Insta-Hubby (A Billionaire Fake Relationship Romance)

by Lauren Milson

  “You’re not offending me,” Jamie says, curling up on the couch across from me and Jess. “It’s not like I made it. I didn’t go out and milk the cow and, I don’t know...how is eggnog made, anyway?”

  “Maybe,” Jess says, getting up and walking over to the china cabinet housing the Murphys’ collection of white bone china, wine glasses and a few liquor bottles, “it would be better if we stuck a little rum in it.”

  “Ohh!” Jamie’s eyes light up as she grabs her glass from the coffee table and wags it at her sister. “I’ll take some!”

  Jess unscrews the bottle and drops a bit of the rum into Jamie’s glass.

  “What about you, Chris?”

  “Nah,” I say, taking another sip. “None for me. I actually have something important I wanted to talk to you about. And I want to be crystal clear for it.”

  Paul comes in wearing an ugly Christmas sweater picturing a reindeer with a red pompom for its nose. “I’ll have some rum,” he says, taking a seat at the counter between the living room and kitchen.

  Jess goes to the kitchen and ladles another cup of eggnog for Paul, adding a shot of rum to the glass, stirring it with a long spoon, and shaving some fresh nutmeg on top.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to culinary school instead of vet school? Maybe you can work in the bakery with Kaitlyn,” I say, observing how much care Jess puts into everything.

  “Who knows,” Jess says, shrugging and placing her brother’s drink down on a red and white striped cocktail napkin on the counter in front of him. “Anything could happen. I’m young. We all are.”

  Jess sits back down next to me and looks up. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Um, your parents are home, right?” I say, taking my wool beanie off and pushing my hair back.

  “Yeah,” Paul says, taking a sip of his drink. “I think Dad is in the basement grabbing some laundry and Mom is upstairs. They’re going to some party tonight.”

  “Would you…just hold on a second.” I put a finger in the air and get up to go over to the staircase out in the hallway. There’s two sets of stairs here, one flight up and one flight down. “Mr. and Mrs. Murphy?” I call out, attempting to catch both of them simultaneously. I look down at the floor, away from the three siblings - my best friends - sitting in the other room.

  The box in my pocket is burning a hole there. I need to get it out. I need to present it to Jess, and I need her family to be here.

  “Hey, Chris.” Mr. Murphy appears from the basement with a basket of laundry. Sheets, towels. The pink blanket I used the other day is there. I want to grab it and tell him I’m bringing it home with me. Or even better, I’m setting up a permanent sleeping area for myself in his living room and I need that pink blanket.

  “Here, let me grab that.” I take the basket from Jess’ old man and move into the kitchen, setting it down on the table.

  “Thanks,” he says, patting me on the back. “What’d you need me for?”

  I look over at Jess. Her blue eyes are wide, her delicate face framed by a few tendrils falling out of the messy bun high atop her head.

  “Yeah, Chris? What’s going on?”

  Mrs. Murphy comes down the stairs in a chic black blouse and black slacks as we all gather in the living room.

  “Jess,” I say, my heart absolutely fucking pounding in my chest. “First of all, I want to thank you for taking me in these past few days and making me feel so welcomed. You guys have been like a surrogate family for me.”

  “Man,” Paul says, crossing the room and putting his hands on my shoulders. “You are family.”

  I clear my throat nervously. “I know. In a sense. And by the way, my dad said thank you again for having him over.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Murphy says. “We want to see more of him.”

  “He happened to text me today,” Mr. Murphy offers. “He’s coming to the party we’re going to tonight.”

  “Hey, how come I wasn’t invited?” Jamie mockingly grumbles, crossing her arms and kneading her brows together.

  “It’s for old people, Jame. But if you really want to come, you certainly are welcome,” Mr. Murphy says.

  “Well, now you’ve sold me,” she says, crossing her legs and shrugging her shoulders.

  Jess gets up and crosses the room toward me. “Everyone be quiet for a second. Chris had something he wanted to talk to us about.” Her eyes are bigger and brighter than ever, rivaled only by the moon. “What is it?”

  “Here’s the thing. Yes, I know that I’m like family.” I take a step toward her, dividing the distance between us. “But that’s not good enough.”

  I take the bag from Kaitlyn’s out of my back pocket and hand it to Jess. I don’t drop to one knee. Not yet.

  “A year ago, I let you get away from me because I thought you wanted more than I could give you. I was in a bad place. And it took having you back for me to realize that there’s nothing I can’t give you. There’s nothing I won’t give you.”

  Her lower lip drops a little as she looks at the bag in her hands. Her eyes move up slowly and meet mine. “Chris, it’s what I’ve always wanted. Cookies from Kaitlyn’s?” Her lips perk up into a knowing smile.

  “See what’s inside.” As my girl peeks inside the crinkled paper bag, I wipe my palms against my jeans and slowly get down to one knee. “Jess, please tell me you’ll be mine forever. And let me be yours. I love you. I always have. I’m just sorry I let you go once before. I won’t let that happen again.”

  She pulls the small blue velvet ring box out of the bag and stands there with her mouth open.

  I take the box from her and open it. Inside, I’ve placed the ring my grandfather - my dad’s dad - gave my grandmother on Christmas Eve so many years ago. My dad was holding it for me to give to the girl I’d marry. When he found out it was Jess, he was overjoyed. He even texted Jess’ dad after I asked for his permission earlier today because he was so excited.

  It’s a vintage Tiffany ring. The signature blue box was lost long ago, but I don’t care. It’s what’s inside that counts.

  Jess says nothing. I take the ring out of the box and hold it up between us. She blinks tears away as they fall down her cheeks and puts her hand out, nodding.

  “Now you’re really my family.” I get up and wrap my arms around her body. Her arms squeeze tight around my back and still she says nothing. I feel her body heave in mine as she wipes her eyes against my shirt.

  “Yes,” she finally says, sniffling against me. “Yes. Yes.”

  Over and over my heart sings, beating against me. I can feel hers, too. And they eyes of her family around us only sweeten her word.

  Yes.

  “I’m not letting you go again either, Chris.” She looks up at me with her piercing blue eyes, the lights from the tree beside us flickering like fire in them. But now there’s no storm inside. Now there’s only blue skies and a clear road.

  “Thank you for the past few days, Jess.”

  “Thank you,” she says, “for tomorrow.”

  THE END

  It’s not quite over yet. Flip the page for a preview of my upcoming book, Mr. December!

  Mr. December - PREVIEW

  An Older Man Younger Woman Romance

  Calvin

  They call me a hero.

  My job as a firefighter is all I know. It’s my vocation and what I live for.

  But a tempting little thing just moved in next door.

  And I’m hard for her curves, her smile, the way she moves so sinfully.

  She is decidedly off-limits.

  I already know the heat I’ll take if I even look.

  I put myself in harm’s way every single day, but nothing’s ever felt as dangerous as her.

  My job is everything to me, but I’ll risk anything for her.

  Because I don’t do anything half-way.

  Dangerous or not, I’ll make her mine.

  Lizzie

  I just moved in next door to a dangerously hot older
man.

  Big. Strong. Off-limits.

  Gorgeous.

  He isn’t just a fireman. He’s also a model for our town’s annual calendar.

  He does it for charity, not for the attention.

  But he certainly has my attention.

  I can’t keep my eyes off him.

  I know I shouldn’t want him, but I can’t help it.

  So I’ll have to be satisfied with just looking

  Imagining him walking across my lawn, throwing me over his shoulder, carrying me to his house.

  Because I know I wouldn’t be able to handle him.

  He’s just too powerful, too experienced.

  So...I’ll just have to look…

  Because if I touch, I might get burned.

  Hot. Sweet. No cheating. HEA.

  Lizzie

  “Chocolate scones, freshly-squeezed orange juice with a splash of sparkling white wine, and mascarpone cookies. And these are just for the wives and girlfriend.” I bring my dad over to the kitchen table where I have everything ready to be brought out to the backyard for the party. I glance up at him and he smiles, and he just looks so proud - which of course makes me feel great.

  “Lizzie,” he says, “this looks fantastic. I couldn’t be happier with what you’ve prepared. And I know everyone’s going to just love it.”

  “Oh, but you haven’t let me finish yet,” I say, making my way over to the refrigerator. “I also have cold beers, chips and salsa, a cold-cut platter, and cannoli for the men. In case chocolate scones aren’t exactly their preference.”

  “Sweetie, everything looks good, and I know everyone’s going to like anything they try.”

  He puts his arm around me and gives me a quick peck on the forehead as I wipe my hands off on my apron. It’s just about time for the party to start, and I was up late last night and up early this morning to get everything finished.

  It’s not charity. I am not doing this for him out of the goodness of my heart, and he isn’t throwing me this gig out of the goodness of his. It’s a mutual business agreement between me and his firehouse, and I just happen to be the best vendor for the job.

  Okay, maybe it’s because the first caterer fell through when her entire staff caught a bad bold this Thursday and it became impossible for her to fulfill the order to feed twenty-four hunky, hungry firemen and their significant others.

  I’ve heard they’re easy to please and will eat anything.

  Still, I put everything into this brunch. My blood, sweat and tears. Kidding, there’s no blood, sweat or tears in the food. Just a lot of hard work and care.

  “Oh!” I say, slipping away from dad, “and my business cards just came back from the printer.”

  “Just in time too,” he says, peering down his reading glasse to look at the card as I hand one to him.

  “Yep, I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” I say, looking over his shoulder at the card as he sits down at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry everyone at Murphy’s got sick. But when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.”

  “Lizzie’s special homemade lemonade,” Dad says, smiling up at me. “Thanks again for doing all this. This was an enormous help. I called all over and no one could do the order on such short notice.”

  “It’s my absolute pleasure,” I say as he hands me the card back.

  “Keep it,” I say, giving it back to him, “hand it to the first firefighter who asks where he can buy a jar of the salsa. And then the second one who asks, send him over to me.”

  “Saleswoman, entrepreneur, chef. I did a bang-up job raising an amazing lady, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did do a pretty good job,” I say, peering out the window, “but don’t I get any of the credit?”

  “Of course you do honey,” he says with a laugh. “You’d have grown up right no matter who raised you.”

  “Of course,” I say, ribbing him. “Now, I have a few things to finish up in here before the guests arrive. Let me grab you a beer, and you go outside because it looks like you have a few people starting to show up. I’ll tell Mom you’re outside when she comes down.”

  I put a cold beer in my dad’s hands as he starts out of the kitchen toward the back door of the house where I’ve lived for the last twenty-five years.

  And it is a little difficult and a little bittersweet to be making this meal, because I’m getting ready to move out and start my own life.

  Okay, maybe it is a little late to be moving out of your parents’ house, but I have my reasons.

  So I kind of think of today as a farewell brunch for me, just on a personal level. It’s the last big meal I’ll be cooking in this kitchen while living here.

  It’s a good kitchen, too, and I’ll be sad to see it go, but I have bigger fish to fry. It’s not like I’m never going to come back, or anything.

  The guests are starting to arrive. I have to pop open a few bottles of sparkling white wine and top off the orange juice for the mimosas, and I have to set things up on trays, and I have to put on my little caterer outfit.

  I actually don’t have to do that last part, but I want to. I think it’s cute. And even though most of the guys in my dad’s firehouse already know me, I want them to know that I’m here at the party to work.

  And anyway...I think it’s cute. It’s a little black skirt and a white collared shirt and black suspenders.

  Not that I’m trying to get the attention of anyone at the party, though. These are my dad’s coworkers, and I know all of them already. Most of them are married, and the one who aren’t? I’m just not interested. They’re all cute, sure, but they’re too old for me.

  Okay, I am lying to myself.

  There is one guy who I have noticed. He’s new to my dad’s crew. I don’t even know his name.

  I only know him from his picture in the firefighters’ calendar.

  I only know him as Mr. December.

  Calvin

  Who the hell is she, and why don’t I already know her?

  Her little skirt is like sin, and the way she smiles and weaves through the crowd makes my heart clench up. I want to grab her and pull her into my boss’ house and have my way with her, and I know she’ll like it from the way she keeps glancing over at me, pretending that she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing, but I know it’s no coincidence that our eyes keep meeting.

  Little miss, who the hell are you, and why don’t I already know you?

  I’m new to this town, and it’s a tight-knit community. I don’t know anyone that well yet, except for the boys I work with at the fire station. Everyone knows each other here, so I know I’ll meet her soon enough.

  Except that won’t work for me. I need to meet her now.

  I grab two bubbly mimosas from the table near where I’m standing and start to go over to her, and I feel my heart throbbing between my ears. My thoughts are on her only, and the rest of the party melts away as I walk over to her.

  That throbbing between my ears is delicious, and I savor it as I walk over to her, because all I want right now is to taste her lips and make her squeal.

  She’s the most perfect creature I’ve ever seen, and the way she keeps trying to catch my attention is making me fucking crazy.

  The soft afternoon sunlight spills over the backyard where the party is, and I swear I can feel every single blade of grass under my combat boots. That’s how fucking alive I feel right now.

  And is it only about my cock? No, it’s not only about my cock, even though I could get hard as a rock right now. I keep it down because getting raging hard at your boss’ house is not exactly in line with what decorum dictates. It’s also about the pure, indelible beauty this creature possesses.

  Oh, and I feel like I am chasing her, which makes my heart thrum faster, because every time she goes over to a party guest with a little pastry or a drink, she makes me hang back a little.

  In the interest of decorum.

  But I’m not really chasing her. It’s all my head, really. But I know she f
eels it too. That delicious anticipation of what is about to happen. And how drawn out and slow it’s happening. It’s the push and pull of me and her, the way she looks back at me and tries not to smile at me, and the way I hang back and let her work.

  It’s intoxicating.

  And finally, she breaks away from the last cluster of my coworkers and finds the backdoor of the house, and she backs into the house, putting her back against the door and tipping her chin down, biting down on her bottom lip as she disappears into the house.

  That’s it. I can’t hold it together any longer. I check my surroundings quickly as the ground moves faster under my feet, and I feel my cock stiffen as I follow her into the house.

  I feel the door swing closed behind me, and I catch little miss leaning over the kitchen sink, stacking dishes with her ass out in the air and the skirt riding up her damn legs.

  “I got you a drink,” I say, leaning against the counter next to the sink. She turns off the water and turns around to lean against the counter with one hand.

  “You got me a drink? Excuse me,” she says, her green eyes gleaming and her blonde hair falling in waves around her face, “I made that drink. You can’t give someone a drink they’ve made.”

  “You don’t want it, then?” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “It looks good. Smells fresh. And I have two of them. Take it, please.”

  She puts her hand out and takes the drink, our eyes locked on each other’s like we couldn’t out at the party. Like she wouldn’t out at the party with all those people around.

  And why wouldn’t she? Is it because she didn’t want to make her panties all wet?

  Because I know that’s what happening right now.

  She takes the drink from me and puts the glass up to her lips, taking a small sip.

  “Yep,” she says,”that’s good. But I already know that. But thank you for bringing it to me anyway.”