of hair. It was well past her shoulders and hung down her back.

  And she hated every inch of it.

  The sound of the scissors slicing through her thick hair sent a thrill of freedom through her body. She watched it fall to the floor in a chunk and, grinning madly, grabbed another chunk and then another. Keith’s voice faded from her mind the more she cut off. When Mia finally set the shears down and ran her hands through her messy, shoulder-length haircut, the smile that lit her face reached her eyes, something she’d missed for years.

  “Nice to see you again,” she whispered to her reflection.

  She scooped up the hair and tossed it in the bin, returned the scissors to the kitchen, and taking the tequila bottle with her, contented herself with watching the night go by outside her windows. This was the start of a new life with possibilities laid out at her feet. When she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, she curled up in a ball under the covers and let sleep take her, not fearful, for once, of who might join her in bed or what he might try to do.

  Mia’s note in hand, Max relayed the missing information to the lawyer, including her added bit about him ensuring she acquired her driver’s license. He made a cup of coffee while he waited for her to wake up, pondering how she had reached the age of twenty-five without one, when he heard the bedroom door open.

  “We have a long day ahead of us, so get your breakfast and coffee if you want and then we have to go,” he said and lifted his head. She held her head, squinting against the bright sunshine pouring through the penthouse, but it wasn’t her hungover state he was curious about. He’d noticed the missing bottle of tequila when he went for the whiskey. “Haircut?”

  She reached for a k-cup and popped it into the coffee maker. “Yeah. You like it?”

  The edges were jagged and anyone could tell she’d done it herself, but the fire he spotted in her eyes flared to life as he leaned his hip against the counter. “Suits you better.”

  She smiled at him, and he cleared his throat, holding up the note. “Did you see what I added?”

  “I did and passed it all onto the lawyer. How do you not have a license?”

  Her shoulders stiffened—barely, but he still caught it. “Things happened and I never needed one.”

  “That’s a lie,” he muttered.

  “What did you say?” she snapped, turning around.

  “I said that’s a lie, but if you don’t want to tell me the truth yet, fine.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” she repeated angrily.

  He drank the rest of his coffee to prevent anything worse from slipping out of his mouth. “Right, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Going to the lawyer’s first, then shopping, and then Jeremy is meeting us at a chapel out of the way.”

  “You were able to plan a wedding just like that?” she asked, almost sounding impressed.

  “I bribed the local pastor, so yes,” he informed her. “Be ready to leave.”

  “And my license?” she pressed as he walked away.

  “We’ll get it within the first two weeks. It’s in the contract,” he told her and went to finish getting himself ready.

  The night before, his workout had helped ease his tension and get him to sleep, but less than five damn minutes with this woman and he was wound tighter than a top again. There was no time before their long day of venturing for him to work it off again, so he would have to find another way to deal with it. A quickie would’ve done nicely, but they’d agreed sex was not on the table—unless she wanted it to be, of course. Max never turned down sex with a beautiful woman.

  Her chopping off her hair so drastically got the gears turning again in his mind. Why had she cut it off? The long locks were gorgeous on her, and he knew plenty of women who would be jealous of such fine-looking hair.

  The man she was with before… it had to tie back to him. Max resisted the urge to go back and corner her until she answered him. Today was meant to be a happy day for most people, and he was basically buying himself a wife, one who would fake happy whenever necessary to uphold her end of the deal. He pulled on his dress slacks, white shirt, black vest, and silver tie, then shoved his arms through the sleeves of his matching black jacket. The shopping was mostly for her benefit. He wasn’t marrying a woman in jeans and a t-shirt, or allow a woman get married in such a fashion. It was her day as much as it was his, and she deserved something nice to wear. From the state of the clothes in that duffel, she wasn’t used to anything fancy, and Max’s chest swelled because he would have the chance to spoil her.

  “Don’t get attached,” he warned himself as he straightened his tie in the mirror. “This is a business deal, nothing more.”

  His nerves told another story. The last time he was nervous around a woman was the first time he took one to bed after the car accident had ruined his face. She was the woman he swore he would love forever, but she’d ripped his heart out and torn it to shreds, stomped on it for good measure, and then threw him to the side as if he were trash. He’d vowed that day he would no longer search for love, that he didn’t care if he ever found it.

  “Ready?” Mia called from the doorway.

  “Yeah,” he growled and scooped his keys off the dresser. His eyes slipped from her new haircut to the bulky sweater that hid the curves he imagined existed under there, and to the worn-out shoes on her feet. “Maybe we’ll shop first.”

  “Does my appearance embarrass you?”

  He leered as he closed his bedroom door behind him. “No, but I thought I’d be nice and give you a chance to look your best on your wedding day.” Who was he kidding? She already looked damn fine in what she had on with minimal makeup to cover up her naturally smooth skin and soft curves.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she dug the toe of her shoe into the floor. “Sorry.”

  Max’s hand moved before he knew what he was doing, and he placed two fingers carefully under her chin, raising it. “For what? Don’t say you’re sorry for shit you shouldn’t be sorry for.”

  “But—”

  “No, no buts. Let’s go and get this circus started.” He strolled past her, and she followed close behind. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed her lips curling in a crooked grin for barely a second before it disappeared.

  If it was the last thing he did in this four-year arrangement, he’d get that woman to smile and laugh. Funny, when was the last time you did that yourself? He grunted as he opened the front door and motioned for her to step out first, telling his inner voices to shut up for the day.

  Time passed in a blur. Mia’s emotions were so torn up by the time she said I do, she wasn’t sure she could tell up from down anymore. The ring on her finger—a simple gold band with a single diamond—was a weight reminding her of what she’d agreed to on a whim. At the end of the ceremony, she and Max exchanged a brief kiss, a gentle brush of his lips on hers that slowly turned into something more until Jeremy’s whistling startled them apart. Max cleared his throat loudly as he held onto her hand, her other hand preoccupied with the tiny bouquet of tiger lilies she’d picked out at the florist.

  Her white wedding dress clung to her curves and dragged along the floor behind her, a gown fit for a five-star evening out on the city on the arm of a man just like Max. The diamond studs in her ears cost a pretty penny, too, as did the single pendant hanging from her neck. She’d assumed she was only picking out a ring, but Max refused to leave until she had everything she wanted. A perk, he told her, of being the wife of a rich man. Mia was not the type to be spoiled and certainly never had anyone buy her anything this nice before.

  “The roses would have matched your dress better, I still think,” he mused as they strolled down the short aisle of the chapel.

  “No,” she said, eyeing her brightly colored bouquet. “No roses.”

  “What woman doesn’t like
roses?”

  Envisioning roses handed to her by Keith sent a shudder through her so hard she stumbled. Max held her steady, cursing under his breath as he set her back on her feet with a worried look. “I don’t. I hate them with a passion, actually.”

  “Something to keep in mind,” he replied.

  “So,” Jeremy said as he slung an arm around Max’s shoulders once they were outside. “Where would the happy couple like to celebrate their first married night together?”

  “I am starving.” Mia grimaced. “I haven’t eaten today.”

  Max quirked a brow at her. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “I got caught up in the rush of the day, I guess,” she replied sharply. “You know, if we’re supposed to be happily married, you can’t scold me like that.”

  “I can when my wife isn’t taking care of herself.”

  She yanked her hand from the crook of his arm and holding up her dress, tossed her bouquet on the ground and stalked to the car. She considered driving off and leaving him and Jeremy behind, but she lacked the keys and had only driven a car a few times when Gina used to teach her at night in the library parking lot. With nowhere to go, she hopped up on the trunk of his fancy-ass challenger and stared out over the open fields surrounding the chapel. When he’d said he found a place out of the way, he’d meant it. They drove for two hours outside the city just to get here. A chilly breeze picked up, and goosebumps broke out over her arms. She shivered and wondered if this had been the right decision after all. She couldn’t be with someone. Keith and her dad had made sure of that. It would never be normal—she would never be normal, ever again.

  A jacket fell over her shoulders and she jumped. “You looked cold,” Max explained, leaning against the car as she tugged the jacket around her. “Is it safe to take care of you like this?”