The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée: An Older Man, Younger Woman Romance

by Arlo Arrow

  I hold up the sapphire engagement ring that’s heavy on my finger, and it's sparkles merrily in the sunlight.

  Oh, right, my bitchy interior voice says. But that's not real. You're gonna have to give that back, girl. Just make sure you remember that. You're gonna have to go to Florida and leave the ring behind.

  Just make sure you don't leave your heart here, as well.

  I decide I'm just going to give myself a break: I'm in a castle, I fell off a boat yesterday, and then I had sex—for the first time, and repeatedly—with a sex god.

  I just need to give myself a day to flippin' take it all in.

  I lay back and shift, enjoying the quiet and privacy. I'd run into Roger and Cara earlier on in the day, and they'd acted concerned over my little over-the-boat tumble from yesterday. I hadn't quite bought their act. I was pretty sure Cara would have happily comforted Grant if I'd drowned.

  And Roger just kept staring at my breasts.

  But they did both seem shocked at what had happened. In fact, after Cara had said she needed to get something from her room, Roger had been the one to point me toward this little garden. He'd said it was a great little hideaway, if I wanted peace and quiet and privacy…

  Ignoring the salacious gleam in his eye, I'd thanked him. Then I'd eaten a quick breakfast and set out to find this place.

  And it is nice. Heavenly, in fact. The sky is blue and cloudless today. The gardens are full of perfectly trimmed hedges and flowers of every color. There's even a real, live maze made of hedges and bushes. The entrance is further down the hill, and I'm thinking about trying it out later. I feel like I've been transported back in time to merry old England. I wouldn't be surprised if a Jane Austen heroine rounded the corner at any moment.

  Instead, Cara does.

  Not near me, not into this little private space—but about fifty feet away, down near where the garden maze began.

  And she isn't alone.

  She strides quickly toward the maze's entrance, and right on her heels…

  Is Grant.

  I sit up and squint. Yes, it's definitely Grant. No one else is that tall, that massive. I recognize his hair, his shirt even. He's wearing his favorite, worn gray T-shirt.

  She comes to a sudden stop, turning to speak with him. They're standing close together. Too close for my comfort.

  They look like they're arguing—or about to kiss.

  You're just being dramatic, I tell myself. I'm tired, hormonal, secretly in love. I just need to get a grip. I rub my eyes and tell myself to get a grip. And when I look at them again, he's kissing her.

  I gasp and clench my fists.

  He turns to look behind them but she clings to his arms. She's practically hanging on him, speaking fervently, staring into his eyes. My God. She loves him. And he's not pushing her away, is he? I try to tell myself to calm down—that maybe she's throwing herself at him.

  But then he takes her face in his hands. Just like he's done with me. Just like he did with me yesterday when we were making love.

  Or, when I was making love.

  Was it just sex? Is this all just an act—for real?

  Grant's saying something, his face fierce. She tries touching his face, but they suddenly they pull apart—and Roger appears. I can't hear their words, but it's obvious from their body language that Grant and Cara are acting like nothing happened.

  I'm such an idiot.

  He brought me here—he paid me—to be his fake fiancée.

  He said he'd protect me, he said my body was perfect…but he never said he loved me.

  Even after last night, he never asked me to stay past this week. He's never mentioned the future at all.

  I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm glad I saw this. Even as I gather my things and run back to my room, furiously wiping tears from my cheeks, I'm glad I saw it.

  So I know what is really going on.

  I'm going to confront Grant. And then I'm getting the hell out of here.

  Nineteen

  Grant

  I'm still wiping my mouth off on my sleeve when I get back inside. I don't know what the hell kind of game Cara's playing, but I'm not going to be her pawn. After a long discussion with my grandfather this morning, I think I have him convinced that requiring me to be married in order to inherit is ridiculous.

  I don't know why I never shared all my accomplishments with him before, but having Sophia here is making me see the old man with new eyes. I love how kind he is to her, and today—

  Today, he was kind to me.

  And impressed, with everything I've been doing for the past twenty years.

  I wish I would have made amends with him before he got sick.

  But I'm going to make up for lost time, starting now. With my grandfather, and with Sophia.

  I run up the stairs to our room, I’m so eager to see her. I also want to make sure she’s feeling okay after what happened yesterday on the boat. I half-suspected someone like Roger or my father pushing her overboard, not that I wanted to believe they would hurt an innocent person, just to get the Blackstone money.

  But it is a fuck-ton of money.

  But today, after the meeting with grandfather, I had interrogated the captain and crew and no one had seen anything suspicious. My father, Roger and Cara were all below deck when the accident happened.

  I guess it was just that: an accident.

  I’m furious I wasn’t there to protect Sophia, but if anything, seeing her in danger gave me clarity. I love her. I love her. And maybe she doesn’t love me back, but when I think of her falling apart in my arms, riding my cock, panting my name, and falling asleep in my arms…

  Then, dammit, I have to try. I have to go for it. If she breaks my heart—well, that's life. As long as she’s happy, I’ll be happy.

  I just hope we can be happy, together.

  But what the hell has gotten into Cara? What was she thinking, telling me she had something important to show me, and then throwing herself into my arms?

  I wipe my lips again as I open our bedroom door.

  I love that term: our bedroom door.

  I want to share everything with Sophia. My bed, my house, my life—

  Then I walk into the bedroom and find the woman I adore packing all her shit.

  “Sophia? What are you doing? Is everything all right?”

  She turns on me, and I can see immediately that she’s been crying. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are pink. And she’s furious.

  “No,” she hisses. “No, everything is not all right!”

  “Angel, come here.” I open my arms and walk toward her.

  “Stay. Away!” She throws a pair of tennis shoes in her bag and then points an accusing finger at me. “I saw you. I saw you."

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you’ll just calm down—”

  “Sure, Grant, tell me to calm down. After you—after you fuck me all night—and after I see you kissing your ex-girlfriend not ten minutes ago outside—”

  “Shit, Sophia. No. That’s not what happened.”

  “I was there!” she shouts, tears falling freely now.

  “Baby, you’re breaking my heart.” I walk toward her and take her face in my hands, trying to calm her down.

  It doesn’t work. She pushes me away, and then pushes me again. “You bastard. That’s exactly how you touched her. Cara. After you kissed her.”

  Fuck. I can see her point of view. But it’s not true.

  “Sophia, I haven’t kissed Cara in over twenty years, and believe me, I wish I never had. Ever. I didn’t kiss her in the gardens. She told me she had something important to show me, and then she kissed me. Forcefully. She threw herself at me. I didn’t kiss her back.”

  Sophia stops pacing and just stands there, staring at me. Her chest is heaving and her cheeks are tear-stained and I can’t fucking stand it.

  “I would never kiss her,” I say, walking toward Sophia. “Never again.”

  Now I do take her face gentl
y in my hands. “And I held Cara like this for one minute because I don’t hit women, but I had to stop her from throwing herself at me.”

  Sophia blinks and bites her lower lip. “You…really?”

  “Fuck yes. Really. And I didn’t fuck you all night.” I make sure she sees me, sees my eyes, sees me wearing my fucking heart on my sleeve. “I made love to you all last night. And last night may have been your first time having sex. But it was my first time, too. The first time I really made love to a woman.”

  Sophia whimpers. “I want to believe you.”

  “Believe me,” I growl. “Sophia, fucking believe me. I know I paid you to come here. I know it was all supposed to be an act: you pretend to be my fiancée, I get the money. But I want you to stay. With me. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I just want…you.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and this time I can tell they’re happy ones.

  “Grant,” she whispers. “Grant, I—”

  And then our bedroom door flies open and my father stands there, a cold smile plastered across his face. He holds a device up in his right hand and says, “I’ve got you now. Thanks for the confession, son. Your charade is over, and so are you, Grant.”

  Twenty

  Sophia

  “I’m disappointed in you, grandson. I can’t believe you would stoop so low. I can’t believe you would pay someone to be your fiancée, just to deceive me. Just for…more money.”

  Grandfather Blackstone shakes his head slowly. We’re in his private chambers and he’s resting behind his massive hardwood desk. As soon as Grant’s crazy father burst into our room—as soon as we realized Grant’s father had hidden video equipment inside the bedroom—Grant punched his father out and rushed me to see Grandfather Blackstone.

  “There you are!” Grant’s father stumbles into the room. His cheek is swelling and his eye is already black-and-blue from where Grant hit him.

  I form a fist and think about trying to hit the other eye. Grant puts his arm around my shoulders as if he knows what I’m thinking.

  “Father, how could you. You bugged our room? You videotaped us? I want those tapes. Now.”

  The old man snarls. “I’m sure you do. Especially after last night. I know your whole relationship is a lie, but you two were pretty damn convincing all night long.”

  “You’re sick,” I spit out. “That you would lie and violate your own son’s privacy just for—just for material things.”

  The older Grant shrugs. “What did you do it for? You violated everyone’s trust for a lot less money. How much is he paying you, honey? I'm set to inherit over a hundred-million dollars. Think I can afford you?" He sidles closer, leering. "From what I overheard on the tapes, you taste pretty damn delicious."

  Grant moves forward to attack him again, but this time his father is ready for him. The two men meet in the middle of the room and tussle, falling onto the ornate carpet in front of the fireplace. I stand and shout at them to stop. I'm about to jump on his father's back when Grandfather Blackstone stands up, steps out of his wheelchair, and swiftly crosses the room toward the two men rolling around on the floor.

  "That's enough!" he bellows, his voice booming.

  "Father!" Grant's dad gasps. "You're…out of your wheelchair!"

  "As usual, you've mastered the obvious, son." Grandfather Blackstone glares down at both of them. "Get your asses off the floor, sit down and shut up." He turns to me. "Sophia, my dear, please take a seat with Grant on the settee."

  I can't even speak I'm so shocked. Has he been able to walk this entire time?

  And his voice—there's no trace of a hacking cough. He sounds healthier than me.

  I walk back to the settee and sit down next to Grant, who immediately puts his arm across my shoulders. He's vibrating with anger. Grant's father throws himself into a chair across from us.

  And Grandfather Blackstone remains standing.

  "Geoffrey!" he calls out in a strong voice. "Bring in Cara and Roger, please. Oh, and the tapes."

  He turns and glares at his son. "I find it repellent that you would—illegally, I might add—tape someone during their private moments. And that you think I would be impressed that you did so."

  "But he's a liar," Grant's father hisses. "He hired her to pretend to be his fiancée, just so he could inherit when you—when you—"

  "When I die?" the old man barks. "Well, don't worry. At this point, I think I might outlive you all. I'm perfectly healthy, you jackoaf. As healthy as any eight-seven-year old has a right to be. I just wanted to see how my loving family acted if they thought I was at death's door."

  I glance at the doorway as Cara, Roger and Geoffrey walk into the study.

  "I'm also not an idiot," the older man continues. "My grandson may not have deemed me worthy of being a part of his life for the past twenty years, but that doesn't mean I haven't kept track of him. Or his maid."

  Grandfather Blackstone turns and fixes his fierce gaze on me. "Of course I suspected they were just pretending to be engaged. Especially after you, Grant, spent weeks trying to find a way out of my will's supposed-requirement."

  Next to me, Grant shakes his head. "You clever old bastard. You just wanted to dangle all that money and power in front of us, and see what we would do, didn't you?"

  "And my plan worked. Perfectly." The old man points toward his son, whose bruised face reflects the bruised look in his eyes. "Son, my dear Junior, you're an ass. An incompetent ass. I know you hired Cara to try and seduce young Grant here. And I know you set up that ridiculous meeting in the gardens today, hoping Cara could seduce Grant and Roger 'discover' them."

  Grandfather Blackstone glowers at all of us. "I have video cameras, too! A state-of-the-art security system, so I saw the three of you planning it all out." He points an accusing finger at Grant's father, Cara and Roger.

  Then he sits down heavily next to his son. "Boy, I don't know what happened to you. You were always a fool, but you used to at least have the capacity for love. After your wife died, instead of growing from the pain, you cut yourself off—from everyone. Your father, your own son. All of life. Consider this a wake-up call: you still have years left to live, if you're lucky. Don't continue being such a goddamn asshole."

  "Father." The bruised man looks shaken, beaten. "Father, I didn't mean any harm by it—"

  "Actions speak louder than words, son. And that's why I'm not going to yell at you, or berate you, or try to convince you to become a better man. I've done all that in the past. I'm going to do what I should have when you were just a boy: I'm cutting you off."

  Grant's father freezes. "No, no, you can't—"

  "I can. It's already done. Your credit cards are frozen. You have a small amount in the bank. And Geoffrey is waiting in the hall to escort you from the premises. You will not be inheriting one cent from me. Not unless you get your life together."

  Grandfather Blackstone looks toward Cara and Roger. "And you two are lucky I'm not pressing charges. You'll both leave, now, with him."

  They don't even argue or say goodbye. Cara shoots one last, hurt look at Grant—and me—and then she disappears down the hall.

  Grant's father stands heavily and moves like he's the older man. He walks to the doorway and turns around. "Father, Grant, I'm sorry. And for what it's worth—Sophia, I saw you fall overboard. I tried to reach you in time, but—you were just gone."

  Grant stands and I can tell he's holding himself back from attacking again. "The fact that you didn't push her is the only reason I'm letting you live, old man. But you still didn't call for help."

  "I’m sorry.” Grant’s father turns to me, and it isn’t only his face that’s beaten—it’s his eyes. His soul. “I’m so damn sorry, Sophia. I wanted to help you, but I froze. All I could see was my wife, Grant’s mother. She died out on the water and...I just froze. And then Grant was there and people were coming to our rescue. But, I’m sorry. And I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  "Get the hell out," Grant says, his voice as cold a
s the waters I’d fallen into. And this time, his father doesn't argue.

  And then we are alone with the patriarch of the family.

  "Grandfather—" Grant says, still standing.

  "I don't want to hear it, boy. Actions speak louder than words, and you chose to try and deceive me, rather than simply be a man and tell me the truth. So I'm going to give you a choice: tell me the truth now. Do you love Sophia? Because I have to tell you, I watched you both, and I don't think either of you was acting."

  Grant freezes. I stare up at him. What will he say?

  What would I say, if Grandfather Blackstone asked me that?

  "But before you answer," the old man continues, "I want you to know: I think you’re right. You don’t need to be engaged or be a 'family man' to run my companies. In fact, you've been incredibly successful for the past twenty years—and you've been single. Unencumbered. Alone. I've changed my mind. I think it actually might be best for a man without a family, without distractions, to head up our empire. So you've got a choice: if you really love the girl, marry her. If it was all an act, perfect. I'll give you everything I own, if you send her packing."

  I stare up at Grant, his tense jaw, his hands fisted.

  He said I'm his.

  He said we made love.

  But when he turns toward me, when I see the anguished look in his eyes, I know. I know it was all convenience. Maybe not an act—but not real.

  He drops to one knee and takes my hand. "I'm sorry, Sophia."

  I watch, frozen, and he delicately pulls the sapphire engagement ring off my finger.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I can't hear it. I don't want any excuses.

  His grandfather was right: actions speak louder than words.

  So I stand up, push Grant off his knees and onto his ass, and run out of the room.

  Twenty-One

  Sophia

  I make it all the way down the hall and back to our bedroom before Grant catches me. And, given that we're in a flippin' mansion, that's quite a long way.