The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend - Part 2 (The Billionaire Saga) Read online

  “We’re not sure yet,” I jumped in to save him. “I know we both like the idea of a long engagement, so I don’t think it’s going to be happening anytime soon.”

  “Really?” She looked mildly surprised. Not the traditional answer of a gold digger, and it was becoming obviously clear that’s what she’d come here thinking of me. “And your parents are all right with that?”

  “It’s just my mom—she raised me and my brother alone,” I said, volunteering more information than was my custom. “And actually, no, she’s absolutely not okay with it. In fact, she flew into town yesterday for an impromptu wine tasting.”

  “Splendid,” Augustina clapped her hands briskly, “then we can all get acquainted.”

  Marcus and I shared a panicked look before he quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not sure that would be the best—”

  “Nonsense,” she interrupted. “We’re all going to meet sooner or later, might as well make it sooner. Invite them to Thanksgiving dinner. We can make it a family affair.”

  A…what? Today day had started out so innocently—how had it turned into this?

  “What do you think, Rebecca?”

  I couldn’t think of anything that sounded worse.

  “Great,” I plastered a huge smile on my face, “a family affair.”

  Maybe we’d end up cooking Eduardo after all… Kidding.

  * * *

  My mother could not have been more delighted with the invitation, and of course, she was appalled that I had forgotten.

  “Well, of course, it’s Thanksgiving, Bex. Why do you think I came down here?”

  “To ruin my life with color schemes and cake tastings?” I asked lightly.

  “Oh, darling. No reason I can’t do both.”

  Both she and Max were coming at six, along with Amanda and Barry—who I would finally be seeing in the flesh. That left us just under four hours to keep her majesty entertained.

  “Maybe we could take her to a restaurant?” I volunteered desperately, fastening on pearl-drop earrings as Marcus buckled his belt.

  Marcus shook his head. “She doesn’t like to travel when she’s here. She thinks the city’s dirty.” As if we’d rehearsed, I turned around, and he automatically zipped up my dress. “Besides, I put some horse tranquilizers in her tea—with any luck, she’ll be out until tomorrow.”

  We chuckled softly and made our way downstairs, ready to sweep old Augustina off her feet with our charm and witty banter. But of course, the dragon lady had other plans.

  “Rebecca—good, you wore something practical.” She eyed my blue cocktail dress, and it took me a second to realize she was serious. “I thought, since you’re going to be joining the family, we should both step a bit out of our comfort zones today for some quality bonding.”

  I glanced at Marcus before taking a tentative step forward. “Well, that sounds great. What exactly did you have in mind? We could—”

  “We’re going to cook Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Again, it took me a second to realize she wasn’t kidding. The walls closed in around me, and I blurted the only thing that came to mind, quoting Augustina herself.

  “But it’s so common.”

  She chuckled softly, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, before hooking me closer with the curve of her cane. “Precisely. What better way to get to know each other?”

  “I would love to learn how to cook a big bird,” I said.

  She looped a wiry arm through mine and towed me to the kitchen.

  “Come, Marcus,” she summoned, “we’ll need someone to do the grunt labor.”

  I flashed a helpless look behind me but he only smiled. He must not have such a strongly developed sense of tragedy as I did. My shoulders fell with a little sigh but I turned back forward with a look of steely determination.

  In for a penny, in for a pound right? She wanted to bond? I’d bond her fucking socks off.

  Chapter 13

  “It says it right here, Marcus, I’m literally reading it off.” The spectacles had come out, and Augustina was holding a giant cookbook four inches from her face. “The professionals often use up to a pound of oregano—”

  “Oysters, grandma,” he cut her off, seizing the recipe, “oysters. Not oregano. If we ate that much, we’d die.”

  “Rebecca,” she called, “make him return my book at once!”

  I shook my head, literally up to my ears in flour. “I’m not getting in the middle of it—you two are both nuts.”

  “Excuse me—”

  “See, oysters, right here.” He jabbed his finger on the page in front of her. “There’s a little picture and everything.”

  I’m not one to live crippled by pride—I’ll just come right out and say it: I was completely wrong about this being a terrible bonding experience.

  It had started out exactly how I was afraid it would. Augustina sat back and took up a managerial position—delighting in waving about her cane and ordering Marcus and me in frantic circles around the kitchen. The cooking staff was perplexed, and I dare say a little upset that we’d effectively commandeered the holiday, but after peeking inside at the madness, I think they collectively decided they’d actually not like to venture any closer. The little room kept getting hotter and hotter as tempers and temperatures rose, but then—and I have to credit Marcus with this—he snapped her out of it.

  I guess you could say he kind of conned her: he started doing things badly. A dropped onion here, some uneven slicing there. It drew out the perfectionist in her, and she watched with increasing agitation. By the time he twice salted the same potatoes, she’d had enough.

  “Out of the way, you incompetent fool! You’re on stirring detail until further notice.”

  With a great deal of pomp and ceremony, she leaped into the fray.

  The same kind of hands-on bonding seemed to warm her to me. The second she saw me fearlessly shove my hands up the ass of a turkey, Augustina seemed to decide that I was someone worth getting to know after all. After that initial barrier came down, I felt like we were back on familiar ground. I was just an endlessly patient nursing assistant, and she was just an overly-excited, overly-entitled patient.

  “Jimmy!” she summoned the master chef for the third time in the space of twenty minutes. Mr. James Collings appeared a moment later with a look of scarcely contained exasperation. “Keep an eye on Marcus, will you?” She barely glanced up. “I don’t want him to burn anything.” Both Marcus and I cast him an apologetic look, and he was silently dismissed the second her back was turned.

  “So, grandma,” Marcus’ spoon whipped quickly through a pot of orange glaze, “are you going to be staying with us during the rest of your trip?”

  “Heavens no, boy!” She dropped her fifth egg on the ground but resolutely ignored it, reaching automatically for another. “With all of us here it would get unbearably cramped. I’ll be heading to my estate farther up the coast for the rest of the season.”

  Marcus nodded casually, but a look of intense relief flashed across his face. I stifled a giggle and pounded my fists once more into the mound of dough in front of me. In my opinion, I’d gotten the fun job—it even required a basic understanding of martial arts. I was to repeatedly squash the raw ingredients for five minutes, then immediately stop to let them ‘rest.’ At first, I thought the chef was just being sentimental, but after looking it up, he might be on to something.

  “Rebecca,” Augustina peered over the top of her glasses, “you seem to have a lot of pent-up aggression.”

  I nodded sagely, sinking my hands once more into the dough. “In my family, we were taught to bottle everything up until it came bursting out in a passive-aggressive explosion.”

  She nodded approvingly. “That’s very sensible advice. No use raging around like a lunatic all the time—it should be saved for special occasions.”

  “Like holidays?” I teased.

  She actually chuckled. “When I was growing up, it was more ‘like Wednesdays’ but you ca
n space it out however you prefer. And on that note,” she took a step back, gingerly avoiding the graveyard of broken eggshells beneath her, “we should get dressed for dinner. Your family will be arriving soon.” With that, she swept out of the kitchen, nearly flattening the poor chef as he hovered just outside the door. “Oh, good—there you are. Jimmy, do us a favor and finish up, will you? I’m sure you can manage.”

  He looked past her into his beloved kitchen, dripping from floor to ceiling with the messy fruits of our efforts. His face tightened but he managed a respectful, “Yes, ma’am” before she disappeared. Marcus was at his side a moment later.

  “I apologize,” he said, glancing guiltily back at the kitchen. “It’ll be a hell of a holiday bonus, I swear.”

  With that, he grabbed my hand and we hurried back up the stairs to rinse off the flour and grease before the rest of the guests arrived. But before we went back down, we met, once more, in my bedroom for a little pre-gathering conference.

  I was standing in front of the open closet in a dark slip, debating what to wear when Marcus stepped inside. He took one look at my thoughtful posture and shook his head.

  “You’re not heading back in there, are you? I thought we decided it was better to live in the sunlight…”

  I chuckled but gestured helplessly inside. “I don’t know what to wear. You’ve given me too many options.”

  “Is that right?” he said thoughtfully, buttoning the cuffs on his dress shirt as he walked inside. He looked up and down the rows of dresses for a moment, before pulling something out and handing it to me.

  “Really?” I asked in surprise.

  It wasn’t what I would have guessed. It was stylish but rather old-fashioned. Vintage, you’d call it. It was a modest cut in dark green silk. A sweetheart top and a simple sheath silhouette that hugged around the bodice before flowing just down below my knees.

  I liked it. I guess I was just surprised that Marcus did as well.

  He turned around briefly as I took off the unnecessary slip and stepped into the dress. The cool fabric fit around me like a glove, and I couldn’t help but smile as I held it to my chest.

  “Do you think you could help me with the zipper?”

  He turned back around and smiled at the sight of me. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly. “Then again—you always do.”

  “Thanks.” I blushed as he pulled the cold metal slowly up my back, hands lingering on my bare shoulders when he was finished.

  “Rebecca,” he twirled me suddenly around and stared searchingly into my eyes, “about earlier. I need to know if you regret what happened. Did I cross the line? When I first approached you for this fake girlfriend deal, I promised no sex.”

  “Does oral really count?”

  He looked into my eyes, and shook his head with a big smile.

  The doorbell rang suddenly, and Augustina called, “Get downstairs—they’re here!”

  “Saved by the bell.” I smiled shyly as I pulled away.

  His face fell ever so slightly. “I guess so.”

  I headed out the door, but he stayed where he was, biting his lip nervously. My breath caught in my throat, and I doubled suddenly back. Without stopping to think, I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He looked up in surprise, and I stroked back his hair.

  “I don’t regret it at all,” I said, answering his question with a huge grin. “You were amazing. I would go as far as to say the best I ever had. I can’t even begin to imagine what spending the night with you would be like.” He stayed speechless, frozen in the center of the room until I took his hand and tugged him playfully to the door. “Now come on, I didn’t slave away in the kitchen all day for nothing.”

  By the time we got down the stairs, everyone was already seated around a long, lavishly decorated table. Augustina was perched at the far end, of course, reigning over the proceedings like a queen, leaving Marcus to sit at the head of the table—me by his side.

  “Bex!” Amanda shrieked, casting an excited but wary glance at Augustina. “This is Barry.” She gestured to the nervous looking man sitting beside her. “Barry—this is Becca.”

  I studied him critically—the man who was slowly stealing away my best friend—but extended a warm hand. He was tall and thin—dark hair and a heavy dusting of freckles behind a pair of glasses that hung low on his nose. He looked like the bookish professor everyone had a little crush on growing up. Definitely not Amanda’s type.

  Then again…Marcus was definitely not mine. And look what I was doing. I never set out looking for a billionaire. Marcus just captured my attention. It was like we had this amazing connection and I was instantly drawn to him. I had a crush when I met him. But when I found out who he was, a player, I had no more interest in him. I didn’t need men like that in my life. So I decided to do the acting gig because I needed the money. I’d keep things platonic and not get involved with the playboy. At least, that was the plan. It didn’t go so well. I got involved with Marcus. I was developing feelings. And I was sure he’d trample my heart when this was all said and done. He’d pay me my money, and then tell me to go my own way. He never promised me anything, so I shouldn’t be mad. I was supposed to come in and be the pretend girlfriend, get my money, and then leave. I knew better than to get involved. Why don’t things ever go according to plan for me? I laughed inwardly. They never do.

  “It’s awesome to finally meet you.” I grinned at how uncomfortable he was and tried my best to set him at ease. “Sorry about the last minute invite—we forgot it was Thanksgiving.”

  “Not at all, thanks for inviting me.” He had an unexpectedly deep voice and a steady, calming manner. The perfect remedy to my high-spirited best friend. “I’m just…trying to understand.” He glanced around confusedly. “Sometimes you live in East Hollywood with Amanda…and sometimes you live here? With your boyfriend?”

  Amanda flashed me a quick look that I could only hope I interpreted correctly.

  “Yes. I know, it is very confusing.” I grabbed up the nearest dish and waved it distractingly in his face. “Yams?”

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Max and Augustina were fast making the most unlikely pair of friends. She was going on and on about Impressionistic painters and asking him pointed questions about his designs, while he was impressing her with his thoughtful responses, delighted that someone other than me was taking an interest in his work.

  “I didn’t see that coming,” I murmured as I leaned over to Marcus with a grin.

  He glanced up but his face tensed anxiously. “He needs to be careful. Her last husband was almost as young as him, and let me just say, it didn’t end well.”

  I looked up in alarm, but as usual, was unable to tell if he was joking.

  Needless to say, the “family affair” was a great success. My mom and Marcus finally broke through the initial stranger awkwardness and had an actual in-depth conversation about something other than the wedding, I decided I thoroughly approved of Barry, and I was pretty sure that by the time we’d finished dessert, Max had commissioned at least one painting.

  Everything was going really great until we were saying goodbye. I’d followed my family and Barry out to the driveway to see them off, but when I got back inside, I accidently stumbled upon Marcus and Augustina having a serious, private conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, I hovered awkwardly in the hall, keeping out of sight as she took both his hands in her small, wrinkled ones.

  “I want you to have this.” She took something from deep in her pocket and pressed it into his palm. “It was mine. When I married your grandfather.”

  Marcus’ breath caught in his chest, and he gently tried to give it back. “Grandma, no. I couldn’t. This should stay with you—”

  “It has been in our family for generations, and it’s time it got passed along,” she insisted firmly. “I’ve seen you with a lot of girls, Marcus. Far too many girls—truth be told. But I’ve never seen you look like this. She’s the one for you. It’s ob
vious to anyone with half a brain. And if that’s the girl you’ve fallen in love with—then that’s who I want to wear this ring. I won’t hear another word about it.”

  “Grandma please—”

  “Just think about it.” She closed his fingers gently over the ring. “With my blessing.”

  She stroked him fondly on the cheek and left with an over the shoulder, “Happy Thanksgiving.” I stayed carefully out of sight until the door closed, watching as he glanced down at the sparkling diamond, his face unreadable.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” he murmured.

  I couldn’t sleep again that night. Whether it was the excitement of the day or the fact that I’d—rather ironically—gotten a bit of a sunburn, I tossed and turned back and forth until finally getting to my feet. Falling into the same routine as the previous night, I found myself heading quietly to the stairs, searching for a cup of hot chocolate to ease my nerves. But as I walked past Marcus’ room, I found myself pausing at the top of the stairs.

  What are you doing, Bex? Hasn’t the day been emotional enough?

  But I truly couldn’t help myself. And for the first time, I ventured down the hall and knocked softly on Marcus’ door.

  “Marcus,” I whispered, “are you awake?”

  When I got no reply, I pushed open the door a crack, peering in at the unmade bed. That was odd. I was sure I’d seen him go in there. I ventured in another step, hair blowing past my face as I looked out the open window. He couldn’t be…could he?

  Silent as a ghost, I stuck my head out through the frame. Sure enough, Marcus was sitting on the roof of the patio, dangling his legs over the edge as he stared up at the sky. It could have been a postcard. Or the cover of some undiscovered Fitzgerald novel. A beautiful man lost in thought.

  I climbed out after him without a second’s pause, silently praying that the tiny roof would hold our combined weight. I shouldn’t have worried. When I was about halfway across, he looked up with a start. His face softened when he saw me, and he patted the tiles next to him. I sat down without a word, and together, the two of us stared out at the sky.