I Married a Billionaire (12 page)

I melted. He coaxed me down onto the carpet with the movement of his body, stretching over mine, until he was lying on top of me. I could feel him rock-hard and straining in his jeans. Oh, God. This was really going to happen.

My head was buzzing with arousal and disbelief, and to this day I still don't know what possessed me to look him directly in the eye and say, in a breathy voice:

"Thank you."

The look on his face made my heart sink.

He pulled away, his expression twisted with something like disgust. At me? At himself? I didn't know. I wasn't sure I wanted to. I sat up quickly.

"What's wrong?" I felt frantic. I was so close to having what I wanted, and he'd ripped it away from me. Why? What had I done?

He shook his head, looking at the floor. "This isn't a good idea," he said, flatly.

Well, no shit it wasn't. I sat up quickly. "You didn't seem to care a few minutes ago," I said, starting to feel desperate.

"I lost my head for a second," he said. "I'm sorry. I really am. But we can't do this."

I sat, miserable and motionless, on the floor as he gathered his things. He'd been planning to drive the first load over to his apartment after lunch anyway, but something told me he wouldn't be back again today.

After he shut the door behind him, my massaging shower head got the workout of a lifetime.

Once my head was clearer, I became determined that I wasn't going to let that happen again. If he was going to have an attack of conscience just because I said something silly, well, that was his problem. Did he really think I was the kind of person to have sex with someone purely out of gratitude? Had he not been able to tell how aroused I was? How badly I wanted him? He was an idiot to walk away from all that, no matter how complicated it might make our arrangement.

The next morning, bright and early, my phone started to ring. I let him call a few times before I picked up.

"I was going to come over in half an hour with the truck," he said, without so much as a greeting. "If that's convenient for you."

"Sure," I said, coolly.

The pizza box was still on the floor when I walked out into the living room. I crushed it angrily and shoved it into the garbage.

When I opened the door, he actually looked a little bit sheepish. 

"About last night," he started, and I cut him off with a raised hand.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I was out of line. No explanation necessary."

He seemed to accept this, but as we packed up the rest of my worldly belongings, I could feel him watching me carefully. 

After he dropped me back off in my mostly-empty apartment, I walked through the suddenly unfamiliar rooms in silence for a while before collapsing on my bed. It was one of the few things that didn't need to come with me - of course.

But if he thought I was actually going to sleep in his bed with him after yesterday, he was crazy. I wasn’t sure if that had ever been in the cards. I'd thought about it, of course - several times, and in exquisite detail - but unless I wanted it to end like yesterday had, it was obviously best if we never let ourselves get that close.

When I answered the door, he didn't even look up. He walked in silently, picked up a box, and walked back out again.

Okay. So that's how it was going to be.

On the last trip, I followed him out to the U-Haul and climbed into the passenger seat. He glanced at me briefly, but didn't say a word. I figured I might as well start unpacking and settling in.

It was a bit of a shock to see his apartment with my boxes scattered all over it. It was no longer exactly a candidate for an interior decorating magazine. He'd left most of the stuff on the main floor, but I noticed some of the boxes were up in the loft area.

Might as well rip that Band-Aid off right now.

"Why is my stuff up there?" I pointed.

He looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head.

"You don't expect me to sleep in your bedroom, do you?" I clarified.

He blinked. "You 
did
 read the contract, didn't you?"

Had that really been in there? Oh, man. I really should have hired a lawyer.

"You've seen the bed," he said, dryly, beginning his trek up the staircase. "It's a king size. We'll hardly even have to see each other."

I briefly considering picking up the vase of bamboo from the entry table and throwing it at his head.

I started digging into the boxes on the main floor. I'd expected my stuff to look dowdy and out of place, but now that I was actually faced with the prospect of unpacking it, I had a crazy urge to throw it all in the garbage and start over. What had I been thinking with some of this shit? Mugs full of pens? A ceramic dog from my trip to England when I was eleven? At the very least, I should put it all into storage. It had no business being here.

I rifled through all the boxes, looking in vain for something that I wouldn't be embarrassed to bring out. Paperclips? Three boxes of paperclips? Why did I even have these? And two brand new six-packs of sticky notes. What the hell did I think I was, a one-person office supply store?

When Daniel came back downstairs, I was sitting cross-legged on the middle of the floor, surrounded by crumpled-up newspaper. I had ink stains all over my hands, and I was examining an unopened package of multi-colored permanent markers.

He sat down next to me, and, miracle of miracles, actually spoke.

"You've got yourself a nice collection of office supplies there," he said.

I nodded.

He didn't speak for a little while longer, but I was acutely aware of the soft, even sound of his breathing. He was so close, just inches away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "About what happened yesterday."

"Me too," I lied.

He picked up a pen and uncapped it, examining the tip like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

"I didn't mean for things to get out of hand," he said. "It's not a very good start for us, is it?"

"Our relationship hasn't even really started yet," I said. "Officially."

"I know. I'm sorry I left. I just figured it was best if I…" he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Maybe it's better not to talk about it," he said, finally. "Just know that I'm sorry, and I won't let it happen again."

"Sure," I said. "To change the subject, how do you feel about throwing all of my stuff like a giant bonfire?"

"Seems like a waste of effort," he replied, smiling. "Should've done it before we went to all the trouble of bringing it over here."

"Before 
you 
went to all the trouble, you mean."

"I was happy to help," he said. "I mean it."

"Okay."

He looked over all of the mess one more time. "You know, if you want an office space, we can convert one of the guest rooms."

"What would I do there?"

"I don't know. Whatever you want."

"Maybe not an office so much as a…studio," I said. "Some place where I can work on my art."

"Of course," said Daniel. "Anything you want."

I had to smile at him. I wasn't quite finished being irritated about the whole after-pizza incident, but he was being awfully nice. Of course, it was in his best interests to keep me happy. I had to remember that.

Don't let things get too personal.

Well, that was going absolutely stellar so far.

I sighed, re-packing all my office supplies. "So these can go into the spare bedroom, I guess. I don't know about the rest of this crap."

"Well, you don't have to decide right now," said Daniel, charitably. "When we get back from the honeymoon you'll have as much time as you need to unpack."

It must have bothered him, all of these ugly, disorganized boxes invading his impeccable space, but he didn't say a word about it. I had to give him credit for that. He wasn't trying to be difficult. It was just a difficult situation. And maybe I'd made it harder than it needed to be, by coming on to him so strongly the day before. Maybe I 
did
 feel just a tiny bit remorseful.

Still, though. There was no reason for him to be such a baby about it.

"Yeah, I think maybe I'd better focus on the clothes for now," I said. "I assume that's what's upstairs?"

"Mostly," he said. "Come on, let's take a look."

We spent the next few hours organizing my clothes. He even helped me decide what to get rid of and what to keep, promising me I could rush-order some new stuff online when we were done, so it would get here in time for the honeymoon. He didn't even raise an eyebrow at how many frayed and hole-ridden clothes I still had, stuff I'd bought before college, the sorts of things that no billionaire's wife should ever be seen wearing.

After that, I got to shopping. He sat me down on the sofa with his laptop, and handed me his credit card. It looked normal - for some reason, I'd been expecting something heavy and jet-black, like the legendary no-limit card that was said to be accessible only to the very wealthy and influential. But this was just fine. He was just a normal guy, after all.

"Have fun," he said, winking at me. "There's no credit limit."

Or…maybe not.

The morning of the wedding dawned warm and clear, a pink sunrise bleeding across the sky. I woke up too early and couldn't get back to sleep. Of course.

The only things I had left in my apartment were a few clothes and other necessities, most of which I'd already packed for the mystery honeymoon. I wished he'd just tell me where we were going. All of this secrecy made it almost seem…romantic. Like we were a real couple. Clearly, we didn't need any help getting ourselves confused on that front.

I'd spent the whole day before cleaning every inch of my apartment, in accordance with the three-page-long list of demands my landlord had sent over. Apparently, I wasn't going to get my three hundred dollar security deposit back if I didn't give the place the white glove treatment. Of course I didn't care about the money anymore, but I needed something to do. Anything to take my mind off of the future.

So there was nothing to do on my wedding day except sit and think.

My stomach was in knots. I made myself a cup of mint tea and sat by the window, watching the empty sidewalks slowly fill up with people. I had an appointment at the hair salon in a few hours, and I was going to meet Lindsey there. She was going to stand beside Daniel as his "best man." I had no one. Not even my father, to walk me down the aisle.

But that was fine. I'd walk down the aisle by my own damn self. I had two million dollars waiting for me at the end of it.

I had to stop getting caught up in stupid, pointless sentimentality. This was a fake wedding, for God's sake. There was absolutely no reason to get emotional over it. Weddings were a con to begin with, clearly. The soaring divorce rate spoke to that. I was just helping Daniel take advantage of a very convenient loophole in the immigration laws of the United States that allowed for couples to stay together, if they were willing to sign a piece of paper. It was as simple as that. People did it all the time.

My resolve thus steeled, I drove to the salon with my head held high. If I seemed distant, people would simply write it off as nerves. I had nothing to worry about. I just had to get through the day, and after that, things would settle down into some version of normalcy that I hadn't quite figured out how to achieve yet. But I knew that I would.

Somehow.

Lindsey chattered at me the whole time we were getting our hair done. I nodded and smiled, but didn't hear a word of it. None of this meant anything. None of it mattered.

Walking through the marble archway of the art gallery, I was struck again by how breathtaking the place was. They had set up pew-style seating and laid out a long, red carpet for me to walk on.

I wandered aimlessly through the gallery until Lindsey chased me down, insisting that it was time for me to change into my dress. I'd completely lost track of the hour. I realized I hadn't seen Daniel all day, and I told her so.

"Don't worry," she said. "He's coming."

As if he wouldn't.

I was kept sequestered after that - God forbid anyone should see 
THE DRESS
 - but Lindsey wouldn't stop offering to get me things. Water? Champagne? Food? Juice? More food? I hated to keep saying no to her, but I really felt if I ate something I might throw up.

When I heard the music start playing, my stomach actually lurched.

Lindsey rushed in.

"Okay, we've got about ten minutes until go-time. How're you feeling?"

"Sick," I said, truthfully, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I tried to arrange my face into something that looked a little more like happiness, like I was marrying the man I loved. I vaguely succeeded.

"I have to go take my place," Lindsey said, after a few moments. "Just take some deep breaths. The band will switch over when they see you coming."

I sat there alone, waiting until the clock ticked over to the next hour, and then stood and walked out into the hallway.

My shoes clicked on the marble floor as I approached the carpet, and everyone turned to look. I was clutching my bouquet like a shield. I forced myself to stare straight ahead, looking at the officiant standing behind the pulpit, focusing on just putting one foot in front of the other. I didn't dare look at Daniel.

I didn't dare.

But I did.

He met my eyes and smiled - a little hesitantly, but his intent was obviously to give me courage to go on. I had to appreciate that. Lindsey was beaming next to him. I wondered if his conscience was eating him alive, lying to her like this. Mine certainly would, if I had any family who actually cared about me.

I forced a smile as I reached the front of the hall. Daniel took both of my hands and held them gently as the officiant spoke. Thankfully, we weren't doing any complicated vows. I just had to say "I do" when I was prompted. I was pretty sure I could handle that.

"…in sickness and in health…as long as you both shall live?"

Shit, I hadn't been paying attention. Which one of us was he talking to?

I waited for a beat. Daniel watched me expectantly.