An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  Table of Contents

  About This Book

  Series Reading Order

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  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

  Titles by Nadia Lee

  About Nadia Lee

  Copyright

  The proposition: One year of “marriage” for one million dollars. Sex, yes. Falling in love, no.

  Desperate to escape crushing poverty and provide for my younger sister, I took the deal. But I violated the rules by falling for Elliot Reed, the gorgeous, brilliant billionaire bad boy…and he broke them by wanting more between us—a bond more profound than any legal contract could provide.

  However, my complicated past isn’t the only thing derailing our marriage. Elliot has his share of skeletons in the closet, and his enemies are determined to use me to get to him.

  Now it’s time for us to make our final stand—unite and fight for our happy ending—except it will require both of us to reveal our ugliest secrets to each other…and the world.

  Note: No cliffhanger! This is the final book in Elliot and Annabelle’s love story.

  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)

  ——

  If you want to receive notices about my latest books, please join my new release alert at nadialee.net/newsletter!

  An Improper Ever After

  Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Book 5

  Nadia Lee

  To my reader group members. Thanks for reading, thanks for cheering me on.

  Chapter One

  Annabelle

  Elliot hasn’t been in bed all night. I know the moment I open my gritty eyes, and my heart is heavy with regret and pain. I swing my legs to the other side of the bed and check the pool. It’s empty.

  He didn’t come back from wherever he went last night. After our world came crashing down.

  Will it ever be right again?

  I drag myself slowly and mechanically to the bathroom. It feels weird—wrong—that I have to keep up my morning routine when there’s a huge knot inside me, one that’s so big and ugly I don’t understand how I can still function without crumbling. I brush my teeth, splashing my face with cold water to wake up. Eight hours in bed last night, but I didn’t sleep well. Most of those hours were spent tossing and turning. And it shows in the puffiness of my listless green eyes and the pasty complexion of my face. My flat and lifeless hair sticks to my skull like matted blood.

  God. What a sight. I snort a humorless laugh. If Elliot were to see me like this, he would run the other way, screaming in horror. I stick my fingers into my hair, trying to get it to look better, but it’s no use. After a half-hearted attempt, I give up. He’s not home anyway, so what’s the point?

  I manage to shrug into a robe and go downstairs. Nonny’s up—I can hear her moving around in her suite—but Elliot, of course, is nowhere to be seen.

  If he did come home, he’s probably in his office. I reach the door that leads into it and put my hand on the cool handle. Clammy sweat coats my palm; suddenly I’m unsure. The muscles in my belly clench and flutter, and I inhale slowly, girding my loins for what needs to be done. I couldn’t tell him everything the way he wanted, but it wasn’t because I was trying to hide things from him. My life has been a series of failures since my dad was exposed as a fraud, and nobody likes to talk about failure.

  The well-oiled hinges move silently, and I take a step inside. My head feels like it’s full of wet cotton balls. I ache all over, like I’ve been beaten with a bat, but I know it’s more psychological than physical. As predicted, Elliot isn’t in his office…although there’s a tumbler on the desk with lip prints. I pick it up and sniff. Alcohol.

  I leave the office and grab my phone, wanting to call Elliot. We have to talk about what happened. Hopefully he’ll be less upset than he was yesterday.

  The browser reloads when I unlock my phone. I clicked it shut last night after I saw all those hateful headlines about my stripper days. Not even days: one day, since I only lasted that long. But tabloids aren’t interested in the truth. It’s more fun to speculate, because speculation sells more copies.

  The headlines have been refreshed, and the first one catches my eye.

  Already Straying? Billionaire Seen with Escort.

  Underneath is a shot of Elliot entering a hotel. It’s dated yesterday.

  I shake my head. His being at a hotel doesn’t necessarily mean anything. And the tabloids could be lying about when the picture was taken. But I see another one with a redhead going inside, too. The unnamed source says she’s the mystery woman he’s been seeing for a while now.

  My heart squeezes painfully. I’ve never felt such an inexplicably profound connection with another person. Nor did I expect the intense joy from such a bond. Knowing that it’s been ruined…maybe for good…cuts more deeply than I could have ever imagined. He and I were cocooned together in St. Cecilia. The realization that there was a chance I could’ve salvaged our relationship by being honest with him from the very beginning… That’s the unbearable salt in the wound.

  I don’t know what I expect now, but I call Elliot anyway. We need to talk, and I’m going to tell him everything he wants to know and more.

  The door to the balcony opens, and he walks inside. His deep brown eyes are slightly bloodshot, and his hand is closed around an empty bottle of scotch. The hair that usually has a dark chestnut sheen has lost its shine and is sticking up on his head. The first three buttons on his black dress shirt are undone, the fabric as worn and tired as his handsome face. The sight hurts. I know I’m the one who put the misery there.

  Despite the empty bottle, he’s walking straight. It’s like he’s immune to alcohol. “You called?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

  “Yes, I wanted to talk.” I wipe my clammy palms on the robe and straighten my back, try to put a little more strength into my voice. “Want some coffee?”

  He inclines his head once.

  My mouth dry, I start a pot and give him a mug full of the fresh brew. My hands start to shake and I hide them behind the robe. Calm down. You can do this.

  Instead of drinking it, he studies the steam rising from the dark gray cup. The outside of it reads TRUTH HURTS in blood red letters. I wince inwardly. I didn’t see the logo when I reached into the cabinet.

  He takes a few sips—finally—then says, “What do you want to talk about?” His voice lacks inflection, and that chills me. I can deal with emotion, but this…void? It’s scary because I don�
��t know if I can fill it the right way so we can fix what’s broken.

  I clear my throat. “I’m sorry about the way you found things out.”

  “So you’re sorry I found out?”

  “No. That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  I inhale. I suppose I deserve the cold treatment from him. He probably feels betrayed that I kept things to myself. “Elliot, I never mean to deceive you. I honestly didn’t think any of it mattered.”

  “The fact that Grayson set you in my path, all the while telling you I needed a wife, wasn’t worth mentioning? Even when I asked you point-blank to tell me if there was anything that would impact the both of us?”

  I have no excuse…except that I was too ashamed to talk about the kind of control I let Mr. Grayson have over me.

  Elliot doesn’t give me time to respond. He continues: “What about Dennis? He probably wasn’t phoning you to reminisce. So what did he want? Or does that also have nothing to do with me?”

  “Elliot…”

  “Spare me,” he scoffs, suddenly animated and slashing the air with a hand. “You would’ve never told me any of this on your own. And now suddenly I’m supposed to stand here and believe that you’re going to be one hundred percent honest? How can I know that you’re telling me the truth—all of it—without having my PI dig into everything?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair is you never trusted me. I trusted you enough to tell you about Annabelle Underhill. Do you think it was an easy story to tell?” He finishes his coffee. “At least what you said about your roommate checked out.”

  “You checked?”

  “Of course I checked. Had to make sure I had all the facts.”

  He comes closer until I can smell coffee and alcohol overlaying his warm flesh. My heart thuds, and I wet my lower lip, wondering what he’ll do next. “You know what I hate the most about all this?”

  I shake my head.

  The back of his forefinger brushes along my cheek. The gesture is unexpectedly tender, which just makes it hurt more.

  “I still want you in spite of it all.” His words are so soft, they barely whisper across my skin.

  “Elliot…”

  “I need to shower and do some work.” He drops his hand like a guillotine and stalks away.

  Closing my eyes against the pain, I bury my face in my hands. How can I fix our relationship when he hates the fact that he still feels the connection between us?

  I can’t keep running. I ran before, when things went south in Lincoln City. People blamed me for being my father’s daughter, and there was nothing I could do to change that. But things are different here. Elliot doesn't have a problem with who I am…it’s just what I’ve done.

  I can work with that. I can find a way to make him see that I won’t do it again…and convince him I didn’t do anything to betray him.

  I am not like the Annabelle from his past.

  Chapter Two

  Elliot

  My finger still tingles as I viciously yank off my clothes and dump them on the bathroom floor. A button from my shirt hits the tiles, and I curse under my breath. Fuck it. The housekeeper will have to find it, or else the dry-cleaning lady can just replace it. I really don’t give a damn.

  The shower is heating up, turning the room steamy. I put an overly large dollop of toothpaste on the brush and start scrubbing my teeth with more force than necessary, as though that will somehow stop me from going back downstairs and kissing my wife’s lush lips.

  I should hate her for what she’s done. I do hate her. But somehow my hormones become entirely too active when she’s around.

  I rinse my mouth out and step into the shower. The hot water erases the rest of the fatigue weighing on me. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Impossible, when all sorts of thoughts were spinning and bouncing around in my mind like a BB in a pinball machine.

  My wife’s betrayal hurts. In fact, it enrages me. Maybe time has dulled my memory, but I don’t remember betrayal causing this kind of anger before. Not that I wasn’t furious when Annabelle announced her engagement to my father, but the intensity wasn’t like this…this…all-consuming fire.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I bow my head under the water.

  “Elliot.”

  Belle’s voice shatters what meager calm I’ve been able to gather. I pull back from the spray and glare at her standing on the other side of the glass stall. She’s still beautiful, her green eyes dark and solemn and her soft mouth like a lush flower in that finely carved face. The flimsy silk gown skims the gorgeous body that I spent hours worshipping just a few days ago. Was it just yesterday that we came back from our honeymoon?

  Knowing what she is changes nothing of my reaction to her.

  I let my mouth curl into a sardonic line. “Didn’t you hear what I said about shower and having things to do? Unlike you, I actually need to work.”

  She hugs herself. The gesture makes her look oddly alone, and I instinctively want to reach out and comfort her. “Don’t use that to shut me out,” she says.

  Damn her. Damn me! I curl my hands into fists instead and keep them hanging by my sides. “Like you didn’t shut me out when you kept your secret?”

  “You’re being unfair.”

  I bark out a laugh. “There it is again. Unfair. That’s rich, coming from you.”

  “When was I supposed to tell you? When you were shoving money into my G-string? When you were telling me to get down on my knees in exchange for three thousand dollars? When you were manhandling me at OWM?” She flings an arm out. “Or how about when you told me you wanted to marry me for a year so you could ‘fuck me’ and put your hand between my legs?”

  That’s it. I’m not going to stay in the stall and listen to her try to justify what she’s done. I cut the water and come out, grabbing a towel. “How about the time I asked you to tell me your secrets? How about the time I told you my ugly past with Annabelle Underhill? I’ve been many things with you, but never a hypocrite.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Grayson is my problem. I owe him money, and I figured once I pay him off he won’t have any leverage over me. Why do you think I wanted to get a job?”

  “And you could’ve told me then, too. When I told you it was pointless to get a job since I would be providing for you. You also could’ve told me what was going on, and I would’ve paid Grayson off on your behalf.” And seen if I could squeeze any information out of the man, given his connection to Keith Shellington, the Embezzling Asshole.

  “I was embarrassed, okay? It was stupid to take his money. But…I was desperate.” She bites her lower lip. “You know how things were when we first met. We just started to have a decent relationship, and I didn’t want to ruin it by asking you to pay off my debt or talking about all the ways I screwed things up after I left Lincoln City.”

  I toss the damp towel on the floor and glare at her. “So it’s my fault that you couldn’t come clean.”

  “You’re twisting what I’m telling you.” Unshed tears spike her eyelashes, and she looks at me as though I’m the monster.

  The same way Annabelle Underhill did when I called her out on her fucking scheme to marry my father. We were in a small closet where various dresses and outfits were stashed for their ceremony and reception. It was one of the few places we could have some privacy.

  You’re twisting what I’m telling you, she said. If you hadn’t kept your plans secret…

  “If we hadn’t such a rocky beginning…” my wife is saying.

  I close the distance between us in three big steps and grip her wrist. I can feel her pulse spike against my thumb. “Then what, wife? You would’ve told me everything?”

  She tilts her head to look up at me. The motion pushes her tits forward, and I wonder—quite cynically—if it’s a calculated move. Annabelle did the same then…and then let her mouth quiver…just like my wife is doing right now. The two women start to blur. And I finally realize
why I’m more furious now than before. I assumed Belle would be on my side, that she would never betray my trust because she’d thrown some crumbs about her past my way. But of course that was an error. A very stupid one.

  Belle’s breathing shallows. With fear or something else…I don’t know and I don’t give a damn. The edges of my vision dim and redden.

  “Elliot…”

  “I should’ve stuck to our agreement,” I spit out between clenched teeth. “Trying to change that, as though we could ever have anything meaningful for a year, was my mistake.”

  Infuriatingly enough, my mind tells me I should stop now, before I hurt her too much, but I can’t. I want to devastate her the way she’s devastated me. I want to be contemptuous, make her feel as much self-disgust as I do.

  And I can’t stand myself for wanting her. My cock’s so hard I could use it to split timber. I twist my hand into her hair and pull until she’s arching into my body. Her pointed nipples stab into my bare chest, and I growl deep in my throat. My dick presses against her belly, and she gasps.

  Before she can regain her equilibrium, I crush my lips against hers in a punishing kiss. There’s no gentleness or finesse as I plunder her mouth with every violent emotion that whips through me. She needs to know what she’s done, and I don’t even know why that matters so much. The likeliest scenario is that she doesn’t care, because all this had been coldly calculated, and everything between us is just one huge farce. I exert more pressure, my teeth almost cutting the tender flesh of her lips. I brace myself for her reaction—a recoil of shock and distaste, an attempt to slap me away, a struggle…

  But none of that comes.

  Instead she’s kissing me back with wild abandon, like a woman on a mission to prove she wants me. Her tongue tangles with mine with an aggression that stuns me…then stokes my need.

  She tunnels her fingers into my hair to keep me close. Blood roars in my head as I push her robe and nightgown away with unsteady hands, revealing smooth, sun-kissed skin. Her warm, delicious scent is a narcotic; as I crush her hair, I can smell faint apple from the silken strands.