Single Dad's Virgin: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  My lips part and my eyes close as I tilt my chin up to him. My heart pounds in my chest and somewhere distantly my brain is scrambling to figure out what’s happening. He lays his hand on the side of my neck, brushing my jaw with his thumb and leaning close enough that I feel his breath on my lips.

  Someone clears their throat loudly to our side. I don’t hear it at first, like an alarm clock interrupting a dream, but when my eyes finally flutter open and I see the woman standing next to us, fists planted on her hips, I’m broken from the moment as surely as if I had woken from a dream.

  “Liam,” says the woman.

  It takes me a second to place her, but I realize she’s the same woman I saw him with at Enzino’s a couple days ago.

  “I’d think,” she continues, “You would be smarter than to bring this slut out in public with you, given the circumstances,” she adds in a dangerous, low voice.

  “Don’t you dare talk about her that way. That’s my fiancée you’re slandering, Julianne,” says Liam with the hint of a grin.

  Julianne looks from him to me, mouth hanging slightly open, lips working silently like a fish out of the water. “Her?” she asks finally.

  “Yeah, her,” he says. “She’s fucking gorgeous and she’s dynamite in bed. What can I say. I’m smitten.”

  I blush, especially when Julianne does a top to bottom survey of me and apparently isn’t impressed.

  “Good for you,” Julianne says to Liam. “I guess you’ve moved beyond caring what a woman looks like on the outside. I’m impressed.”

  “Excuse me?” I snap. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can fuck off with your passive aggressive--”

  I’m stopped short when I notice Liam is covering a huge smile with his hand.

  “What?” I demand. “What’s so funny?”

  “Yes,” says Julianne. “Please, tell us what’s so funny.”

  He smirks at me, composing himself. “It’s just refreshing to see a woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, and no,” he says, pointing to Julianne. “Sharing your thoughts in snide comments and talking about people behind their backs doesn’t count.”

  She purses her lips and shakes her head. “How’s this for direct?” she asks. “My lawyer says he just needs one slip up from you to seal the case. One teensy, tiny slip up and I’ll easily win custody. I guess judges realize a child’s true place is with her mother, so it doesn’t take much.”

  Liam’s jaw flexes. It looks like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it, turning instead to kiss me full on the mouth. His lips crash against mine. It’s not a tender kiss. There’s no time to adjust. In a single, all-consuming moment, the world ceases to exist around us. There’s only the sensation of his velvety lips brushing against mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, and his hands moving across my body. When he pulls away, it’s like being splashed with cold water. Reality surges back to meet me with unpleasant force, and for a few moments, it’s all I can do not to hungrily and desperately go back for more of his taste.

  Julianne is gone, but heads are turned toward us. “That was a good way to make a statement,” I say breathlessly.

  He grins and bites his lip, “Damn. I think I’m going to enjoy convincing people this is real.”

  I blush, and the heat from my cheeks spreads straight down to my chest and between my legs, where a pulsing, throbbing need for Liam explodes without warning.

  This is bad. I’m letting him get to me. I’m letting this become more than a rouse, and if it keeps up, I’ll be risking my job and my relationship with Roxanne and Sophie.

  “So that was your ex-wife?”

  “Julianne,” he says, nodding. “And no, if you’re wondering whether she looked like that when we were together. She didn’t. All the… work she had done was after the divorce.”

  I give a quick smile, not wanting to admit I was wondering exactly that. “I was going to say, if she’s your type I don’t think anyone will believe we’re together.”

  He chuckles. “Somehow I think I could get used to you.”

  “That’s real sweet,” I say sarcastically.

  “Well, you know. It might take some more pretend kisses. Maybe some more pretend touching. Oh, and you could let me see you in your bra and panties again. That could help.”

  I glare. “You mean when you walked into my room without knocking and stared at me while I was undressed?”

  Liam shrugs. “Call it what you want, but you can’t take the image from my mind.” He laughs. “And you better not even think about trying to.”

  “I wish I could. After seeing all these women, I must look like a cow compared to what you’re used to.”

  He gives me a very serious, very intense look. “Aubrey. There’s one thing I won’t tolerate from you. Don’t you dare talk bad about my fiancée, because she’s the most real and gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “Oh she is?” I ask, smirking. “I’d like to meet this goddess sometime. She sounds incredible.”

  “You have no idea,” he says, leaning to kiss me again.

  I press my fingertips to his chin, holding him back slightly. It’s all happening so fast and feeling so real. As much as I want his lips on mine again, a cold fear grips my stomach and forces me back. “Better not convince them too quickly,” I say nervously. No matter how much my mind screams to remind my body he’s just pretending, it’s not working. If this keeps up, it’s going to be real for me, and that can only lead to heartbreak.

  “Right,” he agrees, but I can tell from the way he’s eyeing me that he knows I’m not being entirely truthful.

  7

  Liam

  I sit at breakfast with mother, Sophie, and Aubrey. It has been nearly a week since the dinner party, and things have been… interesting.

  “Can you pass the butter?” I ask Aubrey.

  She grabs it and hands it to me without making eye contact.

  My mother chuckles. “That is some cold butter, son. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t--” I sigh when I realize she’s not talking about the butter. “It’s just professional butter. Not cold, not hot. Just butter doing its job like good butter should.”

  Sophie narrows her eyes, looking between all of us. “I thought it was just Country Crock…”

  “What your daddy is trying to say,” Aubrey says. “Is that the butter has to keep its priorities straight. It can’t risk losing its job just because the toast is warm. The butter has to stay cold.”

  Sophie throws her hands up, clearly giving up. “Well, can you pass me some of the magical butter, daddy?”

  I grin, sliding it over to her.

  Aubrey eyeballs me while she helps cut mother's eggs. When she catches me looking at her, she looks away quickly. I groan under my breath, suddenly losing my appetite. I’m sick of this shit. I thought things were going fine at the dinner party. Yeah, Aubrey had to endure some slights from Veronica and Julianne, but she seemed to handle herself fine--hell, more than fine. I had a hard-on just watching the way she stood up to them.

  And fuck. Kissing her was incredible. My entire body felt like it was riding an electric current, like her lips were conduits and every second we touched charged me with an explosive energy. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck someone as badly as I wanted her right then. I would’ve taken her as my real wife just to get inside her, but she pushed me away when I went for another kiss.

  I still can’t figure out what her hangup is. And she sure as hell doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. But the busy week I had is through now, and I can focus my full attention on… what? What exactly is my goal?

  I started this thing out because I wanted to look better for a judge. I wanted to be able to say I was rebuilding a healthy family for my daughter. I didn’t want to get involved in a relationship. Yet here I am, trying to figure out how I can win this woman over.

  Whether I understand it or not, I have to have her. I need her, and it doesn’t hurt that wi
nning her over is the only real way to save my family, too. Besides showing the judge I’m engaged and then breaking it off once I win the legal battle is just going to open me up to another attempt from Julianne. It also doesn’t help that she’s a virgin. Knowing no man has ever had her before makes me want her all the more.

  “How much Crisco did you use to make these?” asks my mother as she jabs at the pancakes with her fork.

  “I’ve never used Crisco for the pancakes,” says Aubrey slowly. “That’d be kind of--”

  “Well you need to start,” snaps my mother. “These need more Crisco.”

  “My orange juice doesn’t have enough Crisco, either, Miss Aubrey,” says Sophie.

  Aubrey shoots Sophie a warning glare. “I’ll make sure I put plenty of Crisco in your orange juice tomorrow morning, Sophie. And then I’ll make sure you drink every last sip.”

  Sophie looks like she thoroughly regrets her joke, and my mother looks disgusted. “Now that’s a waste of Crisco,” she says. “If you want to have Crisco in your orange juice you have to freeze it into ice cubes first.”

  Aubrey looks horrified until my mother breaks into a smile.

  “You’re too guillible, young lady,” chides my mother. “Far too gullible. But seriously, put some damn Crisco in the pancakes tomorrow or I’ll lose my temper with you, so help me God.”

  There’s a firm knock at the door that makes Sophie and Aubrey jump half-way out of their chairs.

  Aubrey collects herself before getting up to answer the door.

  “No,” I say, remembering the sight of that asshole who tried to put his hands on her. “I’ll get it.”

  “It’s okay, I can answer the door,” says Aubrey, fast-walk racing me to the door.

  I win by a hair, yanking the door open to the surprised face of a little old lady with a clipboard. She’s wearing a blue coat with oversized buttons and a hat with an actual feather in it. I raise my eyebrows.

  “Linda McCroy. Child Protective Services,” she says authoritatively. “May I come in?”

  “I have nothing to hide,” I say, glaring at her.

  She jots something down on her clipboard, raising an eyebrow as she quietly mouths the word, “suspicious.”

  “What are you writing?” I ask, reaching for her clipboard.

  She purses her lips, turning the clipboard away from me with surprising speed before writing something else and mouthing, “aggressive.”

  I feel my nostrils flaring, but let her stroll into my house.

  “Is this woman your mistress?” she asks, looking Aubrey up and down.

  “This is my fiancée,” I say.

  Her permanently raised eyebrow climbs a fraction of an inch. “Hm. That was not in our documentation.”

  “Guess you’ll need to add it, then,” I say.

  “Odd,” she notes, writing something down as she looks at us. “Most men would’ve made a physical gesture toward their bride-to-be by now. You haven’t touched her.”

  “Is it too late to throw you out?” I growl.

  She moves past me, unbothered. “This painting… Are those breasts?”

  “I don’t know,” I say dryly as I look at the painting. It shows a woman lying on her side in the nude, but it’s an old, artistic piece I’ve barely ever noticed. “You tell me.”

  Her pen works at the clipboard furiously. “Breasts on display in a home with a child.” She tsks. “Oh to think what my dear mother would think if she could see the places of debauchery my work has forced me to step foot inside.”

  “This is hardly--” starts Aubrey.

  The woman rounds on her, stopping her mid sentence with an expectant look. “Well trained, is she?” asks Linda. “Your fiancée already barks when you’re provoked and I’m sure she knows many lines you’ve taught her.”

  “What gives you the right to talk to me like that?” demands Aubrey. Her cheeks are flushed red and her hands are balled at her side in the most adorable way. I make sure she doesn’t see me grinning, because I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate it at this particular moment.

  “Years of experience, for starters. Now. I’ve been speaking with the two of you for at least two minutes and haven’t seen hair or hide of this child you claim to take care of. Is she supervised right now?”

  “Of course she’s…” says Aubrey, swallowing hard and interrupting herself. “I mean, yes. She’s completely supervised.

  “Take me to her,” demands Linda.

  We step into the dining room and find my mother, who has fallen asleep head first on the table with her forehead resting on a pile of pancakes. Meanwhile, Sophie is holding the stick of butter like a candy bar and chewing curiously at it.

  “Oh, hi,” says Sophie. “This butter has some explaining to do. It doesn’t taste magical at all.”

  Linda turns slowly to look at me, raising her eyebrows so high I think they might disappear into her graying hairline.

  “She’s a real jokester,” I explain.

  “I’m sure she is. I assume this woman is alive?” asks Linda, who prods my mother with her pen.

  My mother stirs, sucking in a quick, startled breath. She glares up at Linda, who is standing beside her chair, but still barely taller than my mother who is seated.

  “If you put that pen near me again, I’ll bite your stubby little arms off. Oh, and that hat is absolutely hideous,” she adds, raising her eyes to Linda’s hat.

  Linda puts a protective hand over her hat, looking affronted as she takes in the entire scene. “Well. I think I’ve seen plenty here. An aggressive and violent father, an uppity parrot of a fiancée, a cannibalistic grandmother, and a clearly disturbed daughter. I’ll be sending my report in very soon. You can count on that.”

  The little woman storms out, leaving all of us standing around the room, looking from one another in confusion.

  “Really, Soph?” I ask. “You chose this exact moment to bite into a stick of butter?”

  Sophie shrugs. “Is there ever a good moment to bite into a stick of butter?”

  Roxanne cackles, rocking back in her chair. “She has you there, son.”

  I rub my eyes with my palms and sigh.

  “That woman said Aubrey was your fiancée. Why did she say that?” asks Sophie.

  “Because we’re engaged,” I say, pulling Aubrey to my side. She gives me a warning look, but I continue on. “We haven’t set a date for the wedding, but I’m sure we’ll decide on one soon.”

  My mother looks genuinely surprised for the first time I can remember. There’s a loud screech as Sophie pushes out her chair and storms toward her wing of the house.

  “That could’ve gone better,” I say.

  I sit outside on the steps of the patio, looking out over the night sky. The pool lights are a cool, aqua green, causing the gently stirring water to cast ghostly lights on the palm trees and rocks surrounding the pool. I close my eyes, listening to the wind rustle the palm fronds and wondering. I wonder how I can take entire corporations and model them into my exact vision within weeks, but still can’t seem to keep my family secure.

  I’m about to get up and go inside when Aubrey slips out from the patio doors and moves beside me. “Is it okay if I sit here?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say, patting the stone beside me. “It’ll make your ass numb in a few minutes, but help yourself.”

  She sits down, close enough that I can smell her perfume. “I’m sorry about what’s happening. I haven’t told you that yet, but I mean it. You seem like a really good guy, and I don’t think it’s right what Jul--she is doing to you.”

  I smirk. “You can say her name. She’s not Lord Voldemort or something.”

  Aubrey bulges her eyes at me. “Did you just make a Harry Potter reference?”

  It has been so long since I blushed, I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like, but I feel the heat in my cheeks now. Thankfully it’s too dark for her to see. “Well, Sophie loves those movies.”

  “Right,” says Aubrey, grinnin
g. “I think it’s cool. No, I think it’s really cool. It makes you seem more human.”

  I chuckle. “I didn’t realize I was on trial for my humanity.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just… you have mirrors in your room, right? Look at yourself sometime and imagine what it’s like to meet you. Sorry if this is awkward to say, but you’re like, I don’t know, a literal dream guy. You look like you stepped out of the collective fantasy of every woman alive.”

  “Well,” I say, smiling. “How does it feel to be Mrs. Literal Dream Guy?”

  She picks at her fingernail, smiling faintly. “It’s just pretend.”

  I open my mouth to say something, I don’t know what, but something. I can feel there’s something she needs to hear, but she speaks before I can.

  “So what made you fall in love with Julianne? Originally, I mean,” asks Aubrey quickly. She frowns, looking up at me. “I’m so sorry. God. That is totally inappropriate for me to ask.”

  “No, it’s okay. I know how it must look. You see the woman from the dinner party and it’s like looking at a broken egg without knowing how all the pieces fit together. The truth is she was a completely different person when we first met. She was kind and thoughtful. The only hint of the woman she would become was the way she put so much energy into trying to shape my future. She thought with how easy school came to me, I should go for a medical degree. She wanted to be a surgeon's wife, I guess.

  “At the time I thought it was good of her. I thought she was trying to be a supportive girlfriend who believed in me. I never needed anyone to believe in me, though. There has always been something in my chest I can’t put aside. It drives me like an engine that never stops running. I can pretend I don’t feel it for short stretches of time, but eventually it gets stronger and stronger until I can’t stop it anymore.

  “Back then it was even more powerful, and it drove me to become one of the youngest billionaires in history. I couldn’t get enough--not of the money, but of the rush. It sounds vain as hell, but money was always a measure of success to me, like a point system. The more money I made, the better I was doing.