by L. A. Sable
Beautiful Dirty Rich
A Reverse Harem Bully Romance
L.A. Sable
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Chapter 1
I slip past the gauntlet of local reporters and paparazzi, appreciating the anonymity of being nobody as their shouted questions assault my ears and flashes of light threaten to blind me. The photos and soundbites will dominate the society pages for at least a week because this is the biggest event of the season, maybe even the year.
It’s not every day that one of the wealthiest billionaire investors in the world marries a registered nurse from the Bronx who is barely half his age. People eat that shit up. No matter how the papers spin the story, whether it’s the romantic Cinderella angle or furious gossip painting the not-so-blushing bride as a scheming gold-digger, this is front page news.
And none of it would matter to me, except for the fact that the social climber in question is my mother.
A photog snaps a picture of me as I walk past with my head down, only yelling over the melee to ask my name as an afterthought. I don’t think he recognizes me, just hedging his bets. I hold up my hand, partly to wave him off but mostly to cover my face as I hurry away. The vultures will figure out who I am eventually but that doesn’t mean I have to make their job any easier.
He doesn’t hound me, obviously assuming I’m no one worth bothering with. And he’s right. Standing outside of St. Patrick’s Cathedral about to attend one of the most talked about weddings of the season, at a total cost that would make four years of Ivy-League tuition look cheap, isn’t a place Lily Murphy was ever supposed to be.
Luckily, I don’t attract any attention amongst the designer dresses and botoxed smiles milling outside of the venue. The list of invitees is extensive: high-society types, billionaire financiers, even a few A-list celebrities, all the super-rich within a 100-mile radius of New York City.
By contrast, I did my own makeup with products from the Dollar Mart. My dress is ready-to-wear off a discount rack and barely fits. That last thing is my fault for letting Trish, my mother, pick it out when she hasn’t shopped for me since middle school. She’s always been an optimist and her guess at my measurements is no exception. My hips are wider and my chest flatter than she accounted for, but it’s nothing a few safety-pins can’t fix.
I’d refused to let Trish put me in the ceremony, despite her protests. The last thing I want to do is stand up in front of thousands of unrecognizable faces wearing a ridiculous bridesmaid dress while she proceeds to completely destroy my life.
That sounds dramatic, I know, but it’s as if she prepared me for any of this. I couldn’t have known when she took that private nursing job for a wealthy, New York investor recovering from back surgery that she would end up falling in love with him. Then end up marrying the 65-year-old billionaire after a whirlwind one-month courtship. It didn’t take long for me to figure out something was up after her few days a week of overnight care turned into days in a row of not coming home.
But even I didn’t know what was really happening until she showed with a four-carat diamond on her ring finger and a great tan courtesy of an impromptu engagement trip to Bali.
Trish has always acted more like a sister than a parental figure but this is a lot, even for her. She always said that life is supposed to be an adventure, except somehow I’m always the one cleaning up messes while she’s out living her best life.
I make it past the crowd of gawkers and flashing cameras without incident, but feel no relief as I mount the steps into the cathedral. Each time that I put one foot in front of the other, I know that I’m getting one step closer to having my entire life upended.
So far my name hasn’t been mentioned in any of the papers. There’ve been no private messages on Facebook or new stalkers on Snapchat. But every story I’ve seen relishes in highlighting that Tricia Murphy was a single-mother from the Bronx, barely scraping by before she met her aging Prince Charming. It’s only a matter of time until my identity is revealed.
Not for the first time, I seriously consider turning on my heel and heading for the nearest subway station. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to be a part of it. Sure, I just turned sixteen, but Trish has never had a hard time leaving me home alone for weeks on end before. I could keep our tiny one-bedroom in the Bronx while she is whisked off to the mansion in Greenwich that’s apparently waiting for her. Then we could both be happy.
But she needs me, if the string of increasingly frantic text messages she’s sent over the last hour are any indication.
Mommy*Fearest*: r u here yet?
Mommy*Fearest*: I don’t see you at the venue
Mommy*Fearest*: plz don’t do this to me today…i need you HERE
Mommy*Fearest*: promise I’ll make it up to you, just GET HERE SOON
And at least Carter Bellamy, her soon-to-be-husband, is spry for a near septuagenarian. I’ve only met him once, when it occurred to Trish a few weeks after the wedding announcement that she never actually introduced us. He seemed more down-to-Earth than I expected and interested in getting to know me, at least for the hour-long lunch he carved out of his schedule. Even at his age, Carter is nowhere near retirement and still acts as chairman of the largest hedge fund in the world.
Trish seems to genuinely love him, despite the age difference. I’ve never seen her as giggly as she’s been in the last few weeks. And I try to keep that in mind as I push open the doors and confront an even larger crowd.
I have never been good with large gatherings of people. Call it social anxiety or just an extreme aversion to other people’s nonsense but I’ve always been happiest when no one is paying any attention to me.
Just breathe, Lily. My head stays down as my low heels click across the marble floor. Trish is still in the back getting ready and people mill around the anteroom before taking their seats in the cathedral proper.
It’s pretty much impossible that anyone here will recognize me. I should be able to slip in and out without drawing any attention to myself. At least, that’s my fervent hope. Trish and I don’t really have any family to speak of, so no one will be looking for me. Both her parents died young and my sperm donor flew the coop before ever learning my name so I’ve never met anyone on that side of the family.
“I’m here,” I announce, shoving open the doors of the bridal suite without bothering to knock. “Please tell me you’re decent.”
Trish turns from the dressing table with an audible gasp. She presses red-tipped nails to her mouth before gesturing at me. “Hurry and close the door. Carter is getting dressed right down the hall. I don’t want him to see me. It’s bad luck.”
“Got it. Sorry.”
She shifts back to the mirror, an anxious look on her face. “Does the back of my hair look okay? I swear I can feel the pins coming out.”
I dutifully step forward to inspect the elaborate hairdo with dozens of curled ringlets gathered into a complicated pattern on top of her head. This sculpture must have taken hours to complete, and t
he hairdresser used enough hairspray to punch another hole in the ozone layer. “It looks fine to me. You worry too much.”
Trish’s reflection in the mirror pokes its tongue out at me. “Thanks, brat.”
People always say that we look more like sisters than mother and daughter. I pretend that I can’t see it, but I totally can. Even at almost forty, my mother has a gorgeous face that she slathers with creams and concoctions every day to keep it as unlined and youthful as possible. She had me young, and it shows.
“Are you freaking out yet?” I ask, slouching into the seat beside her. “There are like a million people out there.”
“I do not freak out,” she says pertly, which is a total lie and she knows it. “Have you changed your mind about being in the wedding party? I have an extra bridesmaid’s dress for you.”
“No, thank you.” There were a lot of things I’m willing to do for my mother but this is where I draw the line. “I’ll be sending you lots of positive energy from the pews. Look for me in the back.”
A brief smile touches her face. “I don’t know how I ended up with such a wallflower for a daughter.”
I don’t know either, but that’s the way it has always been. We’ve fallen into a comfortable pattern. “Like you’d want to share the spotlight, anyway.”
“True. And I’m just happy you’re here, no matter where you sit.”
It’s always been me and her against the world. Nothing will change that. “Good.”
“Now sit up straight, your breasts will sag if you slouch.”
I have to grow enough to fill a cup before I need to worry about the effects of gravity, but keep my mouth shut and obey her command. Trish can have a reprieve from my smart mouthed self for one day. “You look great.”
“Oh thank you, honey.”
A silver-haired woman pokes her head in the door after a single loud knock. From the earpiece she wears and the pinched expression on her face, this is clearly the wedding planner. “The orchestra is set to start the Bridal Chorus in five minutes. Are you ready?”
My mom takes a shaky breath, but her smile is radiant. “As I’ll ever be.”
The wedding planner is already snapping into her headset as the door shuts behind her. “Bride is a go. We move in five.”
“I should go find a seat,” I say, pushing to my feet. “It will be standing room only out there, judging from the crowd.”
“Oh, okay.” She grips my hand and squeezes it, hesitating to let go. “I’ll see you at the reception after. There’s space in one of the town cars for you.”
“Got it, but I might just take the subway instead.”
“Don’t you dare take the subway to the Mandarin Oriental.”
“That was a joke, Mom. Stop worrying about me, just go get married.”
I give her a jaunty two-fingered salute before spinning on my heel and heading for the door. The thought of going back into the throng outside is giving me panic symptoms, but Trish doesn’t need to know that. This is her day after all.
The hallway is blissfully quiet and I take my time heading back to the chapel. My gaze focuses on the scuffed Mary Janes I’m wearing as I slowly put one foot in front of the other. I’m so lost in my own world that I don’t realize someone else is there until I run right into him.
“Whoa, there.” A distinctly male voice says as large hands come up to steady me, so I’m not knocked completely off-balance.
I look up into a face like something out of a fashion magazine: golden-blonde hair with even paler streaks, sea-green eyes and full lips that are set in a permanent pout. He’s wearing a suit, but the jacket is slung carelessly over one shoulder and his tie is partially undone. The careless look just highlights the perfection of his features.
And like an idiot, I just stare at him with my mouth open, completely unable to form words. It’s times like this that I wish I had the ability to actually turn invisible, instead of simply feeling that way most of the time.
One golden eyebrow arches up, the hint of a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “Are you lost? I didn’t think anyone was supposed to be up here.”
He slings the jacket off of his shoulder and shrugs into it. As the fabric swishes through the air, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It’s a heady mix of sandalwood and ginger that makes me feel-lightheaded. This guy even smells expensive.
My voice comes out on a croak as I force out the breath I’ve been holding. “I was just heading downstairs.”
“Me too, we can go down together.”
Something about the way he says go down brings a furious blush to my cheeks. My face gets even hotter when he grips my arm and tucks it against his like he’s a prince escorting Cinderella to the ball. I’m not sure where to put my hand so I just clench it awkwardly into a fist as he propels us down the hallway.
Thankfully, he seems oblivious to the fact that sweat is beading on my forehead and my heart is racing a mile a minute. I am not the kind of girl who gets escorted places by gorgeous guys. In fact, I’m not the kind of girl that guys usually give the time of day.
“Are you a guest or do you work here?”
“No, I…I’m a guest.”
It’s embarrassing that he thinks I’m here as an employee, but not exactly surprising considering how drab I probably look compared to the other attendees.
A large smile grows wide on his face. “Bringing back the grunge look, huh? I like it.”
“Yeah, I guess.” It’s impossible to tell if his mocking smile is for the extravagant excess around us or if the barb is aimed at me. Subtlety isn’t exactly my strong point. I prefer straight-shooters. “I’m not exactly a fashion plate.”
I’m not usually the type to be self-conscious about the realities of my financial situation, not everybody gets to be a billionaire after all. But in that moment, I’m very aware of the fact that I don’t exactly measure up.
“You’re different from everybody else here. Different is always interesting.”
Maybe he’s not making fun of me after all. “Thanks. Are you a guest, too?”
A strange expression briefly crosses his face before it relaxes again and he casts me an insouciant grin. “That’s a good question. I haven’t actually decided yet.”
Feeling uncertain, I try to return the smile even as my nerves jangle. “I don’t get it.”
“Just a little inside joke, don’t worry about it.”
He has me completely off-balance, not just because he might be the most gorgeous guy that I’ve ever seen but because I get the idea that he knows something I don’t.
“Have we met before?” I ask, going for casual but sounding suspicious even to my own ears. Somehow we haven’t passed a single other person as he ambles with me in tow down the long hallway. We’re heading towards a different set of stairs in the back of the cathedral than the ones I used earlier.
The guy laughs again and this time there’s no hint of levity in the dark sound. “I don’t see how we possibly could have.”
Then I realize that he’s not walking us toward the chapel where everyone is seated and waiting for the ceremony to begin. Instead, he’s led us further to the rear of the cathedral, near the storage area. There’s no one else back here, and it seems almost deathly quiet. Even the sound of the church organ is muted.
I spin around to face him, realizing too late that I should have trusted my instincts. No one like him would pay attention to me unless they have bad intentions. There’s not even a purse slung over my shoulder because I left everything in the bridal suite for safekeeping. How was I supposed to know that the pepper spray Trish makes me carry that I’ve never had to use on the streets of New York would come in handy at a church?
“So how much?”
It takes me too long to understand his words, the shift is so abrupt. I gape at him. “How much for what?”
“You, of course.” He raises an insolent eyebrow, expression full of derision as he leans back against a dusty set of shelving. “I just assumed someone as obvio
usly low-class as you is here to work. Usually the escorts know enough to show up in decent clothes, but you’re young. Maybe this is your first time. How much are you getting paid? I’ll double it.”
Like most girls when they get cornered by a much bigger male, my voice turns softer and cajoling while I sort through my options. “I think you have me confused with somebody else.”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are.” He advances on me, eyes full of dark intent. “And I know exactly how much you don’t belong here, Lily Murphy.”
What? How does he know my name? “Who are you?”
The narrow-eyed look he gives me is full of malice and danger. “Your worst nightmare.”
When I try to run, he smoothly shifts to block my path. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest that I can hear it as blood rushes painfully hard to my skull. “Get out of my way.”
“Your mother is for sale, I just figured you must be too.”
For a moment, I forget the rules. Like the one that says a trapped girl should never make a guy mad. “Fuck you.”
“Exactly, but you don’t want the cash upfront? Maybe you’re even more of a slut than your whore mother.”
He stalks forward and I back away until I’m pressed against a small stained glass window. I think about screaming, but the sound would only be drowned out by the loud organ music coming from the chapel.
I shove at him but he catches my hands with each of his own, holding them up on either side of my head, making a point of how easily he can keep me trapped.
“Stop it,” I whisper as he leans closer, hating myself for freezing instead of fighting. “Get off me.”
But his lip curls, as if being this close to me has left an awful taste in his mouth. No one has ever looked at me as if I’m as low and worthless as he does. Each word that he speaks is sharp as the bite of a viper, with even less humanity.
