Pretend I'm Yours: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Ella Miles

  I look around the room for the staff, but see nobody. They know better than to show up when they aren’t wanted. They will stay hidden until called upon.

  And my grandfather is at one of the casinos, probably already trying to figure out who is going to take over the company now that my father’s dead. I know what he wants to talk to me about, but I’m not ready for that yet.

  I’m not ready to be around anybody, not when I carry guilt around because of my father’s death. He died while I was out, drinking and having fun. He died while I was out, trying to sleep with a stranger. He died while worrying about me. He died because of me.

  I pull out the first casserole and pop the lid open to find a bunch of green crap. I wrinkle my nose at the smell before putting it back in and pulling out a second dish. Don’t people know, if they are going to leave food, they should leave something comforting, not some healthy crap?

  The second dish is mashed potatoes. I take the whole bowl and grab a spoon before heading to the basement movie theater. I don’t turn on the lights as I enter the ten-seat theater. I know where the remote is, the same place I left it on the center chair in the first row. I’m the only person who ever uses this room when I am home. It’s another useless room that we shouldn’t have.

  I turn the screen on and wait for it to slowly come to life while I scoop cold potatoes into my mouth. This seems as good a place as any to spend the day after a funeral. This is where I’ll spend the worst day of my life. I’ll spend it watching movies.

  The lights come on halfway through the fourth Harry Potter film. I close my eyes from the pain of the abrupt change of light. I don’t move though. It hurts to move. It hurts to think. It hurts to exist.

  “Meet me in your father’s home office in five minutes,” Granddad says before he walks out of the room.

  He didn’t wait for me to respond. He doesn’t have to. He already knows that I’ll follow his orders. I always do.

  I count silently in my head while I keep my eyes closed. I count to two hundred and forty. I only have sixty seconds left to make it to my father’s office, the minimal amount of time I know it will take me to get there.

  I crack my eyes open as I slowly get up. I place the empty bowl on the floor. Someone will get it later. I slowly climb the stairs before turning down the hallway that leads to my father’s office. It should hurt, entering my father’s office, but as I open the door, it doesn’t. It doesn’t bring back any memories of my father. However, it does bring back memories of my grandfather sitting behind the desk, scolding me, like he always does.

  I love my grandfather. He has done a lot for me and even more for my family. Without him, the Felton Corporation might never have reached the heights that it has. We wouldn’t have more than enough money to take care of ourselves for dozens of lifetimes without even having to lift a finger. Granddad was the one who turned a simple casino into almost twenty properties now. He was the one who grew the empire to what it is today.

  He has given me direction in my life. He was the one who got me the modeling jobs. He was the one who decided that I should go to Yale. He was the one who decided I should major in theater. He was the one who decided my whole future.

  And I know why he has brought me here—to decide what comes next.

  I’m usually thankful for his guidance. He’s always right. He’s even right about what he’s brought me here to tell me. I’m just not ready to hear it yet. I’m not ready to hear it on the worst day of my life. Today, I need to go back downstairs and finish watching Harry Potter. I need to feel sorry for myself. I need to feel angry with the world. I don’t need to deal with this.

  “Take a seat, princess,” Granddad says, indicating for me to take a seat opposite him.

  But I can’t. I’m frozen in the doorway. He called me princess. Only my father ever called me that.

  Tears I didn’t even know still existed threaten to fall as my eyes fill with moisture. I thought I had cried all the tears out.

  Granddad immediately realizes his mistake. His arms are quickly around me in a hug, but it doesn’t stave off the tears. They fall fast and hard. My body moves from a frozen statue into uncontrollable trembles. I feel my grandfather guide me over to a chair. I feel my body collapse into the chair, but it doesn’t stop the trembling or the tears.

  He hands me a handkerchief before moving back to his seat across from me. I wipe my eyes, and then I stare at him. Nobody would know he is eighty-five years old. He looks sixty, tops. It’s the lucky Felton genes. He doesn’t work out or eat any better than I do.

  “We need to talk about your future.”

  I nod, expecting this.

  “We need to figure out who is going to run the company.”

  I nod again.

  “As you already know, your father and I argued a lot. We never agreed on anything.” He sits back in his chair, smiling a little at a memory.

  When he looks back at me, he frowns. He agrees with me. He thinks I’m the reason his son is dead. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.

  Maybe he would if I gave him everything he ever wanted?

  “But we did agree on one thing,” he continues.

  I already know what that one thing is.

  “That you want the company to stay in the family,” I say, completing his sentence.

  His frown deepens. “Yes. Your mother isn’t capable of running the company. And, frankly, neither are you.”

  Now, it’s my turn to grimace. Although I already knew that’s how he felt, it hurts to hear that my father felt the same way, that he didn’t have any more confidence in my abilities than my grandfather did, that I was never even considered for the job even though I was family. I’m the only heir to the empire.

  “We all agreed that what is best for the company is that you marry someone who is capable of running the company—a man your father and I would choose after years of scrutiny.”

  I nod. I already knew all of this. It’s why I never really dated. It doesn’t matter whom I want to be with. It only matters who is best for the company. I’ve been told enough times to know that and that it would eventually happen. I’ll marry for my family, not for love.

  It’s always been years into the future though. I’m only twenty-one. I haven’t even officially graduated yet. I haven’t even met the guys my father and grandfather have been considering. I haven’t tested out the guys myself to at least make sure whomever they might choose would be a good fit.

  “Well…” Granddad pauses, like it’s hard for him to say the next words because he knows how much I’ll hate them. “We found him.”

  My mouth falls open. I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t know he and my father had already chosen a man for me. I thought I still had time left.

  “You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

  I nod. It’s all I can do.

  “And then you’ll marry him in six months.”

  My eyes grow wide at his words. Six months? I can’t marry someone I’ve never met in six months. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to tell if I like the guy in six months. I won’t even be over mourning my father in that amount of time.

  “I can’t…” I whisper. The words feel strange falling from my mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever said those words to any member of my family, even my mother. I’ve always been the good girl following their every order. I’ve always been their princess who never disobeys. Right now, I don’t know if I can ever be that girl again.

  Granddad walks over to me and rests his hand on my shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting, except that it’s not.

  I can’t get married in six months. I just can’t. A few years maybe. That was always the plan—do the modeling and acting thing for a little longer, and then in my late twenties, they would match me with a guy who they felt was capable of running the company but would also be a good match for me. We would date like normal people and then marry by the time we were thirty.

  I’m only twenty-one. That’s nowhere near thirty. And I can
’t focus on anything right now, except my father being gone.

  “Oh, sweetie, you can.”

  I incredulously stare up at him. I don’t know how he can focus on anything, except his son being gone, right now, but I guess the company comes first. It always comes first.

  “I…I don’t think so.” My eyes beg for him to change his mind, to understand that I’m not ready to get married. I don’t even know who I am yet or what I want in life.

  “I’m sorry. I know we all wanted to wait until you were older, but it’s time. I’m not getting any younger. I need to know that the company is in the right hands before I go.”

  I tuck my long strands behind my ear. I can’t believe he is talking about his own death right now. I nervously run my hands through my hair over and over.

  “I’m not ready,” I say without meeting his eyes. I can’t face disappointing him again.

  “Yes, you are. You’re beautiful. You were born to marry a man who can run the Felton empire. Once you are married, you will see it was the right thing to do. You will feel taken care of. You will finally feel like you have found your place in this world.”

  I let my eyes glance up at him for just a second. I see honesty. His eyes are filled with honesty.

  “Maybe,” I say weakly.

  His face brightens. “Yes,” he says.

  “Yes,” I repeat on autopilot.

  “The meeting is tomorrow at eleven a.m. at the Felton Grand on the strip.”

  “Yes,” I say again. I stand up without looking him in the eyes. I walk out of the door without looking back.

  I walk back to the basement, back to my haven. This time, when I slump into the chair, I don’t feel an ounce of comfort. In fact, I feel nothing. Sitting here, watching movies the rest of the day, isn’t going to help anymore. I won’t be able to zone out of them again. I just promised my grandfather that I would marry a complete stranger in six months. I’ve never broken a promise before, and I don’t plan on starting now.

  I just don’t know what I want.

  I think of everything I’ve been told I want—money, clothes, a modeling career, an acting career, and an intelligent husband who will run the company in order to give me even more money. But not one of those things has ever made me happy. I try to think about things that have made me happy—my family and Scarlett. But that leaves me with fewer answers.

  I know what I don’t want.

  I don’t want a modeling career.

  I don’t want an acting career.

  I don’t want to marry a complete stranger.

  I try to think of my happiest memory with my dad. It was on my eighteenth birthday. It coincided with my high school graduation. He took me to a casino in California, one I could legally gamble at. He taught me how to play blackjack and how to count cards. We won—a lot. It wasn’t the winning that made it fun. It was learning something from my father. It was the confidence he displayed in me when he gave me high amounts of money to place a bet that I would win because I was capable. It was one of the only times I felt he was proud of me for something other than my looks.

  The line I will never forget my father saying to me is, “No one would ever suspect you of counting cards. You’re too pretty.”

  It was that day that I learned that my beauty was a weapon that could be used to my advantage. I just have never learned how to harness it.

  I head to my room to grab my shoes and purse to head to a casino, to find a happy memory…because, tomorrow, I’ll meet the man I’m going to marry. Tomorrow, I’ll have to face the fact that I don’t get to decide my own future, but I don’t have to today. I still have a chance to make today better. I was wrong. Today isn’t the worst day of my life. Tomorrow probably will be, so I’m going to make the most of my last night of freedom.

  I place five hundred dollars’ worth in chips on the table—my maximum bid. The true count is up to plus-six, so I need to bet high since a positive true count tells me I have an advantage over the dealer. I watch as the dealer deals out the cards. In my head, I silently keep track of the cards being laid out. I look at my cards—a jack and a ten. I smile at the twenty, just one short of twenty-one. The number I want to match without going over. The dealer turns to me on my turn, and I signal that I want to stand.

  I watch the dealer flop an additional card to add to his fifteen. It’s a king. He’s busted at twenty-five. I smile as he hands me a thousand dollars in additional chips bringing my winnings up to five thousand for the night.

  I should stop soon. Not stopping is always the chance you take when you play against the house. The house always has the advantage, even when you count cards, even when you know the odds. There is always a chance that you will lose, that you will lose track of the count, that you will get cocky and bet too much.

  But I didn’t come here to win. Although winning feels good, I came here to escape. So, I’ll keep playing, no matter what.

  “You’re good. You should teach this old man to play. I’m having terrible luck,” an older gentleman sitting next to me says.

  I smile at the sweet old man. He’s been sitting next to me for over an hour now, and I don’t think he’s won more than a couple of hands. He is down well over a thousand dollars.

  I bid my maximum five hundred again. I keep my eyes on the cards as the dealer deals. I silently keep up the running count while still giving attention to the older gentleman.

  “It’s just beginner’s luck. I haven’t played in years.”

  The man smiles at me. “It looks like more than luck to me.”

  I shake my head as I smile back. I watch as the man takes his turn. He has seventeen. He should stand. If he hits, there is a good chance he will bust. He hits, and he busts. I knowingly shake my head.

  It’s my turn. I get a blackjack. I smile as the dealer pushes more chips my way.

  The old man sitting next to me shakes his head in disbelief that I won again. I try to act innocent by twirling my long hair with my fingers. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I’m counting cards, not that anyone would expect a beautiful young woman to be counting cards. But if security does catch on, I know enough about casinos to know that I’ll be kicked out.

  I silently divide the running count by the decks left in the shoe. I get negative four indicating I’m at a disadvantage. I place a low bet this time, expecting to lose. I do.

  “Guess my winning streak can’t last forever.”

  The older gentleman chuckles. “Maybe your luck has passed to me.”

  I glance up from the table when I see them—the most intense eyes I have ever seen. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed him before. I’ve been sitting at this table for over an hour. In that time, many people have come and gone. None of them were the least bit intriguing.

  There is something about the way this man is looking at me that sends goose bumps all over my body. I’m not sure what the look actually is. Is it lust? Interest? Anger? Frustration? I don’t know. All I can feel is the intensity of his eyes. And they are staring at me. His eyes don’t leave me as the dealer begins dealing.

  I glance back at the table to continue counting the cards, but I still feel his eyes burning into me. I lose track of the count, not really caring anymore. I hit even though I’m at nineteen, and it doesn’t make sense to. I bust.

  “I think I’ve pushed my luck too far at this table. Good luck,” I say, winking at the older gentleman next to me. I stand from the table, taking my chips with me.

  I make it a point to avoid looking at the man, but I still feel his eyes on me. I’m not ready to leave yet. As soon as I leave, my world will no longer be in my control—not that it ever was in my control. But I need more of a distraction.

  I walk to the bar in the center of the casino and take a seat. I relax as my butt hits the cushion of the barstool. I know I can’t sit here for long without ordering a drink, which is the last thing I want. Maybe I’ll try my hand at pushing the buttons on the slots. I know I’ll end up losing all the mo
ney I just won, but I don’t care.

  “So, you’re a pro.”

  “What?” I turn left, toward the direction of the voice.

  That’s when I see them—the same intense eyes. It’s the same man who was watching me at the blackjack table.

  I flip the chips over in my hands at the bar.

  “A pro card counter,” he says as he takes a seat next to me.

  Shit. I’m about to get thrown out of here.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn back to the bar. I try to get the attention of one of the scantily clad bartenders, but the closest one to me is busy flirting with a gentleman.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the man from the blackjack table as he raises his hand, and the bartender immediately smiles and begins walking over to us.

  “Yes, you do. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn you in.”

  I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Do you work here?”

  “No.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I have no idea why this complete stranger followed me. It’s not like the other night at the bar where I was dressed to pick up a guy. Tonight, I look like death. Nobody is attracted to that. So, it can’t be that. He’s not here to kick me out. That leaves…I have no idea.

  “What can I getcha?” The woman leans over the bar, pushing her cleavage closer to the man’s face.

  I watch his lips move, but I don’t register what he is saying. He doesn’t ask me what I want. He just speaks to the bartender, while keeping his eyes on me.

  I know all of this because, when the bartender came over, I took the opportunity to check him out, assuming he would be looking at the boobs in front of him. I was wrong.

  Now, I can’t take my eyes off of him even though my cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. I notice his suit that conforms to his body, making it obvious that he doesn’t work here. His dark brown hair spikes slightly to one side, and I think there is a little red in it, if I look closely. He has a hint of a five o’clock shadow outlining below his downturned lips that seem just as intense as his eyes.