by Maia Star
Kyle handed me the bag we had brought and I went over to go sit down next to her.
Carefully, I pulled out the first item. It was a little stuffed sheep. I handed it to her. “This is yours now, okay.”
She looked at it hesitantly, then grabbed it from me and clutched it to her chest with a nod.
“Good,” I said with a smile. “See, that wasn’t hard at all.”
I began to pull more things from the bag, giving them to her one at a time. There were crayons and coloring books, picture books and little dolls. We had even more at home where we had prepared a room for her, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her too much.
Gradually, Bella began to warm up to me. We began to color together. She even let me bring over Fabio and Mochi for her to pet.
She still seemed terrified of Kyle, though, which I could understand. She probably hadn’t been treated well by the male figures in her life.
Finally, the agent came back, we signed the paperwork, and we took her back to the hotel. I held her on my hip the whole time while she buried her face against my shoulder.
Over the course of the week that we were staying in New York before heading back to Virginia, she began to warm up to us. We helped her to realize that it was okay to speak her needs and desires to us, and she even began playing with Kyle.
He was so sweet to her, and it made my heart warm to watch the way that he helped her color or play with the little dolls we had bought. In the evenings, she slept between us, though sometimes she wanted nothing more than to curl up with the dogs on the couch.
Fabio and Mochi were incredibly sweet to her, and I was sure that they were a big part of the reason why she warmed up so quickly to us.
And then, it came time to take her back to Virginia.
She adapted even better to life with us in that cottage than we could have ever hoped for. It wasn’t long before Bella was running around in the garden and with the sheep, screaming at the top of her lungs as she bounded through the house.
She played and babbled and created. She loved to create, and we had many of her drawings hung up on our fridge.
It was everything that we could have ever hoped for. Our life felt perfect, endless. We had a cute little cottage in the countryside not too far from a beautiful little town. We had a daughter who we loved very much. We had two dogs who were the sweetest pups I had ever met.
And we had each other. In my mind, that was the most important thing.
Dragon’s FakeBride MatchMate
(Dragon’s Match Mate Agency)
Book 6
By Maia Starr
Chapter One
Glenn
I was expecting to cry at my father’s funeral. Not buckets of tears, of course—we never were very close—but at least a few solid sobs to honor the man who, if not particularly important during my life, was responsible for my being born in the first place.
I expected rain as well, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was actually quite warm. The closest things I had to tears were the beads of sweat forming across my back as I stood there, composed, watching the casket mechanically sink into the ground.
It was a large casket, a result of my father being in his dragon form when he passed, which I’m sure is what he would have wanted. As a dragon, he was glorious. As a human, not so much.
I didn’t feel sad or a sense of loss. Instead, what I felt was complete emptiness, as if the part of me that was even capable of emotion had been removed and replaced with a vacuum. There was no sadness, there was no happiness. There was just existence. And this particular existence no longer had my father in it.
I looked around, and everybody else seemed to feel the same way. Nobody was crying, though I saw one man look at his watch, then sigh as if my father’s death was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Truthfully, I felt about the same.
With all of his money, one might have expected something a bit more extravagant, but no, it was just thirty people or so sitting in folding chairs at the cemetery, with a preacher saying the usual “ashes to ashes” speech until the coffin reached the bottom of the grave with a soft thud.
My father was gone; his body was in the grave; all that we had left to do was bury him.
“And now,” the preacher said, “could we have a few words from the son of the deceased?” He looked at his notes from behind a thick pair of reading glasses. “Glenn Carter?”
He looked around and I stood. He smiled at me and moved aside as I walked toward the front of the audience, which was, at best, polite. I could see in their eyes, they’d rather be anywhere else. They were probably making mental lists of tasks they had to accomplish once they were done with this obligation.
“My dad was…” I trailed off. I had tried writing something before the funeral, but the words just didn’t come. I didn’t know him any better than anybody else here. “My mother always said that she saw a lot of my dad in me,” I said. “Of course, she would only say that when she was mad at me.”
There was a slight chuckle in the crowd. It meant they were paying at least some attention.
“But the truth is, well, I don’t think anyone truly knew my dad. He was a mystery to a lot of us. He was hard to get close to. But he always took care of my mom and me, even when he was out of the picture. We never had to worry about money, and I guess, now that I think about it, that was a way for him to show his love. Maybe the only way he knew how.”
This wasn’t going great. I knew I should have written something ahead of time.
“That may sound cold,” I continued, “but I don’t think it is. People suffer because they can’t pay bills or are up to their necks in debt, but Mom and I never were. Dad made sure of that. And what’s more loving than preventing the people you care about from ever suffering?”
I looked at the audience to see how this was going. Not great.
I looked behind me, at the grave. “I wish I had gotten to know you better, Dad,” I said, turning back to the audience. “I wish he had let down his guard just long enough to have fun with me. But that wasn’t his way. And part of love is learning to accept someone for who they are and not who you think they should be. I loved my dad. And I’m going to miss him.”
There was a brief pause, which I let fill the air long enough for everyone to understand that I had finished my speech. One person started a quiet clap, then the rest of the crowd followed suit. I walked down and returned to my seat. The preacher returned to the podium. “Thank you very much…” He checked his notes again. “...Glenn. That was very moving. We will now commence the burying. Thank you for attending the service honoring...” One more check of the notes. “...Charles Carter.”
We all stood up, and nearly everyone there came by me to offer a small hug and their condolences. I noticed one man I didn’t recognize, however, standing behind all of the people, making a point of talking to me. He wore sunglasses and a nondescript gray suit, holding a manilla envelope. He could only be a lawyer.
Once everybody else walked away, he approached.
“Glenn Carter?” he said. “Ryan Carter.” He offered a hand, which I accepted. “I don’t expect you to remember me, but I’m a Beta with the clan. I handled all of your father’s legal affairs, which includes his will.”
“Do we need to take care of this now?” I asked. The legal procedure was complicated, but the long and the short of it was I would take over for my father as the Alpha, which he had, to a degree, prepared me for. But the clan was a well-oiled machine and was prepared for anything, including a change in leadership, and I could learn the rest on the job.
“Time is of the essence, my brother. You’ll understand once I explain.” He gestured towards a limousine, parked off to the side of the road. “Take a ride with me?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
He walked me to the car. “I must offer my most sincere condolences. Your father was an important man to all of us, and he will be greatly missed.”
“Thanks.”
“His skill, you understand, was protecting people. And that included protecting people from knowing how much he was protecting them. Tell me, do you recall ever being in danger growing up?”
“Danger?”
He shook his head as we reached the car. He opened the door and gestured for me to enter. “I suppose not.”
I entered the limousine and he followed behind me.
“The truth is, as the son of an Alpha, particularly a dragon shifter, you could have been in quite a bit of danger. But your father maintained guards surrounding you and your mother at all times, and it sounds like you never knew about them.”
He handed me the envelope, then tapped on the glass separating us from the driver. The driver opened the window and Ryan said, “To the agency, please, Eddie.”
The driver nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He started to drive as Ryan closed the window and looked at me.
“You can open it,” he said, gesturing towards the envelope.
“What’s it going to say? I’m now the Alpha. It’s my birthright.”
“Not quite,” he said. “Open it, and let’s discuss.”
I opened the envelope, and there was a sheet of parchment paper.
“Your father left some stipulations for how you become Alpha and, well, go ahead and read.”
I cleared my throat. “‘Upon my death, I bestow the title of Alpha upon my only son, Glenn Carter, along with all of my property and assets…’” I looked over at Ryan. “So far, so good.”
“Keep reading.”
“‘...assuming he has taken a wife by that time and, with her, produced an heir.’”
I read it over again.
“‘Produced an heir’ is exactly how my father would phrase ‘have a child.’”
I returned to the parchment. “‘Should he not have yet met both of those requirements, he will have a year from my death to attain them, upon which time he will be designated Alpha of the Carter clan. In the meantime, a substitute Alpha will be…’ Yadda, yadda, yadda. So what you’re saying is I need to marry someone and knock her up, yeah?”
Ryan was not amused, though it wasn’t clear that he was capable of amusement. “Not exactly,” he said. “You have a year to marry someone and have her give birth to your child. She cannot merely be pregnant.”
“So, I have more like three months.”
Ryan smiled. “Exactly.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult,” I said. “I am now a billionaire, after all.”
“In actuality, you are not. Not unless you marry and produce an heir.”
“You can’t possibly be serious,” I said.
“I’m afraid that this is serious, and legally binding. There is no inheritance until you comply. You’ll still, of course, be receiving your monthly allowance in that time, but the rest of the money is put into a trust that you can only access if you adhere to the requirements set in the will.”
“Why would he do this?”
“If I had to guess, sir, it’d be because he was concerned that you wouldn’t be responsible enough for the position. Of course, that’s only a guess.”
“So his solution is to force me into a marriage and family in less than a year? How am I supposed to do that?”
Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to me.
I looked at the card.
Fiery Hearts Marriage Agency
“One thing we lawyers are good at is finding the loophole. You have heard of Fiery Hearts, yes?”
“The agency that caters to dragon-shifters? Of course.”
“They provide marriages now, too.”
“How does that work?”
“We’re about to find out.”
The driver stopped the car in front of a large office complex.
“This is it?” I asked.
“Indeed it is,” Ryan said.
A pretty young woman was on the phone in the office, giving us a gesture of, “Just a second,” along with one that told us to take a seat.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have any natural blondes in your price range at the moment,” she said to the phone, “however, I’m sure we could find someone who’d be willing to use dye… I’m sorry, I could put you on a waiting list if you’d like, but… Really, modern dyes are so good, I don’t think you’d be able to tell the difference… Mmm-hmm? You’ll get back to us? Well, we look forward to hearing from you; thank you for calling.”
She hung up the phone and looked at us. “Can I help you?”
Ryan took the lead. “We have an appointment with Angie?”
“Oh, my apologies,” she said. “Is this Charles Carter, Jr.?”
“Glenn,” I said, offering my hand.
She reached forward and gave it a sturdy shake. “It’s an honor, sir. A genuine honor. I’ll page Angie, and she’ll be with you right away. Take a seat; it’ll only be a moment.”
She pressed a button on her desk.
“Well, one moment,” I said. “How exactly does this work? Is this like a mail-order bride situation?”
She shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. Our women are here of their own free will. There’s no coercion.”
“But how does that work? You have people willing to sign their lives away to someone else for a price?”
“Of course not.”
“But what if the woman doesn’t want to marry me? What if we’re not in love?”
The woman behind the desk laughed. “You’d better let Angie explain things to you. I promise, it’s quite simple. Quite neat and tidy.”
A dark-haired woman with thick, professional glasses poked her head in through the door. “Mr. Carter?”
“Here she is now,” the receptionist said.
“I’m Angie Gormunn. It’s wonderful to meet you. Would you come with me?”
I followed her into her office, along with Ryan, where she sat us down and offered us both coffees, which we politely declined.
“I’m sure you have a few questions about how this works,” she said. “The orientation video should answer most of them.”
She pulled out a tablet PC, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to me as cheesy saxophone music began to play.
On the screen, the title “Fiery Hearts Marriage and You” appeared and dissolved away. A woman with a bad perm and poor lighting appeared and began talking in a seductive voice.
“How would you like to be married to me?”
Another woman, this one with straight silver hair and tattoos, who looked like she could be in an eighties tribute band, appeared beside her, “Or how about me?”
A third woman appeared, this one with more of a “girl next door” quality. “Maybe I’m more your type.”
Then, in unison, they said, “We are ready to be your wife.”
I looked over at Ryan. Is this for real?
He nodded, completely serious.
The first woman stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Amber, and I’m willing to walk down the aisle with you on a moment’s notice.”
Text appeared at the bottom of the screen in tiny letters: “Note: This is a paid actress and not necessarily representative of the available spousal options.”
She continued. “Many people, like yourself, are looking to get married but don’t want to go through the agonizing courtship routine. Fiery Hearts Marriage Agency allows you to bypass dating and skip straight to the wedding. You’re open with us about what you’re looking for in a spouse, and we’re open about what we expect in return.”
The third woman stepped forward. “Perhaps you’re looking for a virginal young woman like me: Grace. You can take me home to your mother who keeps on asking when you’re going to meet and marry a nice girl. You can even cheat on me; I don’t mind.” She giggled.
“I’m Roxie,” said the second woman. “And maybe you want some excitement in your life. I’ll rock your world and leave you begging for more.” She made a sign of the horns to the camera and stepped aside.
<
br /> A chime played, and the screen went blank except for the text, “How Does It Work?”
Amber appeared by herself. “Sounds pretty good, right? But how does it work?”
A pie chart appeared on the screen, with half of it turning red. “Marriage for love has brought us a 50 percent divorce rate.”
More graphics flew across the screen. A cartoon bride and groom, happy at the altar, morphing to a miserable husband and wife at home, accompanied by a sad trombone sound.
“We here at Fiery Hearts thought: there must be a better way. What if, instead of marrying someone, expecting them to be the person we want for the rest of our lives, we marry them for only a short amount of time? Anywhere from six months to five years.”
A sotto voice quickly stated, “Approval dependent on applicant passing a background check. No refunds for early marriage terminations due to any reason, including unforeseen accident or death. Other restrictions apply.”
Amber continued, “The secret is a proprietary, airtight prenuptial agreement, developed by our legal team. You won’t lose a dime from lawyer fees or mediation because there is no mediation. When the marriage is over, you’re divorced and don’t owe any alimony or even have to see your ex-spouse again.”
I paused the tablet and put it on the table.
“Is this an escort service?” I asked.
“Oh, lord, no,” Angie said.
“How is it different?”
“An escort is paid by the hour, but you have a wife of your own for anywhere from six months to five years.”
“But there is sex?”
“Legally speaking,” Angie said, “you need to consummate the marriage or the state considers it null and void.” She offered a sly smile. “We wouldn’t want to be breaking any laws.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I stood up. “Thank you for your time.”
Ryan took my wrist. “Glenn, what are you doing?”