The Billionaire's Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Nikki Chase

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Zeke blocks the doorway with his tall, muscular body.

  There’s no hope in hell that I’ll be able to force my way through Zeke, but maybe a simple glare will work. Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Somewhere else.”

  “Like where?”

  “Like another room.”

  Zeke frowns. He raises his hand to rub his forehead, where horizontal lines have appeared. “Which room?”

  “A different one,” I say. “Maybe one downstairs.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, since this—” I point at him, then at myself, “—is just for show, and there’s nobody else in this apartment, then there’s no need for us to pretend to be husband and wife, is there?”

  Zeke cocks an eyebrow and looks at me sideways. “Wait. Let me get this straight. You want us to sleep in separate rooms?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  “Nowhere,” I lie. “There’s no need for us to sleep together every night, and I don’t like sharing my bed. So I’m sleeping in a different room. Move aside and let me through.”

  “You don’t like sharing your bed?” Zeke asks.

  “No.”

  “That’s not what I remember.” He gives me a cocky stare while his lips spread across his annoyingly handsome face to form a lopsided smile. “You used to ask me to sneak into your bedroom and spend the night cuddling. You slept like a baby when I held you in my arms.”

  “That was a long time ago, Zeke. Everything’s different now.” Despite my resolve, my body heats up under his searing gaze.

  “Is it?” Zeke asks. “If last night is any indication, then not much has changed.”

  Yeah, including the way you only pay attention to me when it suits you, I say in my head.

  “Well, maybe you’re wrong, Zeke.”

  “Am I?” Instead of moving aside, Zeke steps forward. The tapping of his shoes on the marble floor makes my heart skip a beat. He stands only inches away from me, heat emanating from his body. His presence fills the room. “How is it different?”

  “It just is,” I reply stubbornly, looking up and staring straight into his dark eyes, pretending like he’s not getting me all flustered from his nearness.

  “Really?” Zeke leans in, letting his breath fall on my skin. His lips—they’re so close, and I can almost feel them on mine.

  Maybe it won’t be so bad. It’s just a kiss. You can’t have sex without kissing, can you? Maybe there’s no real commitment between us, no promises exchanged. But this—whatever this is—has to be a physical relationship if we’re going to make a baby.

  I close my eyes and tilt my head to the side. The world goes dark, but I have so many other senses to rely on—senses that have suddenly come alive.

  Zeke’s fingers graze my cheek. His breaths tickle my skin. Our foreheads and noses touch. My heart races in anticipation as he…

  Ring! Ring! Ring!

  My eyes snap open from the noise. The ringing comes from Zeke’s jeans pocket, where his phone is. He fumbles to fish it out.

  I wait patiently, expecting him to silence the phone and ignore the call, so we can get back to what we were doing.

  But then he looks at the screen and presses the round green button to pick up the call.

  “Jo?” Zeke answers urgently as he holds the phone up to his ear.

  I stare at him, my jaw dropping open.

  Is he seriously doing this to me right now? Again?

  Ali

  “Ali, wait!” Zeke exclaims from behind me.

  I roll my eyes. It’s not like I can get away. I’m literally stuck.

  Zeke was the one who carried my big, heavy suitcase up the stairs. And now I’m struggling to drag it downstairs on my own.

  My bad, I guess. I should’ve told Zeke to leave it downstairs as soon as we got here. But then I had no idea where his bedroom is, and I was too curious to take a tour of the apartment to notice what Zeke was doing with my luggage.

  This damn thing is totally unmanageable for me. Maybe I overpacked. But I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be happy to have my curling iron with all the different sizes of interchangeable barrels.

  I’ve managed to get this stupid thing down three steps. Now there are…like, thirty more to go. Damn this high-ceilinged luxury apartment.

  “Ali, can we talk?” Zeke asks as he stands on the top landing of the stairs, one hand on the wooden railing.

  “What’s there to talk about?” I turn around to look straight at Zeke before I grab the top handle of the luggage with both hands.

  “Why you’re mad at me,” he answers quickly.

  “I’m not mad at you, Zeke. Why should I be mad at you? Any particular reason?”

  “I know it’s at least partly because I don’t know why you’re mad at me,” he says as he goes down the stairs.

  I don’t have to turn around to see him smiling. I can hear it in his voice. What, he thinks this is some kind of a joke?

  I pull the handle up with all my strength, and I finally manage to lift it up a couple of inches. I move slowly—not because I’m worried about dropping this piece-of-junk luggage, but because I’m scared of tumbling down the stairs and falling on my ass.

  That wouldn’t look so cool, would it? Although it’s not like I’m currently the picture of coolness.

  I really should’ve thought this through before I stormed out of the bedroom, dragging the luggage behind me. Maybe I should’ve left it behind so it wouldn’t spoil my dramatic exit.

  As I move the luggage forward and attempt to move it one step lower, my body lurches forward a tiny bit more than I thought it would. Then everything turns into slow motion, as I realize I’m falling, knowing there’s nothing I can do to regain my balance.

  Before I can even part my lips to cry out, a strong arm wraps around my waist and stops my fall.

  I hang from that strong arm, only three steps down from the top of the stairs. I stare at my luggage, which is toppling down with thuds that get louder and louder. It rolls down the stairs slowly, reaching the bottom before it ever gains much speed.

  Before I know what I’m doing, my hands grab onto Zeke’s arm. He puts his other arm around me as well, then he pulls my body up until I’m leaning back on him.

  “Are you okay?” Zeke asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply softly, embarrassed by my clumsiness. This is a dramatic exit, alright, but it’s not going the way I was hoping it would.

  “You should’ve let me carry it downstairs for you.” Zeke rubs his hands on my arms. It’s soothing. If he’s trying to make me feel better, it’s working. He asks, “Do you want to sit down?”

  I nod, still too shocked to say much. With his arms still around me, Zeke moves to my side and helps me sit down on the stairs.

  “Were you angry because I picked up the phone while we were in the middle of something?” Zeke asks in a soft, soothing tone.

  I nod again.

  Zeke lets out a sigh. But I’m still staring at my luggage at the bottom of the stairs, and I can’t tell if he’s frustrated or relieved.

  “Sorry, Ali,” he says. “I should’ve at least excused myself.”

  “Yeah,” I say, still not looking back at him.

  “Do you still want to move to the bedroom downstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’d rather you stay with me, but it’s up to you.” Zeke gets up, goes two steps down at once with his long legs, and holds out his hand to help me up. “Wanna see your new bedroom?”

  I look at his strong, graceful hand. As my eyes focus, I shift my gaze up to his veiny forearm, then further up to his face.

  I don’t have it in me to fight anymore. I don’t know if it’s because I almost fell, or because he’s being so kind and gentle.

  “Who was it?” I ask softly.

  “Who?” Zeke asks with a small, kind smile.

  “The person on the phone.”

  He lets out anot
her big exhalation and steps back up to sit beside me. “That…was Joanne.”

  “Who’s Joanne?” I’m annoyed already. That answer means nothing if I don’t already know who this Joanne person is.

  “Joanne. You met her yesterday, at the wedding.”

  “Zeke, I met a lot of people yesterday. Is she the one who called last night as well?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  This hits a little too close to something that has been bothering me for years. So maybe there’s nothing wrong with the way Zeke’s answering my question.

  It’s not just because he interrupted us—twice—to pick up the phone while we were… in the middle of something. I mean, yes, those phone calls were annoying. We were having a moment, both times.

  But back when we were dating, there was one problem that kept threatening our relationship.

  I could never reach Zeke because he never picked up the phone. One of the reasons I decided to stop trying was because he was so unavailable.

  And now I’ve married him—even if it’s only pretend—only to find out that he’s at someone else’s beck and call? Some other woman?

  “So who is she?” I ask.

  “Joanne… She’s… It’s hard to come up with a good word to describe what she is to me… Joanne is, uh, she’s the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had.”

  “So she’s, what, your foster sister?” I ask.

  I know Zeke grew up in the foster system, but he has never talked much about it. So far, I’ve respected his unwillingness to open up about it, thinking that maybe he just doesn’t want to revisit bad memories.

  But now, I feel like we’re strangers. Yes, I’ve known Zeke for ten years, but how well do I know him, if up until mere seconds ago, I had no idea he had someone like Joanne in his life?

  If I don’t know something that basic, what else do I not know about him?

  “How long have you known her?” I ask, hoping he has just become close to Joanne some time in the past seven years. That’s when we lost contact, and we haven’t talked much since then, so maybe he just hasn’t had an opportunity to tell me about her.

  “I don’t know.” Zeke pauses, looking like he’s counting in his head. “It’s hard to say for sure, but we were kids. Almost teenagers.”

  “Why have you never told me about her?”

  “We’ve just started talking again, Ali. Up until a few months ago, I didn’t even know you were alive.”

  A chill runs down my arm. I know it’s just a saying that Zeke just didn’t put much thought into, but I really could’ve died, when I was… Wait. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I can’t be thinking about this.

  I push my worst memories aside and think about Zeke’s answer.

  “But you never told me back then either. You know, back when we were… Seven years ago.”

  It’s dumb. But even though we’ve kissed and he has even eaten me out—albeit not to completion—it’s hard to say the words “when we were dating.” Dating just seems too trite to describe what we had.

  “Yeah. It’s hard to explain, but… Joanne and I, we grew up together in the same foster home. Not for too long. It was only for a couple of years, but we got along right away. We stuck together.”

  “No, I get why you’d be close. You were kids. You were spending a lot of time together under stressful circumstances. But why did you never tell me about her?”

  “I don't know, Ali.” Zeke takes a deep breath. “That's the part that's hard to explain. Life was hard in the foster system. And if you were seen as weak, you became a target. And being close friends with a girl wasn't seen as tough.”

  “So you thought I was going to, what, attack you for telling me you had a foster sister?” I have to admit, I’m a little offended—partly because he thought I was going to respond unkindly to the information, and partly because of the casual sexism. What’s wrong with being friends with a girl?

  “No, of course not,” Zeke says quickly. “It's just… After operating under that assumption for my whole life, it was hard to open up, especially to you.”

  “Why?” I frown. “What did you think I was going to do?”

  “It's not about that.” Zeke laughs.

  “Then what?”

  “Ali, you were so intimidatingly beautiful. I couldn't believe that someone like you could be interested in someone like me. I was a poor kid who had nothing, and you had everything. I didn't want to look weak to you. I didn't want you to pity me.” Zeke turns to me and gives me a sad smile.

  My chest tightens as all the emotions I've been trying to hold back suddenly come over me. I have to ask him. I can't not ask the question that has been swimming in my head, keeping me awake at inconvenient times.

  “Was it real, Zeke?” I ask, gazing at him, searching for the truth in his eyes.

  “Was what real?”

  “Us.”

  “Of course. I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world. I was crazy about you.” He looks straight back at me—this is a man who has nothing to hide. He shrugs. “I was a nobody. I was just a kid. And you…You were perfect.” Zeke smiles as he studies my face. “And you still are.”

  Those words. I have just heard them in his voice; this is not just my imagination. And they just slid out from between Zeke’s lips.

  Exactly the way I’ve always wished it would happen.

  No, better.

  In a dream, I wouldn't feel the warmth of his body next to me, or the steady rhythm of his heartbeats. And most importantly, I wouldn't have been able to come up with that explanation on my own.

  Because only Zeke knows the answer. And now he has told me.

  I understand his motives now, and I understand where he's coming from.

  Zeke's words comfort me like a healing salve, confirming my hopes and dismissing my fears.

  I’m so overwhelmed I don't even know what to say. But maybe the time for talking is over. Maybe it's time to show him, instead of just telling him.

  Zeke seems surprised when I touch his arm, but he smiles.

  This is it.

  The thing I’ve been chasing after since I left San Francisco to go to college, seven years ago.

  The kind of connection that we shared in the darkness, while my parents were away.

  That elusive, nameless thing that I’ve been looking for in every man after Zeke broke my heart.

  Now I know why I’ve never found it in anyone else.

  Because it's something only the two of us share.

  My hand pulls on Zeke's strong forearm as I lean closer, graze my nose against his, and plant a kiss on his lips.

  Ali

  Zeke’s lips are hot, and they only get hotter the longer we kiss. He puts his big hands on my neck, then slides them back to grab me by the base of my skull.

  I gasp when he makes a fist, pulling my hair almost painfully. He pushes me backward with his body, while his forearm supports me from behind.

  It’s not just my body that’s falling. I can feel waves of memories and emotions washing over me too, again and again until all I can do is let go. There are still so many questions swimming in my head, but they can wait—they have to wait.

  Zeke lowers me down, gently resting my head on a stair step. I prop myself up with my elbows on another wooden step below it. Zeke rolls on top of me, parting my legs so he can get between them.

  He breaks our kiss and moves down to my neck, drawing a moan out of me. I’ve always been sensitive there, and he knows this.

  Zeke’s hand slips behind my back, underneath my shirt. With his fingers, Zeke unhooks my bra. Without bothering to take off my top, he slides the fabric up, running his palm up my side.

  Then, he gives me one look.

  Sunlight spills into the apartment from the giant window, through which the skyline of the city is visible. Bathed in this glorious light, Zeke appears like he’s shining, his dark hair golden and his eyes brilliant.

  Those eyes. Those furrowed brows. They’re just as desperate
as mine, and I know he needs me as much as I need him.

  It only lasts a second, but it’s a moment I’ll never forget for the rest of my life. Not even when this whole arrangement is over and we go our separate ways.

  Zeke’s head dips down and he kisses my skin lightly, teasing me until my body arches, begging him for more. As he moves further up, he pushes my top and my bra up until they bunch together above my breasts.

  “Put your hands up,” Zeke says in a hoarse, urgent voice.

  I do as he says, extending my hands to reach the top landing of the stairs. I let him yank off the clothing items that were getting in our way. He throws them on the marble floor of the second floor.

  As Zeke takes a nipple into his mouth, I part my lips and draw air into my lungs. His tongue and lips feel amazing, but it’s when his teeth graze my hard nipple that my whole body goes wild.

  Zeke’s hand slides over my jeans to rest on my pussy. He grabs my flesh in this rough, possessive way, and I melt.

  My heart pulses rapidly, pumping blood through my veins. I breathe desperately, trying to keep up.

  My eyes glass over, so my vision of Zeke is blurry. But I see enough to know he’s watching me with hungry eyes.

  “Let’s finish what we started last night,” he says in a low tone.

  The promise in those words sends electricity crackling within me. There’s nothing I want more than that right now.

  Even though his words are reminding me to get more answers about the phone calls, I’m in no state to ask questions—and it’s not just because I’m stripped of the dignity of clothes right now. I feel like my brain won’t work until my body is sated.

  As Zeke undoes the button of my skinny jeans, I straighten my back and sink down. The dull edges of the wooden steps cut into my back. It’s not painful, but it’s also not the most comfortable thing in the world.

  “Zeke, wait,” I say, my voice sounding more throaty than I expected.

  Damn. I sound like an animal in heat. What other giveaway signs am I showing Zeke? Without my say-so, my treacherous body has decided to wave a big flag in Zeke’s face, telling him that I want him.