Lucky Daddy: A Billionaire Fake Fiancé Romance

by Eva Luxe

  Chris’s sprinting. He’s at the forty, the thirty, the twenty…

  The entire stadium is on its feet screaming, shouting, waving foam fingers and streamers in the air.

  The ten…

  He’s going to make it!

  And with a flourish, Chris leaps into the end zone.

  Touchdown.

  * * *

  The entire town is still celebrating Ohio’s victory. Chris had his time with the team after and got up in front of the crowd and made a speech. His highlight, game-winning play was all over TV for weeks. It even got to the point where Chris got tired of seeing it while he was scrolling through the channels.

  It’s been two weeks since that day – the day Chris brought the championship home and stuck it to their rival team. Things have finally started to cool down and we’ve been able to spend some real family time together.

  Off season is Heaven. I love being married to him and watching him play, but having him home is what I love most.

  We were married soon after I learned I was pregnant with Jonathan. It was a small ceremony. A few guys from the team, Carla was my maid of honor, and of course our mothers were there.

  Chris rented out a small church one town over in Watertown, a beautiful old place that had been recently restored and sat right on the edge of the woods and wasn’t a far walk from the river. The ceremony was sweet and magical and ended just around dusk.

  There were amber Christmas lights hung everywhere on the gazebo and the porch, and we took a walk down by the river and watched the fireflies.

  “You lucky bitch,” Carla had joked with me as she took a sip of her wine. “Landing a football star while I’m still getting hollered at by douchebags at the diner.”

  “Hey!” Chris chimed in with a laugh. “Is that any way to talk at a wedding!?”

  “Oh, shut up, you,” Carla laughed. “And go buy me a car or something!”

  Carla warmed up to Chris after everything that had happened. She’s a protective friend, and I love that about her, so it took a little convincing for her not to think of him as a total dickhead. But once she saw how much I loved him and I told her everything, she was good with it.

  Like he promised, Chris took me to see the house his father left him and I instantly fell in love with it. It was everything he promised it would be and more; the perfect place to raise Max and now Jonathan. It’s just far enough out of town to give us some privacy, but not far enough to be an inconvenience.

  Chris got my mom into an even better hospital and took over the payments for her medical care. She was able to get the best treatment available and her cancer is in full remission and she’s feeling the best she’s felt in years. She still goes in for regular checkups, but the doctors are very hopeful and say she’s doing incredibly well.

  And to top it all off, Chris convinced her to move in with us and sell her place in town. It just felt right. The house isn’t enormous, but it’s not small either, and she has a bedroom on the corner downstairs looking out across the backyard, and we have one upstairs on the opposite end of the house so we can all have our privacy.

  But it’s been amazing for all of us. She loves Jon and Max and I don’t have to look for a sitter anymore if Chris and I want to go out. With all mom’s new energy now that she’s feeling better, she loves playing with them.

  The boys love her too. It really is a perfect family, beyond anything I ever could have dreamed of. It’s hard to believe four years ago I was working at the diner, single, my mother was sick and I had no idea where my life was going – and now I’m married to the most amazing met in the world, with two kids and my mom’s completely out of the hospital.

  When I’m not playing with the boys, talking with my mom, spending time with Chris or out at one of his games, I’m doing my jewelry again. Back in high school, sometimes I played around making earrings and necklaces from a little kit my mom bought me.

  I gave it up when the real world happened and I had to start working for a living, but now I actually have some time to do things again. I set up a mini-studio in one of the rooms at the house and even have a small display at one of the stores in town. It’s not like I plan to make a lot of money or anything, but it’s nice to see people like the things I make, and when I see someone wearing one of my pieces it makes me feel warm inside.

  “Hey, you,” I hear Chris’s voice behind me and it breaks me out of my daydreaming. I do that a lot these days. Part of me just can’t believe this is really my life now, and I just find myself drifting off and thinking about just how lucky I am.

  I turn as my handsome husband steps outside onto the back porch with me. It’s dusk and I love watching the sun go down here, listening to the sound of the wind through the trees, away from all the noise of town.

  “Hey, you,” I say, turning to him as he slides his hands around my waist in that way that still makes my heart start to race. “The boys asleep?”

  “Max is reading,” he chuckles. “He thinks I can’t see the flashlight under the sheet.”

  I smile. Max is shaping up to be just as athletic as his father, and just as handsome, but he has a wonderful creative side to him as well and pores through books faster than we can keep up. He’s taken to reading at night when he’s supposed to be asleep. I guess there are a lot worse things your child could be up to.

  “I’ll go up in a half hour,” I say. “I love that he’s reading, but he does need his sleep.”

  Chris takes a seat on one of the chairs and pulls me onto his lap. I love being close to him. His legs are rocks of muscle, like the rest of his body, and when I’m in his arms, the world is just better.

  “I can’t believe this place,” I tell him as I gaze across the backyard at the dark blue purple sky. “Why do you think your father didn’t tell you about it?”

  Chris shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t appreciate it when I was young. And to be honest, if he’d left it to me before I met you…I probably would have just sold the place.”

  “Well, whatever his reasons were, I’m glad he did it.”

  “So am I.”

  We sit there together in silence for a while. That’s how you know you’ve met someone special – when you can just sit with them and not say anything and be completely comfortable.

  Chris is way more thoughtful and insightful than anyone would expect for a football jock. Carla didn’t believe me at first when I told her the things we would talk about – the things he would ask me. We talk about life, how we feel, and made sure to get to know everything about each other.

  I understand him and he understands me, and we very rarely even fight. He doesn’t snap at me and I don’t snap at him. Of course, we argue about things, but we manage to make up almost immediately after and I don’t think I have a single bad memory so far relating to our relationship.

  Once the sun is finally down, Chris stirs beneath me.

  “Should probably go make sure Max is sleeping,” he tells me.

  “Yeah,” I say, standing up. Chris takes my hand and we walk together into the house. I don’t even bother shutting the door behind me. It’s warm out and I love the way the breeze comes through the house, and it’s safe enough out here that we never have to worry about anything.

  We take the stairs up to Max’s room and gently push the door open. I hear him fumbling around, trying to situate himself so he looks like he’s asleep, but he doesn’t manage to turn off the flashlight in time.

  “Max?” I say. “Are you sleeping, honey?”

  No answer. I look at Chris and smile.

  “Max,” Chris says a little more firmly. “Come on, buddy. It’s time to get some sleep. Put the book away.”

  Max sighs and flips the covers off and looks up at us.

  “How did you know!?” He says with a sigh.

  “Your father knows everything,” Chris says with a grin, leaning forward and taking the flashlight from him. “And never forget that.”

  “And your mother
,” I add in. I lean down and give Max a peck on the forehead. “Really though. It’s time for some rest. You can read your book tomorrow.”

  Max lets out an overly theatrical sigh and lies back. “Okay, okay.”

  “Atta boy,” Chris says, patting his son on the head. “Get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Love you, Max,” I say as I turn from the room.

  “Love you, mom. Love you, dad.” I’ll never get tired of hearing that. Chris and I leave the room and shut his door behind us and step across the hall to the nursery. Jon is sleeping soundly and we both just stand there for a moment watching him.

  “Maybe he’ll sleep through the night,” Chris jokes.

  “You wish!” I say with a soft laugh.

  “All right, mommy,” Chris says, taking me by the hand. “Time for us to get to bed too.”

  “Already?” I ask, but before I can say anything else, Chris snatches me up in his strong arms and carries me into the bedroom. I look up at him, and as he sets me down on the bed and climbs on top of me, I feel butterflies in my stomach. The fact that I still get them amazes me, but I hope they will never go away.

  “No,” Chris says with a sly smile. “I had something else in mind.”

  Chris leans down and kisses me. Our lips meet, and just like every time we kiss, it feels like the first time. I know I’ll never grow tired of my beautiful husband, and he’ll never grow tired of me. I never thought it was possible to be this in love with someone. I never thought it was possible to be this happy. I never thought it was possible to be this lucky.

  But it is. And I am.

  Thank you for reading and for your support. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review. If you would like to leave me private feedback, please shoot me an email at evaluxe@mail.com. Love, Eva.

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  Sneak Peek Excerpt of Lucky Soldier

  If you enjoyed Lucky Daddy then I know you’ll enjoy my other release called Lucky Soldier: A Memorial Day Brother's Best Friend Fake Fiance Romance! Here’s an exclusive sneak peek!

  Chapter 1 - Rhett

  Today’s my homecoming; but there’s no parade arriving from the town square for me. The people in my hometown don’t even know I’m coming back. And that’s just the way I like it.

  They won’t see me with an automated weapon on my back. They won’t see my red face covered only by sweat and the sand of the Middle East. They won’t see the residual fear in my eyes being hidden by a facade of bravery and heroism.

  To them, I’ll just be little Rhett Atkins, all grown-up and back home for good.

  No more zits or braces with missing brackets. No more spotty facial hair that was the target of many jokes from high school bullies and the occasional passerby with zero to no verbal filter.

  Just fourteen hours ago, I was a good little soldier, obeying my orders, running into streets turned into battlefields hoping I could stay alive while fighting for my country’s freedom. I had nothing but freedom and worries on the mind, although that may remain the case even once my feet touch US soil again.

  A decade of action prepared me for a lot, but not the anxiety of returning home from a war zone. Sure, a motivational speaker would come in every now and again to teach us new breathing exercises or steps to be more emotionally intelligent, but that only goes so far.

  We were told that there would be help provided once we get back home; people who would help us transition into our new lives. My friends who went back home before me assured me that wasn’t the case.

  But even as these lies were being told to us, I knew that they were leaving out the important fact that this help would only be provided if our healthcare covered it. For many of my brothers back home, that turned out not to be the case. There were long waiting lists for the so-called “help,” if it was covered at all.

  I should be more grateful.

  My healthcare will be able to cover a lot of the assistance I’ll be needing. I’m able to return with all my limbs still intact. I have some minor nerve damage in my right arm, but it’s nothing that half a year or so of physical therapy and some very minimal surgery won’t fix.

  “Everything will be fine,” I whisper to myself over and over.

  But these words have been tainted by war. I’ve repeated this phrase over and over throughout my life, but its meaning has changed now.

  These are words that may no longer ring true. Still, I repeat them until they become the only words I can think about.

  I wake an hour later to the sudden shock sent through my entire body, the cause of which is the airplane as its wheels make contact with the tarmac. Having been woken by such a rough landing, I find my body tensing up.

  My right arm is immediately sore from having to contract so harshly. I breathe in and out and slowly relieve the muscles in my arm. Even unballing my fists hurts now.

  The world around me brightens up when I set foot inside the airport, and it’s not only because of the fluorescent lights. The shift of being in a war-torn part of the world and a crowded airport is enough to give me whiplash, but it instead whips a smile on my face.

  Mothers are holding hands with their kids. There are people too busy to pay attention to anything other than the phones they’re screaming into. I even see a few people trying to calm their pets before take-off.

  It’s my first taste of a normal life in America and it’s exactly what someone like me needs right now.

  The people pushing past me aren’t looking up at me, afraid of being shot. In fact, they’re not even looking at me. They’re too busy with their lives. I’m not a harbinger of death here. I’m just an honorably discharged United States citizen.

  A wave of relief comes over me. In the throes of battle, when I wasn’t thinking of being killed and all that I’d have missed out on, I’d think of how lucky I’d be to come back home and see my folks. My dog. My old home.

  I’d think of going on a road trip with my best friend Kyle, his little sister Sommer, and our other friends from back in school, seeing the best parts of the country we had spent so long protecting. We’d hit the open road and see where it took us, loving every fun minute of the entire trip.

  That road trip may not be happening the way I envisioned anymore, but I do still have the opportunity to see the country now. I made it out alive when so many of my brothers in arms didn’t.

  I have to live my life to the fullest for them. For Kyle. And I’m determined to do it, even though I already feel like a fish out of water; a stranger in a foreign land, even though it’s the land in which I was born and for which I’ve spent a decade fighting.

  Chapter 2 - Rhett

  With the longest stretch of my three-part trip back home over, I sit down with my camouflage pattern duffle bag and wait for the bus to take me to Marysville.

  A woman and her daughter sit down on the bench next to me. The mother is carrying an impressive number of bags of food and luggage.

  She sets the bags of food down on the bench beside us and stands the luggage up at her feet. My stomach instinctively growls once the enticing bouquet of fried chicken hits my nostrils.

  “Hungry, huh?” the mother laughs.

  I place my hand on my stomach and pat it lightly, as if I were asking a pet to calm down.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had fried chicken. Since two Christmases ago, if I remember correctly. And I haven’t had anything to eat in fourteen or so hours,” I admit.

  “Fourteen hours, my goodness. What are you, fasting or something?”

  The woman’s laughter dies down when she notices my sizable luggage and its design.

  “Oh, you’re a soldier?” she asks.

  “Veteran, I think is the operative word now. Though, I guess I’ll always be a soldier.”

  “Oh, oh! Oh, my goodness, are you just coming home from—”

  “Yes, ma’am. I did my time oversea
s and now I’m back home in the land I was born in.”

  The woman sets down her various bags of fast food fried chicken and picks one of the lighter looking bags to place next to me.

  “Here’s a proper thanks for your service,” she says with a smile.

  I do a double take unintentionally derivative of The Three Stooges, amazed that this woman would just give me some of the food she paid for only because I served in the military.

  “Ma’am, I can’t possibly take this,” I insist.

  “Please. You’re hungry and we have too much food here. My sister called me saying she and her kids can’t make it to our little family get-together right after I walked out of the restaurant. And if they’re anything like any other restaurant, I’m sure they’re not going to accept returns,” she tells me, with a chuckle.

  Even her daughter nods her head enthusiastically, “And— and— now we have more biscuits for us. My cousins always eat all the biscuits first and never leaves me any.”

  “Are you sure you want me to take some biscuits?” I ask the girl.

  “Well,” she says, blushing, “you should just take one.”

  Her mother laughs and playfully scolds her daughter. “Jenny! Please, sir, take as many biscuits as you want.”

  “One is fine,” I tell her. “I’m not terribly fond of biscuits anyway, but one would go great with the chicken.”