The billionaire's (fake) fiancée

by Emma Quinn

  “We should get going,” he said. “Everybody’s waiting.”

  “Your mother included?”

  “I’ll do my best to stay with you. Hopefully I can keep you from falling into a one-on-one situation with her again.”

  I allowed a grin to curl my lips. “My hero,” I giggled sarcastically.

  I think he’s got the hots for you.

  Without another word, Peter extended his elbow toward me. I slipped my arm in his and couldn’t help but admire the hardness of his bicep. Nor could I ignore the way Peter would glance away whenever he thought I was looking. I set my jaw, trying to fight the overwhelming worry that tonight was going to be the longest night of my life.

  14

  Peter

  F

  or the most part, everything was smooth sailing. Old Uncle Joe was getting a little enthusiastic with the champagne, throwing them back like they were water, but all in all, nobody seemed interested in giving me and Rachel a hard time. If anything, they seemed genuinely happy that I’d finally decided to settle down.

  Aunt Heather patted me on the cheek. “You picked a good one,” she chuckled, words heavily accented. She wasn’t really my aunt, but a close friend of Mother’s. I’d known her my whole life, though, and she was every bit family as the rest of them. Aunt Heather then turned to Rachel and pinched her cheeks. “This one’s a smart one, I can tell. Good wide hips for making babies.”

  Rachel sputtered, turning an adorable shade of pink. “Oh, I– Um, I don’t think we’ll–”

  I wrapped my arm around Rachel’s waist. It was becoming easier and easier for me to do, like an automatic habit similar to breathing or blinking. She was the perfect size to fit in my arms, like a missing piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I needed to solve. “Rachel and I aren’t going to be having kids any time soon,” I said.

  Aunt Heather clicked her tongue and shook her head. “No, no. You must start right away. Make many babies.” She nudged Rachel in the arm with her elbow. “Alance men make big babies.”

  Rachel turned bright red. “Oh. Oh my, that’s–”

  I chuckled and steered her away, placing a quick peck on Aunt Heather’s forehead. “Thank you, thank you. We’ll have to catch up sometime later. We’ve still got lots of people to see.”

  Aunt Heather chuckled, tone scratchy and deep from years of heavy smoking. “Okay, darlings. We will talk soon.”

  I leaned down and whispered in Rachel’s ear, “You’re doing great.”

  “Are all of your family members such characters?”

  “I guess you could say we like to live large.”

  “Were you a big baby, too?” she teased.

  “I’ve never bothered to ask, but I’m sure it’s true.”

  “Who else do we have to talk to? Do you think we’re almost done?”

  I nodded. “Almost. Just a couple more cousins we need to say hello to.”

  Behind us, someone cleared their throat. I turned to find Mother standing there with her arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “I hope you remembered to include me in that little greeting list of yours,” she grumbled.

  “Mother,” I started calmly, “I know this is really sudden news, but–”

  She lifted a hand and cut me off, demanding attention. Mother was always sharp like that, never rough around the edges. Her glare could silence a crying child, and her words could cut more effectively than the cool steel of a knife. Mother looked particular prickly today, her hair up in a tight bun that was so taught it looked like her face was being pulled back. Even still, her scowl was more than evident. There was a rage behind her eyes, mixed with a bitter disappointment. I stepped forward, knowing that the next words out of her mouth were definitely not going to be pleasant.

  “Mother, don’t make a scene.”

  “Why would I make a scene?” she snapped. “You’re doing that all by yourself. You think people aren’t already whispering behind your back?” She pretty much growled at Rachel. “I have no idea how you’ve managed to seduce my son, but you should know it’s not going to last.”

  “Excuse me?” Rachel replied, every ounce insulted and frightened at the same time.

  “There’s no way my son would fall for someone like you.”

  Rachel frowned. “I guess it’s true what they say. Money really doesn’t buy class.”

  “You manipulative bitch,” Mother hissed. She turned to me and stomped her foot. “Call this engagement off. Now.”

  By this point, I was growing incredibly tired of Mother’s childish antics. I supposed I had no one else to blame except myself. I let Mother believe she could boss me around for far too long, and now her attitude was seriously affecting my personal life. I didn’t know why I let things go on for as long as I had, but Mother calling Rachel a bitch was the last straw. Rachel was the furthest thing from manipulative. I couldn’t let this stand.

  “Enough, Mother,” I snapped, deliberately raising my voice so that the rest of the room turned to watch. With everyone’s eyes on us, Mother shrunk into herself slightly, too afraid of bad publicity. I held Rachel close, adoring how well we moved together. “Rachel and I are very happy together. I won’t have you saying such things.”

  “This is ridiculous. She’s your personal assistant. She’s a nobody.”

  Beside me, Rachel stiffened. The muscles in her limbs and back tensed, like she turned into a statue of marble. I could tell she was holding back. I could see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out some witty comeback. Instead, she pressed her lips into a thin line and refused to speak. It was clear that Mother was really starting to get to her. To make matters worse, watching Rachel suffer insult after insult in silence was beginning to burn a hole through my chest. Seeing her hold back made me furious. Protective, even.

  “Get out,” I seethed.

  Mother’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “What?”

  “Get out.”

  “What on Earth–”

  “You’ve insulted my fiancée, which means you’ve insulted me. If you’re not going to be supportive, you can leave. The doors are right there.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” She gasped, edging on hysterical. Before this, I’d never seen a single hair out of place atop Mother’s head. Now, her carefully curated image was beginning to crack, her true colors leaking through. “This is absurd. I am your mother.”

  “And as my mother, you should respect my wishes. I am marrying Rachel, one way or another. So, since you so clearly disapprove, why don’t you just leave?”

  Mother’s mouth shut closed as her nostrils flared. She clenched and unclenched her fists before making a sharp turn toward the door, pushing past a few of my cousins in a furious huff. People immediately started whispering amongst themselves, throwing me and Rachel sympathetic looks over their shoulders. In my world, gossip could either be a useful tool or my version of kryptonite. The same went for a woman of status like Mother. I wasn’t worried that I’d angered her. There was no doubt in my mind that, in time, she would come to forgive me. She left without another word.

  It was only when the rush of blood to my head subsided that I realized Rachel was holding onto my arm. She looked to be biting down on her tongue, shoulders shaking as she stifled what I could only assume was a scream or a sob. Maybe a combination of both. My heart twisted in my chest to see her this upset. At the end of the day, this was my fault. Rachel was already going above and beyond as my personal assistant, so the fact that she’d been treated so cruelly simply because she was going along with my plan didn’t seem fair in the slightest.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered to her. “The worst is over.”

  Rachel, too proud to let tears fall, sniffled and quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. She forced a smile, looking ridiculously radiant for someone on the verge of crying. “Thank goodness,” she mumbled under her breath. “I think I need a drink.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “I thought you weren’t a dr
inker.”

  “Tonight’s a celebration, isn’t it?”

  I chuckled, smiling at her softly. “Yes, very true. How about you stay here, and I’ll grab you some champagne.”

  Rachel nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

  15

  Rachel

  A

  lcohol and me, we didn’t mix. I didn’t like to drink because it made me feel out of control. My head would feel murky, my chest would feel tight, and the floor beneath my feet became slippery like sand. But tonight had been particularly hard, and I really needed a distraction for all the whispers and the judgmental looks. I couldn’t understand how Peter could do it. He smiled and laughed and went about his business like the world wasn’t watching his every move. Someone so influential and charming and brilliant as him was always under a microscope or put up on a pedestal for everyone to admire.

  I downed a glass of champagne. It was sweet and bubbly. Much to my delight, it lacked any trace of bitter alcohol and reminded me more of grape juice. It was easy to get through my second glass, too. A warmth quickly blossomed from more core and radiated outwards, leaving me in a blissed out buzz. The more I drank, the easier it was to tolerate everybody looking at me. It bothered me that they all stared. They stared at me like I wasn’t good enough. Teresa had said it herself and out loud for the room to hear that I wasn’t worthy of Peter. Yes, this was all for show. This engagement was nothing but a sham.

  But it still hurt.

  Having a complete stranger tell me that I was nothing stung more than it should have. Where did Teresa find the gall to speak to me like that? Who cared if she was rich and beautiful and the mother of one of the world’s most influential businessmen? That didn’t mean she was better than me. But to this room of likeminded individuals, maybe that really was the case. I came from nothing, came from a broken home. My personal life was a joke, and my career was on hold until I could finally afford to make a move. Teresa had unknowingly opened up a can of worms I didn’t even realize I’d been holding onto. Inside that can?

  Insecurity.

  As I looked about the room at all of Peter’s family, I was outshined by everyone. The men were confident and strong. The women were gorgeous and graceful. Sitting next to Peter at the dinner table, I allowed Teresa’s words to echo around in my mind. She was right. I was nothing. I was nothing compared to her son. He was successful, commanding, and handsome. I was barely scraping by, quiet, and dull. I felt a little stupid sitting here in jewels I could never afford without Peter’s help, in a dress from a designer whose name I couldn’t even pronounce.

  I wasn’t meant to be a part of this world; one full of glitz and glamor. I was a simple being, one that saw success as making it to the next week with a zero balance instead of being in the negative. Maybe Teresa was right. There was no way Peter would ever fall for someone like me. All those lingering looks, all of his kind words, treating me to fancy restaurants –he was just having fun. I’d seen him do it a hundred times over with a handful of other women. I was just a pastime to him, something to keep him entertained. It was true that he hadn’t made a move yet, but our near kiss back at the office told me he just toying with me. Whatever this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach was, this infatuation I’d started to develop, I needed to quash it as soon as possible.

  I finished a third drink. And then a fourth.

  Noises started to rumble into one another, making for one inaudible cacophony of sound. The room was spinning a bit, but in a delightful way that reminded me of a gentle merry-go-round. I sat in silence throughout dinner, too buzzed to really enjoy the small portions of food that the restaurant served. Foie gras and caviar really weren’t my thing –yet another difference between Peter and me. He was used to have nice things, eating delicious food. I was more than happy to make up a big pot of mac and cheese with hot dog bits and call it a night. Even if there was the slightest chance he was interested in me, I was sure that he’d get bored of me sooner or later. He’d probably be disgusted by how I lived. Peter Alance slumming it with some nobody just didn’t seem right in my head.

  My fifth glass of champagne was the hardest to swallow. My tongue felt numb, my lips felt swollen, my cheeks were overheating. I was fairly certain I was breaking out into a light sweat thanks to the bubbly warmth spreading within me. I was vaguely aware of the conversation Peter was having with the rest of his family, though I was drifting in and out of it. I thought it was kind of weird that they were talking about business and not the fake upcoming wedding. Maybe that’s all the Alance’s were ever concerned about –money, money, money.

  Someone placed their hand on my thigh. It was gentle and comforting, meant to assure me they were still there as opposed to anything suggestive. I looked up from my glass, now half full, and found a pair of dark black eyes staring at me.

  “Are you okay, Rachel?” Peter whispered in my ear.

  I giggled. “Your breath is so warm. And you smell so nice.”

  The sound of his deep chuckle vibrated in my chest. “Oh, man. You’re totally drunk.”

  I pouted, but didn’t look away. “No, I’m not.”

  “I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight. It’s probably because you don’t drink often.”

  “I’m not a lightwei–” A hiccup cut me off. “I’m not a lightweight,” I tried again, this time successful.

  “I think I’m going to cut you off,” he said softly, gently. It was probably the alcohol talking, but Peter really did sound concerned.

  “No, no, I’m fine.” As I said this, I grew increasingly aware that I was beginning to slur my words. I spoke in a hushed whisper, afraid that I’d make a fool of myself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Do you think we can go home soon?”

  Peter brought a hand up and gently massaged the back of my neck. His hands were nice and warm and strong, chasing away the tension in my muscles like magic. He cooed, “Soon, baby, soon. We just about done here. You’re doing great.”

  My pulse picked up in speed. He’d never spoken to me so adoringly before. I giggled again, because I just couldn’t help myself, “I’m your baby.”

  Peter brushed a few strands of loose hair that had fallen before my face behind my ear. He smiled wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, you are,” he hummed, loud enough for everybody to hear.

  Just like that, their whispers and curious gazes reached me, penetrating the careful buzz I’d set up in order to ignore them. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and held onto the edge of the dining table, in search of an anchor point. I told myself I could do this. I just needed to last a few more minutes and then I could go home. Peter and I had already agreed we’d call the engagement off as soon as his Mother backed down, but I had to admit there was something nice about Peter whispering in my ear and playing with my hair.

  When we finally wrapped things up, it was a little past one in the morning. The restaurant stayed open just to serve us, so Peter made sure to leave a very big, very public tip to all of the waitstaff. It was a strategic move. Everything he did was strategic. If I had the money on me, I’d wager that there would be several headlining articles in gossip magazines and websites all about how generous the great Peter Alance was. It wasn’t like he needed to sway public opinion. Everybody loved the fantastic, the wonderous Peter Alance.

  “You think I’m fantastic?” he chuckled.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin? “W-what?”

  “You just said I was fantastic. And wonderous.”

  “Holy shit, did I say all of that out loud.”

  Peter nodded as he lifted an arm to flag down a waiting limo. “You sure did.”

  “Do you know if it’s possible for a person to die of embarrassment?”

  “Why? Do I need to call an ambulance for you?”

  I took a deep breath in. We somehow made it outside, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember leaving the restaurant to make it out on the curb. I happened to bling, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back of a veh
icle, tucked under Peter’s arm. He’d placed his suit jacket over my lap to fend off the evening chill. The back of the limo smelled of cigarettes and dust, plugging up my nose so badly I had to cough in order to clear my airways.

  “Are you okay?” Peter asked, his voice a low rumble beneath the vibrating car engine.

  “Um, yeah. I am.” My words were still heavy, lazy. Every time I blinked, I was this close to just falling asleep altogether. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you back to your apartment.”

  “I’ll pay you back for the cab fare.”

  “There’s no need, Rachel. I’ve got you.”

  I’ve got you. Those words sounded way too nice in my very drunk, very tired ears.

  I found myself staring. I admired the hard line of his jaw, the sharp slope of his nose, the way his thick brows were so nicely sculpted. I was entranced by the singular mole at the corner of his cheekbone, one so faint I’d never noticed it before now. Peter had long, curling lashes and a carefully trimmed stubble that gave his whole face a controlled ruggedness. It was his mouth that I couldn’t look away from. The smooth curve of his lips was hypnotizing, looking softer than a pillow of clouds.

  “Rachel?” he called to me. I watched his mouth move, stretch.

  “You’re mean,” I blathered mindlessly.

  “How so, baby?”

  There he went again with this whole baby thing. Why was he calling me that when there was no one around? Our relationship, or lack thereof, didn’t have to be a secret anymore. I seriously doubted the limo driver would have any use of that information. Nevertheless, I crossed my arms and shook my head.

  “You were teasing me,” I whined.

  “What? When?”

  “Back at the office. You were going to kiss me, and you didn’t.”

  Peter laughed softly. “Are you telling me you’re disappointed?”

  I snuggled in closer to him, drawn to his warmth. I had to tilt my head up to keep my eyes locked on his lips. “You smell nice,” I rambled on. “And your face is nice.”