“Go ahead. Ask her,” Cam says to Gaston. He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Gaston has a very important question to ask, and I thought we should answer it together.” My heart beats faster. Cam pats his shoulder, his voice softening. “It’s okay, Gaston. You’re not in trouble.”
“I overheard Dad talking with Camilla. They said you were pregnant by someone else when you met him.”
The blood drains out of my face and rushes into my toes. I place a hand on my stomach to stop the flutter of anxiety. I want to strangle Giles for being so careless.
“I’m not stupid, you know,” Gaston continues. “I can count. I did the math. And it all makes sense. Before we left, Dad said I have to be nice to Cam because he’s going to be an important person in my life. And we look alike.”
Cam squeezes my shoulder. The strength in his hand ebbs into my being. I give him a weak smile before taking a seat beside Gaston. I’ve been dreading this moment since the day he was born, but with Cam at my side, it all seems to make sense. A sense of calm washes over me.
“Smart boy,” Cam says, a bit of a smile playing about his lips.
“Yes. Cam is your real dad, but Giles is still your father, too.” I pat Gaston’s leg. “You have two fathers.”
“Do I have two fathers?” Lisle pipes up from the corner where she’s been petting the housecat. Cam laughs, and I frown at him. He clears his throat and looks down.
“No, peanut. You only have the one,” I say.
“Well, that’s not fair.” She snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “I want Cam to be my other dad.”
Cam’s chuckle vibrates into my body. Our eyes meet. He’s still the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. My belly does a tiny backflip at the way he runs his tongue over his lower lip.
“Honey, it doesn’t work that way,” I say.
“Can I go to my room?” Gaston asks.
“Do we need to talk about this some more?” I study his face, trying not to think about how much he resembles Cam at this moment.
“Nope. I’m good,” Gaston says. He turns to Cam. They stare at each other for a second. Gaston throws his arms around Cam’s waist then runs up the stairs. Cam stands rooted to the floor, a look of disbelief on his face.
“That went well,” I say. He doesn’t speak, just stands there, biting his lower lip. I rub a hand along his forearm. “Cam?”
“Yeah, it did.” His voice cracks on the words. The blue of his eyes shines brighter than I’ve ever seen. “I never knew I could feel like this.”
“It’s okay.” I pull him close, loving the smell of his shampoo, and the heat of his body. He buries his head in the curve of my neck. “Kids can do that to you.”
Epilogue
Cam - One Year Later
On Christmas Eve, a record snowfall blankets everything in sight, making travel impossible. Inside the house, the kids are gearing up for Santa. Gaston told me he knows Santa isn’t real, but he’s willing to pretend for Lisle’s sake. His devotion to his little sister never ceases to amaze me. It reminds me of the bond I had with Melody. I still miss her, but I’ve got a new family to help lessen the ache.
The four of us sprawl on the rug in front of the fireplace, a Monopoly board in the center. An eight-foot blue spruce fills the corner behind us, decorated with strings of popcorn and twinkle lights. Vanessa sits at my right. She’s wearing her housecoat and fuzzy slippers, no makeup, and her hair is piled on top of her head. It’s my favorite look for her. She’s relaxed and smiling. The flames of the fire flicker and cast a golden glow across her face. Her left hand rests on top of my thigh. I thread my fingers through hers, enjoying the warmth of her touch.
Lisle rolls the dice and counts out the spaces aloud as she moves her game piece along the board. When she stops on Park Place, Gaston whoops. “Yes! That’s one thousand dollars rent. Pay up.” He’s going to be a regular mogul. I see more of myself in him with every passing day.
“Mom,” Lisle wails.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s the way of the world. You’ve got to pay your rent,” Vanessa says.
“I’m rich,” Gaston takes her money and adds it to the pile in front of him. He has no idea how wealthy he really is. I’ve set up a trust for him. He’ll have enough money to live the rest of his life in the lap of luxury. I plan to set one up for Lisle, too, after Vanessa and I get married. If she says yes.
“I hate this game,” Lisle says. She sighs and snuggles into my side. I put my arm around her and draw her closer.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” I say. It’s almost midnight.
“I agree.” Vanessa begins to gather up the game pieces.
Gaston sighs. “Just when I got Park Place and Boardwalk.”
“You’ll get another chance to conquer the world,” I say. He groans but gets to his feet.
“Run upstairs and brush your teeth,” Vanessa says. “I’ll be up to tuck you in.”
“I want Cam to tuck me in,” Lisle says. She clings to my little finger. Vanessa smiles at us, and it’s the best damn feeling in the world, having my two girls at my side.
“I guess I can manage that.” I grab Lisle by the waist and swing her up onto my shoulder. She rewards me with a supersonic squeal.
“Cam, easy.” Vanessa places a gentle hand on my back. “She’ll throw up.”
“No, I won’t,” Lisle replies. I carry her up the stairs, into her bedroom, and drop her onto her frothy pink bed. She bounces and giggles. “Do that again.” I drop her one more time on the mattress. She claps her hands in delight. “Yay!”
“Goodnight, peanut,” I say.
“Goodnight.” She stands on the bed and throws her arms around my neck, squeezing me tight. “Merry Christmas.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “I love you.”
Indescribable warmth floods through me. I had no idea I could ever be this happy. I hug her back, swallowing down the thickness in my throat. “I love you, too,” I whisper, because my voice has left.
“Did you brush your teeth?” Vanessa appears in the doorway.
“No, no, no.” Lisle jumps up and down on the bed, causing the lamp on the nightstand to vibrate.
“I told you not to give her so much candy.” Vanessa frowns, but her eyes sparkle.
“It’s Christmas,” I reply. “Lighten up, Seaforth.”
“Yeah, lighten up, Mom,” Lisle chants.
We manage to get the little hellion into her bed. I tuck the covers around her then bend to drop a kiss on her forehead. She smiles up at me, lids drooping. I smile back because I can’t help it. I’m so freaking happy to be here. Vanessa snaps off the light, and we head to the hallway.
Gaston’s already in bed. His dark hair curls against the white pillowcase. I pause at his door to marvel at this boy, this miracle we’ve created. He turns over, his features shadowed in the darkness.
“Goodnight, Dad,” he says.
“Goodnight, son.” My voice is hoarse with emotion. It’s the first time he’s called me Dad. I never expected him to call me anything but Cam. It’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever received. I shove a hand back through my hair, fighting to contain the swirl of feelings.
Vanessa stands beside me and slips her hand into mine. “Come to bed,” she whispers, tugging me toward our room.
“Are you sure?” We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms, sneaking around like teenagers when the kids aren’t looking.
“I’m sure,” she says. Her eyes light up in the special way she has, the look that’s only for me. She starts walking backward, pulling me with her. “I’ve been thinking about your living arrangements.”
“Oh really? Do you think about me a lot?” I ask. She releases my hand and smiles.
“All the time. Every day.” At the threshold of her room, she pauses to let me pass then locks the door behind us. My heart skips a beat at the sound of the clicking tumblers. “I think you should move in here with us.”
“You’re telling me to move into my own house?” I can’t resist li
fting an eyebrow in mock confusion.
“I’m paying you rent, so technically, it’s my house too.” She grabs the waistband of my pajama bottoms and tugs me toward the bed. With maddening slowness, she draws my T-shirt over my head then smooths her palms along my bare chest. “I’m asking you to share my bed and the house.”
“I’d like that.” I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life. This is where I belong, with her, with my son, and Lisle. Tomorrow, she’ll open the tiny blue Tiffany box under the tree and find the engagement ring I’ve bought for her.
We did everything backward. We had sex before we were lovers, and we were enemies before we became friends. I’m sure the next stage of our relationship won’t be easy, but I’m certain of one thing. I’ll do anything to be with this woman, and I’ll never doubt her again.
MY FAKE BILLIONAIRE FIANCÉ
BY
JOSLYN WESTBROOK
Copyright © 2018-2019 by Joslyn Westbrook
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Act One
Los Angeles, California
Casting Call — Immediate Placement
We’re currently seeking male & female actors in their 20s and 30s to play the role of a fiancée. This is an excellent opportunity for individuals who’d like to hone their talent in between gigs. Must be available over the Christmas Holiday.
Non-Union. Background check required. Generous compensation
Please reach out to Holly York, at 555-1839, to schedule an audition.
When that OnStage Talent Agency app alert popped up on my smartphone, I swear I’d died and went to visions-of-my-dream-job heaven. Especially since I’d just come home to a Pay Rent or Vacate notice pinned to my door—in full view of every single nosy resident on the third floor of Beverly Glen Apartments.
I needed money like a fish does water.
You see, securing a full-time acting role in Hollywood is much harder than most would imagine—even for a good-looking blonde with nice boobs, such as myself.
Moving back home with my parents sure as heck wasn’t going to work for me; although my mother had been nagging me to come back ever since I left four years ago. Eager to succeed in this business, and on my own, I didn’t have any choice but to call Holly York and schedule that audition.
Was I desperate?
Yes.
But when Holly said I—Ms. Ivy Bloom—got the part, visions of me on my way to stardom flashed through my mind like rainbow-coated fairy dust…
1
Present Day ~ One Week and Four Days before Christmas…
IVY
“Ma, there is no way I can come home for Christmas.” I lay my smartphone down on the kitchen counter and tap the speaker, counting down the number of seconds it takes for my mother to voice her protest.
Five…Four…Three…
“Now, Evelyn—”
“It’s Ivy, Ma,” I correct, knowing she’ll never concede.
“No, it’s Evelyn, the beautiful name I graced you with at birth. You were named after your great-grandmother, may she rest in peace. Evelyn Marie Bloom. Not that stage name.”
The way she emphasizes stage name as if I’m some sort of a stripper, makes me laugh. Ma has always hated the fact I changed my name to Ivy a few years ago. But really, Evelyn Bloom sounded too archaic for a young, up-and-coming actress.
“Now,” she goes on, “why can’t you come home for Christmas? I miss you and BB—we all do, sweetie.”
BB—full name Bruiser Bloom—is my spoiled, sometimes diva-like, teacup chihuahua. Diva-like because the tail-wagger has been in more starring roles than I have. Pet-food commercials, a made-for-TV flick, a local play. The checks I receive for her come in handy when it’s time for trips to the vet, the groomer, or Pups Fifth Avenue, a doggie clothing store in Hollywood.
“Because I got an acting job, Ma. It just so happens to run over the Christmas holiday.” I push the button on my Keurig to brew a fresh cup.
Scoffs—that’s right, as in more than one—echo through the phone and I can only imagine my mother with a disgruntled furrowed-brow expression. “And what sort of an acting job?”
“One that pays well, Ma. They gave me an advance and a wardrobe per diem, too.” I stir in a spoonful of sugar and pour cream into my cup of mood-enhancer before settling down onto the barstool, grateful I still have a roof over my head. The advance I got allowed me to pay rent for the next three months.
“Oh? Wardrobe per diem?” Her eyebrows no doubt lift in unison with the high-pitched tone in her voice. There is no need for me to video chat with Ma since I already know what she’s doing.
“Uh, huh,” I mumble, unwilling to offer more details. Ma’s head would likely explode if she knew my acting assignment was that of a fiancée for hire. I mean, my own head nearly did when Holly York shared the details two days after I accepted the part.
“Well, I was hoping you’d come home so I can introduce you to that fine young man…”
On pure instinct, my ears tune her out at introduce you to.
My mother…I love her. Really, I do. But the woman is relentless when it comes to trying to set me up. It’s always someone: a patient’s son—Ma is an oncology nurse; the nice guy who helped her cross the street; the fireman who lives across the way; or her gynecologist. Gross.
The fact she doesn’t want her only daughter to stay single forever is understandable. Yet, I’m in no hurry to settle down. Not until I meet Mr. Right—and certainly not one my mother set me up with.
Oh, gosh. She’s still babbling on and on…
Something about grandchildren now. As if, at twenty-six, my precious ovaries posted a now closed sign and my biological clock is approaching extinction.
“Ma, I’ve really gotta go. Call you later tonight, okay?”
“All right, dear. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Sipping coffee, while seated at the small breakfast nook inside my cozy kitchenette, my pensive state drifts to four years ago, when I first moved to Hollywood. Back then, I was able to share this tiny apartment with Gabriella. We’d met in acting class at New York’s American Academy of Dramatic Arts and instantly connected with a shared goal to leave NYC for Hollywood, California. It’s funny, people who live in NY seem like they want to live in CA and vice versa. In New York, there’s acting on Broadway. I wanted acting in Hollywood-produced films, and so did Gabriella. We graduated from the Academy, took a few roles in some off-Broadway productions, all the while, saving up to move. And a few months after we made it to glorious Hollywood, Gabriella met a prominent plastic surgeon, fell in love, settled into his house, then got engaged. Why can’t you land a handsome, successful man, Evelyn? That was the first thing Ma called and asked me, the moment Gabriella dropped ‘we’re engaged’ photos on Facebook. It’s been my mother’s mission to pair me up with someone ever since.
Can you meet me for lunch today? At your favorite place? My treat.
Gabriella’s text is a welcome sight since it’s been over a month since we saw one another. She’d been busy with her fiancé, traveling with him while he was on medical sabbatical in Spain. Of course, I reply straight away with an emphatic exclamation-point-adorned, yes, scoop up BB, because the pooch demands to accompany me everywhere, place her in my purse, then catch an Uber.
Gabriella and I meet at my fave LA restaurant called The Ivy—the first spot we dined at when we first arrived in Los Angeles—known for a buzzy atmosphere and celebrity sightings. Needless to say, the upscale eatery is also what lent inspiration to me changing my name to Ivy.
“Hey, babe.” Gabriella greets me with a peck on the cheek as I disembark from my Uber ride.
As always, she looks lovelier than ever. Brown hair, bouncy-perfect like the k
ind seen in Pantene shampoo commercials, a flawless face, and a curvy body that never fails to capture the eyes of men and women alike. If she weren’t my best friend, I’d hate her for simply looking like J-Lo.
“It’s great to see you, love.” I give her a smooch on the cheek in return.
The two of us follow the waiter onto the patio, where he finally seats us. It’s warm today in Los Angeles, where winters are more like spring, the average temperature in the 70s.
“I’ve missed you.” Gabriella scrunches her nose at me as she spreads a cloth napkin across her lap, then BB pokes her adorable little face out of my bag. “Hi, BB! I’ve missed you too,” she coos.
“We’ve missed you loads. How was Spain?”
Gabriella glows. “A-freaking-mazing. We so want to have our wedding there.”
The dark-haired waiter drops off menus, along with glasses of sparkling water, then promises to return soon for our orders.
“A destination wedding?” I sip water and skim over the menu.
“Yes, on Valentine’s Day.”
Of course. Valentine’s Day is the perfect day for the perfect couple to exchange vows. I’m not jealous, because as I mentioned before, I’m in no hurry to settle down. Envious, however, fits me like a good pair of Spanks on a bloated day.
“Ooooh, can I be a bridesmaid?”
“Bridesmaid? Maid of Honor, silly.”
The waiter delivers a tiny basket of fresh-baked French bread with butter, takes our order—we both ask for The Ivy’s famous mixed green salad with crispy bacon and honey vinaigrette, then takes our menus and scurries off to serve another table.
I grin at the thought of going to Spain for her wedding. “I’d absolutely love to be your Maid of Honor.”
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