Famously Wed: A Billionaire Boss Romance

by Roxy Reid

  I reach up and grasp the zipper at the top of her dress and slowly pull it downwards. Each time my fingers brush the soft, cafe-au-lait colored skin of her back feels like a pleasant electric shock. Goosebumps erupt over her flesh, tantalizing me even more. I wonder if she remembers our first night together, how compatible we were, how many times I made her cum …

  “See you tomorrow?” she says, zipper undone.

  I clear my throat and step away from her, turning around to hide the fact that a stirring has awoken in my pants. “The makeup person will be here at eight,” I tell her. “The car at eleven.”

  “Sounds good.” I never really noticed how fucking beautiful her eyes are. Light brown, rimmed with thick dark lashes, expressive but mysterious at the same time. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I wait until she’s disappeared into her room and shut the door behind her before turning towards my own bedroom, suddenly feeling more nervous about tomorrow than ever before.

  7

  Ella

  It’s over quicker than I could have thought possible, and now we’re married. Just like that.

  Max clasps my hand tightly as we walk back down the aisle together, dodging fistfuls of rice and outstretched phones trying to snap the perfect picture. Once we enter the house, we know we’re going to be alone for approximately thirty seconds before we’re swarmed by the photographer and her three-person team.

  Boldly, Max kisses me again, and then holds our hands up together, each wearing a flashy ring on the third finger of our respective left hands. “This is nuts,” he says quietly.

  “It sure is.” I feel as though I’ve been blacked out for the past ten minutes. Did the ceremony really just happen? I don’t remember walking down the aisle. How did I get here?

  As anticipated, the photography crew arrives and whisks us away to get our portraits done, a step I find extremely uncomfortable and unnecessary given the circumstances of our union, but which we’re both doing to appease my new in-laws. What’s more awkward is knowing these photos are going to be plastered everywhere tomorrow, and they’re all a lie.

  Trying not to think about it, I go through the motions as enthusiastically as I can muster. Luckily Max seems to be of the same mind, and his presence is actually quite comforting. My new husband does look resplendent in a slate-grey suit with a floral tie, his hair styled just so, his clean-shaven jaw ready to cut something. I honestly have no idea what I look like—if I did get a chance earlier in the day to look at myself, I don’t remember it. I’ve been in a daze all day, and I’m fairly certain the rumbling in my stomach is a clear indicator I haven’t eaten yet, either.

  The photos done, Max seizes me by the waist and drags me back into the house, finding a spare room upstairs that looks as though it hasn’t been used in several years. He shuts the door behind us and immediately loosens his tie, sighing in relief. “I thought the photos would never end,” he says, flopping down in a cushy-looking armchair.

  I navigate myself onto a couch covered in plastic, gathering my enormous skirt around me so it looks like I’m sitting in a pool full of white frosting. “I’m fucking starving,” I admit, clasping my hands over my rumbling belly. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “You didn’t eat?!” he looks startled, then concerned. “Ella, you have to eat. No one fed you?”

  “I don’t remember,” I say truthfully. “I don’t think so? Maybe I was too nervous. This whole day has just been a blur.”

  He nods. “I get that. But you need to eat, love. Let me see if I can find you something quick, okay?” He exits the room before either of us can fully process the fact that he just called me ‘love’ so casually.

  Alone for the first time since eight in the morning, I release myself, lying back on the couch and closing my eyes. I could fall asleep right here. In addition to being famished, I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep a wink last night, literally. I didn’t even doze. Maybe I’ve been sleeping all day to make up for it.

  “This is crazy.” I don’t even realize I’ve said this out loud. But it is fucking crazy. I’m married. A week ago I was riding high after a hot one night stand and starting my first day at a job that actually pays. And now I’m fucking married to one of the wealthiest men in New York City. I’m a Banks. Ella Banks. Consuella Banks? Ella Maria Banks? None of these sound right to me.

  I’m hyperventilating by the time Max returns with a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit. He gets me up into a sitting position on the couch and tries to feed me the food, all the while murmuring calming things, reminding me to breathe, stroking my hair, rubbing a thumb over the back of my hand. This can’t be real life. Right?

  “Ella. Look at me.” He grabs my face between his hands and forces my head to turn in his direction. I struggle to focus my eyes on his face. “Look at me. Come back. Breathe and come back to me. That’s it.”

  I’m in my body again. I’m in a white dress, on a plastic-covered couch, in a random room, with my husband kneeling in front of me, talking me down from the brink of a panic attack. I shake my head, blinking my eyes to clear the fog, and see Max’s face clearly for the first time all day. It’s currently pinched with concern, but handsome as ever, his dark eyes creased as his stares at me intensely. “I’m all right,” I say, breathing heavily. “I’m back.”

  Max breathes a sigh of relief and lifts a cup of orange liquid to my lips. “Drink this. It’s orange juice. That a girl.”

  I drain the glass gratefully and reach for the food he hasn’t managed to get into my system. He hands me the plate and I devour it in record time, much to his amusement. He’s laughing as I chew the final bite, my cheeks no doubt resembling those of a chipmunk. “Sorry,” I choke out. “About that. As if this day couldn’t get any more embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, taking my hands in his own. “Are you okay now?”

  “I think so.” I nod, checking in with each organ and every limb to confirm. “Yes. I’m okay.”

  “Good,” he says, flicking his wrist to check his Rolex, “because we’re running about an hour late for our reception.”

  I groan and let him pull me to my feet. On the way out of the room I’m stopped by the sight of a full-length mirror by the door. I stand in front of it, though I don’t quite recognize the girl in the reflection. The dress is slightly off-white with a sweetheart neckline and dainty straps, cinched in waist and voluminous skirt that touches the floor. My hair, curly as usual, is pulled half-up and cascading about my shoulders, with a delicate veil pinned into place at the crown of my head. My makeup is flawless and simple, and I’m still carrying my bouquet of white lilies and baby’s breath.

  “Wow,” I say stupidly, looking at myself. “I’m a bride.”

  Max comes to stand behind me. “We make a pretty hot pair, if I do say so myself,” he says with a wink. I laugh and let him take me out of the room and down the stairs.

  “There you are,” Sophie cries, rushing up to us. She looks like she’s had a rough day, and I feel a little ashamed for running away, however unintentional it may have been. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Everyone is waiting! Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” Max assures her, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow. “We just needed a minute.”

  Sophie nods frantically. “Okay. Good. Are you ready to go out?”

  “Yes.” I smile at Sophie. “Thank you, Sophie. Sorry for disappearing on you.”

  Sophie squeezes my free hand once in forgiveness. “I’ll let the emcee know.” She hurries away.

  Alone again, Max looks down at me, a small smile on his lips. “Ready for this, Mrs. Banks?”

  My nose wrinkles and he laughs. “Mrs. Banks is your mother,” I say.

  “I think she is now Madam Banks,” Max offers through laughter.

  Outside, the crowd has gone quiet and the emcee’s voice carries across the massive backyard towards us. “And now, ladies and gentlemen: it is m
y great pleasure to introduce, for the first time - Max and Ella Banks!”

  Bracing ourselves, we step through the door and back out into the bright spring evening, together.

  While we had good luck with the weather during the day, by the time we get into the car to head home the skies have opened up, drenching the city in a torrential spring rain storm. My stomach is full of delicious food, my ears still ringing from the live band that serenaded the reception, and my heart is unexpectedly full of joy.

  Introducing Max to my mom and brother went smoother than I could have hoped for. Max charmed them both and spent about half an hour just chatting with them while I was being bombarded with questions by Candice. Her petite face was pink with excitement as she demanded every detail, but I kept Max out of the corner of my eye, genuinely smiling all the while. My mother had many questions, too, of course, and I promised to pay her a visit to smooth out all the details as soon as I had the time.

  And now it’s all over, and I can’t be more relieved. Of course, now that the wedding is over with I have to worry about the marriage portion of this twisted contract, but I’m definitely not as apprehensive as I was when this all began. Max has really grown on me. He started off such an asshole and I hated his guts, but he has been so cool and supportive during this whole wedding fiasco, and for that I’m very grateful. I’m not sure I would have made it through without him, honestly.

  Max is leaning against the door of the car, head pressed against the window, and for a moment I think he’s asleep. But he looks up when I take his hand and offer him a small smile, which he returns, squeezing my hand back.

  But, I remind myself, it’s temporary. This is all temporary.

  The penthouse is dark when we enter, just like it was last night, but this feels entirely different. Max flips on a couple lights and puts away his umbrella as I kick my shoes off and lift my skirt up so as to walk easier.

  “I’m going to go take this off,” I tell him, heading down the hallway towards my bedroom. Luckily, I remember watching Madeline remove the dress in the mirror at the salon, so I’m able to loosen it myself. It drops unceremoniously to the floor, a cloud of white puff, and I decide to leave it there for the time being until I know what to do with it. I’m left in the white silk shift I was instructed to wear under the dress, and decide to leave it on, wrapping my navy blue robe around myself for modesty.

  I pad back out to the kitchen, where predictably Max is mixing us some drinks. He looks at my body appreciatively as I take a seat at the counter, and whistles. “Look at my hot wife,” he says, grinning, as he passes me my drink.

  I make a face, but a smile soon takes over. “Still so weird, you calling me your wife.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. “I’m sure I can find something else to call you.”

  “Please don’t,” I laugh. We hold our glasses up to cheers. “To my husband,” I say, testing the word out in my mouth.

  “To my … spouse?” he says, clinking his glass against mine. “Hmm. I prefer wife.”

  “Me too.” We sip our drinks in silence as a strange sensation of shyness seems to overtake the air in the room.

  Max sets his drink down and leans against the counter. “So …”

  “So,” I echo, also setting my drink down.

  Max wanders into the living room and removes his tie and jacket, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt for good measure. He sighs, stretching his arms above his head. “That’s better,” he groans appreciatively.

  “Tell me about it,” I reply. “Taking that dress off felt like losing ten pounds.”

  He laughs. “I’ll bet. You looked bangin’ in it though,” he adds, turning back to look at me.

  I roll my eyes and blush. “You have to tell a bride she looks beautiful on her wedding day,” I point out, taking another sip of my drink.

  Max takes a few steps towards me, hands in his pockets. “You still look beautiful,” he says quietly. “You always do.”

  I hold up a finger to silence him. “Ah ah ah—remember the rules.”

  I rolls his head back in mock exasperation. “It’s our wedding day. Can’t we make an exception?”

  I shake my head, but my resolve is admittedly very weak, especially when he starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his lovely arms and emphasizing his hands. My weakness. “It’s only our wedding day for another—” I glance at the clock above the stove, “—six minutes, anyway.”

  “Guess we’ll have to use those six minutes wisely,” he says, taking another couple of steps. He’s within my reach now, only a foot or so away. “Especially after last night.”

  I shudder at the sudden memory of that kiss. I completely forgot about it amidst the chaos of today. It left me feeling warm all over and definitely played a part in me getting no sleep last night. The impulse hit me like a truck before he even made the first move, and after he kissed me I couldn’t help myself. His body was solid and comforting, which was exactly what I needed after that disastrous rehearsal dinner.

  Max is now standing right in front of me. “I forgot to tell you,” he says casually as he brushes one of my knees with his hand. “We’re going to Paris tomorrow.”

  I start at that. “What?”

  “Important meeting with an important client,” he explains. “And since part of our deal is you get to sit in on the meetings, you’re coming with me.” His other hand caresses my other knee, and I’m suddenly having a difficult time concentrating on what he’s saying.

  “I’ve never been to Paris,” I say lazily. “Never been out of the States, actually.”

  His hands go still on my knees. “Do you have a passport?”

  I nod. “Yes. It’s at my mom’s house, though, so we’ll have to go get it.”

  He waves this away, leaving a cold spot on my knee where his hand used to be. “I’ll send someone to go get it first thing in the morning.”

  I bite my lip, suddenly shy. “I’ve never been on a plane,” I admit quietly.

  He steps forward again and now his hips are between my knees. “Well then, your first experience will be sublime,” he says, smiling. “We’re taking the Banks jet.”

  “A private jet?” I cry in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re a Banks now, Ella. Time to live large.”

  “I’m a Banks for now,” I remind him playfully.

  He grins and rolls his eyes. “So we definitely gotta make the next twelve months count.” He runs his hands gently up my thighs, stopping at the barrier of my robe. “Starting with the next … four minutes.”

  A small shiver goes up my spine as he begins stroking the sensitive skin on my thighs, his thumb rubbing in tantalizing small circles. “Is this okay?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper. When I nod, his hands travel farther up, the tips of his fingers disappearing under the hem of my robe. “How about this?”

  My breathing has gone rather shallow and I can’t seem to speak, so I nod again and drain my glass, setting it down on the counter behind me. He keeps getting closer and closer, and I’m incredibly aware of the proximity of our lower halves. We’re wandering into dangerous territory, and if I don’t shut it down soon we’ll reach the point of no return.

  However …

  Part of me, a part which is getting more dominant by the second, doesn’t want to stop him. From what I remember of our first night together—god, that feels like a lifetime ago now!—Max is a very, very good lover. And like he said, it is our wedding night …

  By now the tie on my robe has come loose, and Max pushes it open, revealing my sassy little white slip. I can see goosebumps rise on the skin at the top of my breasts as his hands slide from my thighs to my hips and then up to caress my waist. He’s very close to me now, so close I can smell the faint musk of the leather coat he wore out and the sticky sweet scent of whisky from his Manhattan.

  I want him to kiss me.

  There, I admit it.

  But he’s teasing me.
He wants me to ask for it, but I don’t want to give him that satisfaction. He’s going to have to work for it, too.

  “You have amazing breasts,” he whispers, unabashedly staring at them. My nipples are standing firmly at attention, visible through the semi-sheer fabric.

  Touch them, I want to say, but I bite my lip.

  Slowly, he raises a hand and slips his index finger under the strap of my slip. My flesh tingles where he touches me as he gently slides the strap off my shoulder. The bodice of the slip puckers but my full breast prevents it from sliding off completely, and Max lets out an appreciative breath at the sight. “God,” he mutters.

  I squirm in my seat. I can’t help it! His lip curls when he notices, and he goes to take a step back. “What was it you said last night?” he asks. “Patience, grasshopper.”

  Oh, hell no. That’s it.

  I grab him by his belt and pull him to me, and we collide in almost every sense of the word. His pelvis against mine, his chest pressing against my breasts, his mouth hot on mine, our tongues intertwining. His hands are everywhere but I want them on my breasts, so I put them there, and moan into his mouth as his fingers pinch and mould and tease through the flimsy fabric of my slip.

  He then buries his hands in my thick hair and gently pulls my face away from his. My lips feel bruised and puffy, but I don’t care. I stare up at him, panting, wanting to whimper in protest.

  “Shall we find somewhere more comfortable?” he asks breathlessly, staring into my eyes. His eyes are brown, I notice for the first time. A brown so dark it’s almost black, but this close up I can see the ring of color around the pupils. The overhead kitchen is caught in his chestnut hair, igniting it with sparks of gold. And then there’s his wide mouth, lips still wet from kissing me.

  I nod.

  He lifts me bodily, and suddenly. I let out a yelp in surprise, which quickly turns to a laugh as I wrap my legs around his waist and let him carry me down the hall.