Accidentally Married to the Billionaire (The Billionaire's Touch, #1) Page 5

“Your taxes will reflect my income as well. However, we have several offshore accounts so you should be fine. Don’t worry about taxes. It’s hardly a wedding night topic.”

  “Okay, speaking of wedding night, your room or mine?”

  “Mine. It’s the better room, trust me. You’re in whatever block of rooms the firm got at a rack rate. I’m in a suite.”

  “Well la di da, Mr. Fancy Pants,” she laughed.

  “I’m going to ask in all seriousness that you never call me that again.”

  “Fine. What should I call you?”

  “Some permutation of my names would be preferable. You may choose whichever you like. Do you prefer Marj or Marjorie?”

  “Marj.”

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “Iris.”

  “Like the beautiful, purple flower? It’s lovely.”

  “Thank you. My brother’s named Mordecai. He always said I got the better name. I think I might have to agree.”

  “Mordecai. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “When will I meet him? I presume we’ll invite your family to dinner or the like once we’re settled in Manhattan.”

  “He won’t be joining us.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t come to stuff like that,” she said uncomfortably.

  “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch on a sore point. Forgive me.”

  “No matter. How about you? Any family besides the Wicked Queen?”

  “No. I’m an only child. So we’ll have your parents and my stepmother, and that should be a lovely dinner. We should have wine. A great deal of it, in fact.”

  “Or not.”

  “Why?”

  “My mother has a drinking problem.”

  “Recovering alcoholic? Ah, happens to a lot of good people.”

  “Not recovering. Just a drunk, Cates. But that’s another something I’d rather not discuss.”

  “We’re here anyway. The Chapel of Everlasting Bliss.”

  “Am I being cremated? It has a funeral parlor ring to it.”

  “No. You’re being joined in holiest matrimony as a favor to a man you just met.”

  “Well, see that you act suitably grateful,” she said in what she hoped was a light voice.

  He grinned as she smiled.

  Chapter 7

  The driver opened her door, and she stepped out of the car. The immensely frilly-looking white and pink structure before her was daunting. There was an archway of fake flowering vines above the doorway, and she ducked instinctively because she didn’t want plastic ivy leaves in her hair. She wished she’d touched up her lipstick since whatever cheap Polaroid photo the chapel provided would soon be all over the Internet gossip sites.

  Marj swore there were about fifty wedding chapels lining the north end of the strip. Brides wore anything from short, black dresses and heels to traditional, white Cinderella gowns. She peeked in the window and watched as a woman with black hair walked down the aisle in a t-shirt and veil clutching a bouquet of white flowers. Brandon chuckled at the garter over her blue jeans on her thigh.

  “Looks like there is a long line,” Marj said.

  “We’re next.”

  “Like VIP?”

  He smiled. “Something like that. So are you ready to be Mrs. Brandon Cates?”

  Marj squealed. “Yes!”

  “We could skip this and just have a traditional wedding.”

  “No, getting married here is all the rage. Just ask Britney Spears.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips on hers. Their tongues swirled in the most perfect, harmonious dance as heat flared deep down inside her.

  “Are you positively sure?” he asked.

  “After that kiss, yes, I’m positively sure. Please tell me there’s a lot more of that to come.”

  “So much more...”

  Holding her hand, he led her inside.

  “We want to get married!” Marj declared as they both walked inside.

  “Well then,” said the officiant, “you’re at the right place.”

  Brandon laughed as he dipped and kissed her. “You are the most radiant bride I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “I hope my next groom looks as hot as you do in a designer suit.”

  Everyone in the room looked at her in confusion.

  “Um, inside joke,” she laughed.

  “Funny,” the bride with the jeans said.

  “Thank you,” Marj replied. “And congratulations on your marriage. We wish you all the best.”

  “Thanks. Do you guys think you’ll last?”

  Marj looked into Brandon’s eyes. “At least a year tops.”

  They both burst into laughter at the hidden joke.

  “Ted and I have known each other for five years. We both knew we ready to tie the knot. How about you?” she asked. “How long have you guys known each other?”

  Brandon looked down at his watch. “An hour?”

  Marj playfully swatted him. “C’mon dear. Longer than that. At least two hours.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I enjoyed skipping that awkward dating period.”

  “You and me both,” she replied with a chuckle. “Not to mention, there was no time for me to become a Bridezilla. Brandon, you dodged a bullet.”

  “Close one.” Blowing out a breath, he pretended to wipe sweat off his forehead.

  The both laughed.

  The bride wearing jeans gave Marj a sympathetic look. “Listen, if you’re looking for spontaneity, then look...”

  “No further than us! I know!” Marj said. “Because when I woke up this morning, I had absolutely no idea I’d be getting hitched.”

  “Me either,” Brandon said. “I guess life is full of surprises!”

  The bride smiled. “So what made you two decide to get married?”

  “We’re in Vegas! You can throw dice instead of rice,” Marj said.

  “Well, I wanted vows with a wow,” Brandon said.

  “Maybe you two should give it some time. You haven’t known each other very long.”

  “But we have to defeat the evil witch,” Marj said. “Her heart is as cold as ice.”

  “No, no, no,” Brandon cut in. “You’re getting it all wrong. You called her the Wicked Queen.”

  “That’s right. We have to dethrone the Wicked Queen. Off with her head.”

  Laughing, Marj and Brandon gave each other high fives.

  The couple made a comment about how wasted they were, and then hurried off.

  Inside, the place was now empty except for a pianist, an officiant, and the woman. It was a small room with a few rows of white pews padded with velvet cushions, garlands of cloth flowers, and a pulpit.

  Marj looked at Brandon. “It’s so romantic. We’re getting married in a little white chapel.”

  The woman greeted Marj with a white paper box. “Ms. Reynolds? This is for you. It’s just arrived.”

  Marj lifted the lid and found the most beautiful hand-tied rose bouquet she’d ever seen. It was wrapped with wide cream-colored ribbon, the blossoms full and icy white. She smiled at Brandon, knowing he’d ordered these for her. She hesitated only a moment before she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  “Just being properly grateful,” he said, but he smiled and she felt that explosive blow to her chest, the air whooshing out of her lungs appreciatively in reaction to all that gorgeousness.

  Music swelled and he waited for her at the makeshift white plastic altar. She took slow, measured steps to the beat of the music, which seemed oddly enough to be a limping rendition of Sunrise, Sunset. At last, she passed all those rows of empty chairs and reached Brandon who held out his hand. She took it, finding it hard to balance her heavy bouquet in one hand. This was why a woman had bridesmaids; she realized with a nearly hysterical laugh, so someone could hold her crap while she got married. She stooped and laid her bouquet on the floor. Straightening, she gave both of her hands to
her fiancé and smiled a little shakily at him.

  His hands were warm and steady, and it helped to hold on to him as the officiant rattled off the serious moral implications of the vows they were about to make to one another. She felt wobbly, not just from all the wine and whiskey and whatever was in that one blue drink. She felt unsteady because of the fact she was marrying a stranger on impulse. She didn’t want to think too hard about it because she figured she’d run for the exit as fast as her ironically blue suede shoes could carry her.

  There was a branch of candles on a stand flanking either side of the altar. She stared intently at one of the candle flames, hard and bright. It was a point of focus for her, to stop her from overthinking—if she could even marshal a rational thought through all the alcohol she’d consumed and the dazzle of her new diamonds, the whirlwind aspect of it all. She looked just beyond his shoulder at the candles, and it kept her still. When prompted, she answered that she did, in fact, vow all sorts of serious things to this handsome man she knew so little about.

  He slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her softly as the hostess took pictures with both their phones. They were directed to stand before a backdrop of clouds and doves for portraits. The officiant himself took the pictures, and she watched as Brandon forked over money for the picture package. When instructed, he dipped her and kissed her. He bent on one knee before her. He stood with his hands at her waist, diffident as any sixteen-year-old going to prom. She was faintly embarrassed by the exaggerated poses, but she started laughing when he scooped her up in his arms. She kicked her feet and waved her bouquet in the air with a flourish.

  In the car after the ceremony, Marj whipped out her phone.

  “Okay, do you want to tweet it first or shall I? This is how you start a media frenzy. Tease a secret wedding and then disappear from social media for twelve hours.”

  “I can’t believe that’s your first thought after getting married. You’re a genius.”

  “I could market in my sleep, honey. How’s this? I’ll tweet the picture of the rings on the folder, and you post the one of us kissing at the altar. Tag me in it.”

  “Okay,” he said, tinkering with his phone.

  Within moments, the tagged wedding photo was getting retweets and comments and starting to trend.

  “Now turn off your phone. We want every speculative article to end with the words, ‘Mr. Cates could not be reached for comment,’ it drives people crazy!” she nearly squealed.

  “Done,” he said, powering down his iPhone and tucking it in his pocket, “I have more pressing matters to attend.”

  Marj walked into the lobby of the hotel; his hand warm in the small of her back through the fabric of her dress—her lucky dress, she thought smugly. He pulled her close in the elevator and kissed her neck. Her whole body seemed to hum. She could feel every point of contact on her body, every spot where he touched her, where his skin met hers.

  She had gone to bed with men who’d only bought her a drink, never a ring, never a promise to cleave only unto her for...well, for a year and that was a bigger commitment than she’d ever had out of anyone else (ahem, Luke). If she was still sort of hung up on her ex, what did it matter? This was for the greater good...to keep a rich man from losing his dad’s corporation and to keep a rich woman from firing all her female employees or something. It was muddled in Marj’s head, how this served the greater good of the universe, but she was fairly sure it was the just and righteous thing to do. In fact, sleeping with her new husband was practically her patriotic duty.

  She giggled at the thought, and when he drew back to see what was so funny, she only laughed all the harder, unable to quit. Waves of giddy laughter gripped her and she was practically doubled over guffawing when they entered his suite. Her laughter died when she saw the room. Not only the lavishly appointed accommodations, the vast wall of glass looking out over the Vegas Strip. What she saw was the cake. The rose petals. The gift box tied with a pink ribbon.

  “Wait!” he said. “We have to redo that. It was all wrong!”

  “Redo what?”

  “I have to carry my bride over the threshold. It’s tradition.”

  “But I want cake.”

  “Cake will have to wait. You said I wasn’t romantic with the proposal, so I have to correct things.”

  She squealed as he swiftly picked her up.

  “You’ve had a lot of Jack. You couldn’t drink liquor any quicker. Hey, that rhymes. You’re not going to drop me, are you?”

  “I bench more than you weigh.”

  She grinned widely.

  “We’re drunk and married,” she shouted.

  “And now it’s time for the honeymoon!” he roared.

  “It was quicker and easier to get married than to get my driver’s license.”

  “I know. And no test!”

  “My adrenaline’s pumping! This was like jumping off a cliff.”

  “Into a raging river.”

  She glanced down at her glittering ring. “I love being a newlywed!”

  He kissed her. “Me too.”

  Laughing and happy as can be, they excitedly walked inside. As he set her down on her feet, she glanced around.

  There on a low table, between tall white tapers, stood a small tiered cake, like a miniature of a traditional wedding cake, but she could scent its flavor across the room. This was no pallid vanilla with slick fondant. This was a decadent creation of chocolate and coffee and, if she had to guess, rich, thick buttercream. A long cake knife lay beside it, tied with a ribbon. She lifted it and sliced into the cake.

  Remembering, she snapped a picture with her phone, then proceeded. She lifted out a sliver of cake and laid it on a crystal plate nearby. With a silver dessert fork, she cut a small bite of dense chocolate sponge layered with a sinful mocha buttercream. It melted in its rich intensity on her tongue. She moaned.

  “Oh my gosh, you have to taste this. It is unreal!”

  “I’m glad you like it. Enjoy.”

  She dipped her finger in the frosting. He grabbed her hand and seductively sucked her finger.

  “It’s delicious,” he said.

  “You look so happy,” Marj said. “I’m never going to forget this look on your face.”

  Pulling her close, he kissed her softly on the lips. “It’s going to take me the rest of my life to pay you back.”

  “Nonsense. Just a year like we agreed.”

  He smiled as she grinned.

  Chapter 8

  Brandon kicked off his shoes, rounded the table, and sat down on the couch, watching her. She perched on the arm of the couch and gobbled down her slice of heavenly cake. It was so redolent with the coffee infusion, the depth of the chocolate, that she was nearly overwhelmed by its deliciousness. And he had ordered this, had asked her favorite flavor and specified to someone with a few taps of his phone to make her perfect cake.

  “Thank you. For trying to make this special for me. I get that the ring and the pictures are for show but this—this was just for me. No one else will even see it.”

  “You took a picture. Everyone on social media will see it tomorrow.”

  “But you didn’t. You didn’t even care that no one was going to see you made this gesture. You didn’t do it for attention. That’s what I don’t get. You’re being so nice to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you? Apart from the fact that you just did me a billion dollar favor, you haven’t given me any reason to doubt you or be unkind to you.”

  “I’m bound to. I’m moody, and I have a big mouth. You’ll have reason enough to dislike me pretty soon.”

  “As long as you keep the big mouth under control in the press, we’re fine. I’m not known for my tact and discretion either. I’m known, in fact, for being rich and carrying on my father’s legacy which is dubious at best.”

  “Really?”

  “Good at business, crappy at relationships? Yeah, I’d call that dubious. This is my chance to turn things around...or, at least, t
o appear to turn things around. I want to make a real effort here. Consider it my training wheels to a future good relationship. You can teach me what I need to know to sustain a relationship. Be honest about what pisses you off and all that.”

  “I was on my seventh drink of the night when you found me and I was sitting all by myself. I don’t think I’m qualified as a relationship expert, that’s all,” she said, taking another mouthful of cake.

  “I’m going to make a note in my phone every time I do something that works, and when I do something that doesn’t. Suggestions?”

  “Put the flowers and the cake down in the plus column,” she said, licking coffee buttercream off her knuckle, “in fact put the cake down twice. It’s that incredible. Thoughtful, personal, and also with chocolate. Those are three things you need on your master list—do things for her that are thoughtful, personal and chocolaty.”

  To his credit, Brandon typed away on his touchscreen as if it were prophecy coming from her lips instead of dating pointers. She listed the candles, the flower petals, the dimmed lighting as pluses and he admitted the hotel had done that with no special instruction from him. She scooped some buttercream up with her fingertip and offered it to him playfully.

  “No, thanks. I rarely eat sweets.”

  “Okay,” she said, licking the frosting herself, “that goes in the negative column. If she offers you anything to eat, especially off some part of her body, it’s an automatic yes.”

  “I’m diabetic.”

  “Oh, well, shit. Never mind. But weren’t you drinking? At the bar?”

  “I was about to lose everything. I think I had every right to drink tonight.”

  “Ah. So how come we got married and I didn’t know something like this?”

  “Because we knew each other perhaps thirty minutes before we got a marriage license.”

  “It was longer than that.”

  “I don’t know that much about you. Maybe we should swap crucial information in case we’re questioned.”

  “Immigration isn’t going to come after us, Cates. We’re both citizens. Aren’t we?”

  “Yes. I just mean for believability’s sake.”

  “Fine. I’ll go first. Favorite color is purple, favorite drink is Cabernet, favorite vacation spot is the beach, favorite movie is anything with zombies in it, favorite author is Nicholas Sparks—do not judge me on that!”