The Billionaire Takes a Bride

by Jessica Clare

  “I’m fine, really!” She hauled herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom, desperate to get away.

  “Holy fuck, what’s that?”

  She froze and turned around, clutching the robe. “What’s what?”

  “Your leg.” His eyes were wide. “When did that happen?” He bounded off the bed and she saw he was in a pair of white boxer briefs that clung to his body and outlined . . . things. Things she was pretty sure she didn’t want to see on her new, platonic husband. Chelsea backed up as he approached her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Let me see your leg,” he told her, then knelt and pushed the robe aside. His jaw dropped when an enormous, livid bruise on her hip was revealed. “Jesus, did I do that?”

  “Oh, that old thing?” She called that her “landing spot” because every time she was knocked down in derby, she seemed to land on the same hip. “It’s just a bruise.”

  “Just a bruise?” he echoed, looking up at her with concern. “It covers half your leg!”

  “Pff. It does not.” She pushed the robe back in place, feeling a little uncomfortable at his intense scrutiny of her body. “I just fell. That’s all.”

  “Chelsea,” he said, getting to his feet. The look on his face was somber. Worried. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  She leaned in and patted his cheek. “And that’s very sweet.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “That’s nice. Now I’m going to take a shower.”

  He sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this some other time.” He turned back toward the bed.

  “Just . . . one thing, Sebastian.”

  He turned, the look on his face curious.

  She pointed at the bathroom. “Can you turn the light on in there for me?” Yes, she was being a baby, and no, she didn’t care.

  He sighed, shook his head, and turned the light on in the bathroom.

  Chelsea took her time in the bathroom, showering, then spending an extra long time fixing her snarled hair. She was avoiding Sebastian, she knew it. But it was hard to go out there and have a conversation with the man when she didn’t want to talk about how she’d acted last night.

  And of course he was dying to know. She didn’t blame him for that. She just wasn’t ready to talk about her issues. She shrugged the robe back on, tied it at her waist, and then emerged from the bathroom to find him fully dressed, his hair still a tousled mess, but his clothing tucked and ready to go. He flipped through his phone, barely glancing at her as she grabbed her bag. “Not even twenty-four hours and we’re already making headlines.”

  “Really?”

  “Someone saw us last night,” he said, voice cranky. “I hope you’re ready to be papped.”

  Chelsea shrugged, pulling out a comfortable knit maxi dress. “I knew it was bound to happen when we got together. That’s fine.”

  “Just try and ignore them. And if they get too close, you let me know.” The protective look on his face was fierce. “They’ll pressure you if you let them.”

  “You’ll be right there, right?” At his nod, she continued. “Then I won’t be afraid of them.”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “What do you think about a bodyguard for a few weeks? Just until things cool down and our lives get back to normal?”

  Chelsea thought about it. A bodyguard might be a little intrusive. But . . . she also wouldn’t be alone. She remembered the cruel fan at her last bout, the one who had turned the lights off on her. “I think a bodyguard is a great idea,” she decided.

  Sebastian looked pleased. “We’ll get you one when we fly back.”

  “I’m ready to go back now.”

  It was clear from his expression that she’d surprised him. “I thought you wanted to do a few touristy things?”

  Not if they were going to get stalked by the paparazzi. Not if she was going to be trapped in this room with Sebastian and him constantly wondering and needing to know what was going on with her.

  Besides, she had practice tomorrow night. Best to get settled in and back to her old lifestyle. “No, I think I’m ready to return. New Orleans isn’t holding as much appeal for me as I thought.”

  “When we get back to New York, I should warn you that my mother and her ever-present camera crew are probably going to bombard us.”

  Chelsea just gave him a wicked grin. “Are you kidding? I’d love to meet the family.”

  He groaned.

  Chapter Ten

  Chelsea’s phone buzzed with an incoming text while they were on the jet back to New York.

  Gretchen: I cannot believe you!

  Chelsea: What?

  Gretchen: I just saw your face on the Internet. You got married? To Sebastian?

  Chelsea: Oh, yup, I did! It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.

  Gretchen: I. Am. So. Hurt.

  Chelsea: What? Why?

  Gretchen: You never told me you were even dating! I thought you were two seconds away from joining a roller derby nunnery.

  Chelsea: Ha! No, like I said, it was super sudden.

  Gretchen: Oh man. Drunk wedding? Been there, done that. Wait, no I haven’t. Because I wouldn’t do that to my friends. And in case you can’t feel it, I’m totally shaming you with my judgmental stares right now.

  Chelsea: I’m sorry. We decided to just up and do it. We didn’t think about inviting anyone.

  Gretchen: You guys must have really hit it off at the party the other night. Right? He saw you in the derby gear and decided he had to nail that shit down, am I right?

  Chelsea thought for a moment. How far were they going to go in their charade? They hadn’t really talked things over. She looked over at Sebastian, who was writing something down on a notepad. “I’m getting grilled by Gretchen. What’s our cover story? She thinks we had a drunk hookup that turned into a marriage.”

  He glanced over at Chelsea, gaze flicking to her mouth. “Doesn’t she know you don’t drink?”

  For some reason, his focus on her lips made her feel . . . nervous. Weird and fluttery. “I don’t know if she knows. I used to drink.”

  “Oh? And you stopped?”

  “I did.” And she left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions. Instead, she gave him a challenging look, as if daring him to ask about it.

  He only leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “What kind of story do you want to go with?”

  “Love at first sight?” She offered. “Stars aligning? Birds singing? A chorus of angels overhead at the glimpse of you?”

  His mouth quirked in a half smile and he shook his head. “You clearly want to have everyone picturing me as a way more romantic man than I am.”

  “You’re not romantic? I’m gasping in shock here.”

  “Oh, I’m romantic enough, but only with the right incentive.” He wiggled his eyebrows and then leaned back in his chair, gaze thoughtful. “We could tell her you have a magic vagina.”

  “A what?”

  “Yep. Magic vagina. Or one like a Venus flytrap. My dick went inside and never came back out.”

  She batted him on the arm. “Yeah, right. I’m trying to think of believable things. I need something to tell her. She’s one of my best friends.” She thought for a moment, and then looked over at him. “What if we position me as a gold digger?”

  Sebastian gave her a sleepy but skeptical look that made her wonder how long he’d been awake last night while she’d been in the midst of her panic attack. A vague memory flashed, of rain and his hands stroking over her damp shoulders, her hair, him soothing her with wordless noises. He was a good guy, she realized with a twinge of guilt. He deserved better than her. She was all fucked up.

  “We need a story,” Chelsea prompted again. She needed a distraction, too.

  “You could tell her that from the moment I saw you, I decided I had to have you,” Sebastian said in a soft voice.

  For some reason, that made Chelsea’s pulse flutter. She pul
led away from him in her chair, pretending to look out the window. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Well, let me know what you decide.” When she looked over, he had put down his notepad and held up his phone. “Hunter’s texting me, too. My guess is that Gretchen put him up to it.”

  She paused, thinking, then began to type again.

  Chelsea: It was just sort of a thing. He looked at me and I knew. And he says he felt the same way. So we decided not to waste any time.

  Gretchen: Omg. I can’t decide if that’s harebrained or incredible. Sebastian never struck me as the romantic type.

  Chelsea: Really, how did he strike you?

  Gretchen: Will you kill me if I say ‘aimless’?

  She glanced over at the man idly texting next to her.

  Chelsea: No, but now I’m intrigued. Why aimless?

  Gretchen: I’ve only met him a few times, mind you. But he just sits on family money and like . . . doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t have a business of his own. Doesn’t run the family business. He’s just rich. He and Hunter work out together but I don’t know what he does with his time other than avoid his crazy family.

  Chelsea: I’m sure he has a plan. :) I gotta go anyhow. Lunch tomorrow?

  Gretchen: Girl, yes. Now go kiss your new husband for me and I’m gonna go gossip at Hunter. And read more tabloids about you, but mostly gossip at Hunter. XO

  Chelsea: XO

  Chelsea looked over at Sebastian speculatively again. Aimless, huh? She didn’t think Gretchen meant it in a cruel way. Gretchen was blunt and sometimes thoughtless with her words, but was never cruel. And how could anyone be mad at Sebastian? He was gorgeous, polite, funny, and utterly charming. Heck, she was immune to men and still found herself getting girlishly excited whenever he gave her one of those sleepy smiles.

  It seemed they both had things to work on.

  He looked over at her and gave her a wary glance. “You’re staring.”

  She held up her phone and changed the conversation. “I just told Gretchen that it was an immediate attraction sort of thing and we acted on it.”

  Sebastian gave her a small nod. “I can work with that. And anyone who sees you knows that it’s not off the mark.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means if this wasn’t platonic, I’d be all over you like peanut butter on jelly.”

  “Peanut butter on . . . jelly?”

  “Is that a bad one? How about sand on a beach.”

  “Sand on a beach?”

  “Terrible simile, I know. I’m really bad at them.” He grimaced. “You won’t hold it against me, will you?”

  “Hold it against you like . . .” she teased.

  “Like . . . an alien face hugger in those horror movies?” He gave her a hopeful look.

  “You’re right. You are terrible at this.”

  “Told you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  When they got off the plane, Sebastian pulled Chelsea close to him and whispered in her ear. “Just try to act casual, okay? Nothing sells hotter than a picture of someone totally upset.”

  “Okay,” she said, but her fingers tightened on his arm.

  “And I want to apologize in advance.”

  “For what?”

  “For the hell airports are about to become.” He grimaced. “Seriously. I’ll give you hazard pay for this.”

  She laughed and shook her head. Surely he was exaggerating? “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “You want sunglasses?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Your call.” His arm went around her waist and he pulled her closer to him as they walked across the tarmac.

  When they got into the airport proper, it seemed busy but not ridiculous. As she looked over at Sebastian, she noticed he put on a pair of sunglasses and ducked his head. His arm was tight around her waist, urging her forward.

  “There they are,” someone cried out.

  Suddenly, a mob rushed forward, and cameras began to flash in their faces. Chelsea shielded her eyes, squinting, and stumbled forward. Sebastian was there to catch her, and put an arm up.

  “Hey, now, give us some room,” he snarled at the press of photographers that surrounded them. “Back the fuck up.”

  “Sebastian, over here,” they cried. “Chelsea, over here!”

  Lights blinded her, flashing over and over again. The voices were a cacophony ringing in her ears, and the mob followed them as they walked forward, heading for the parking lot where Sebastian’s limo would be waiting for them. She clung to Sebastian’s arm, startled and more than a little alarmed at the crowd that had assembled.

  “Give us a kiss,” someone shouted.

  “Get out of the way,” Sebastian told them, pushing an arm in front of them and urging Chelsea forward.

  “Kiss first!” they shouted back.

  It was so ridiculous that Chelsea started to giggle. She couldn’t help it. The thought of a mob descending because they wanted pictures of her kissing Sebastian in an airport? Could there be an un-sexier place? She kept laughing even as Sebastian turned and frowned at her.

  “One kiss,” someone shouted.

  “Will you guys leave if we kiss?” She called back.

  “Yes!” came the chorus. Cameras lifted, and for a moment, the flashes stopped.

  So Chelsea planted her feet, amused, and looked over at Sebastian. “Well?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She pulled him closer and whispered. “They’re going to get pictures anyhow, right? Might as well work with them.”

  He studied her. “I don’t know if you’re a mad genius or just mad.”

  “Little bit of both, actually. Now, pucker up.” She grabbed his collar, gave a pointed look at the photographers, and planted a big one on his mouth.

  A hundred cameras seemed to snap at once.

  And it was a shame, she thought a moment later as she pulled away, that she couldn’t feel anything. Because Sebastian had a wonderfully kissable mouth, and she liked the flare in his pale green eyes when she touched him.

  Too bad she was all broken.

  She looked over at the paparazzi. “You got your kiss. Leave us alone now.”

  “Should we do one more just to make sure?” Sebastian teased, his voice a whisper in her ear.

  She batted at his arm. “Very funny.”

  * * *

  They were mostly quiet in the limo as they drove through Manhattan. At least, until they turned down a neighborhood street and Sebastian groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. Chelsea peered out the window of the limo as they pulled up to a town house, the front crowded with people and cameras.

  “More paparazzi?” she asked.

  “No,” Sebastian said grimly. “This time it’s my mother.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”

  “Yeah. You ever wanted to be on TV? You’re about to be.” He sounded less than thrilled.

  “It’ll be fine,” she assured him, patting his hand. To her surprise, he took her fingers in his and squeezed them. That was sweet.

  He looked over at her. “I just want to apologize in advance for the upcoming shit show you are about to experience. I’ll try to get us inside the house as soon as possible.”

  She chuckled. “I hold you blameless, if it makes you feel any better.”

  “It does, actually.” He opened the door to the limo and she watched through the tinted window as the crowd surged toward him. Then he held a hand out for her, and it was time for her to make her appearance.

  Chelsea put her hand in his and let him help her from the limo, and immediately the cameras were in their faces. A woman hurried forward, dressed in a red and black zebra-striped suit. She had a small dog tucked against her arm and her hair was cut into a stylish silver bob streaked with purple. She leaned in and gave Sebastian a quick kiss on the cheek and then a judgmental look. “Nugget, I am very unhappy with you.” />
  Sebastian’s hand tightened on Chelsea’s. “Mother, don’t call me that. And do we have to have the cameras here?” He gestured at the three cameras hovering over his mother’s shoulder.

  “I am filming a reality TV show, Nugget. They are recording my reality.” She gestured loftily at the cameras and then narrowed her eyes at Chelsea. “Is this the hooker?”

  “Jesus, Mother. She’s not a hooker. This is my wife. Chelsea.”

  Chelsea couldn’t help it. She giggled again and held her hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cabral. Sebastian has told me so much about you.”

  Mrs. Cabral raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “If that were the case, then he would have told you that I prefer to be called Mama Precious.”

  “And I told her I’m not calling you that,” Sebastian growled. “And did you really have to ambush me at my front door? What about my privacy, mother?”

  “You won’t come see your Mama Precious, Nugget. How else am I going to come see you? To think that you didn’t even invite me to your own wedding.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Mrs. Cabral,” Chelsea offered. “We didn’t invite my parents, either. It was a very spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Cabral asked, her over-injected lip curling a bit. “Is it because you’re charging him by the hour and he would have had to return to the ATM?”

  “She’s not a whore, mother. I’m not paying her, and you’re insulting both of us, so stop it.”

  Chelsea only giggled again. It might have been insulting, if it wasn’t so damn funny. This ridiculous Cruella De Vil–looking woman with a tiny dog was her new mother-in-law? “At any rate, I am super pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cabral,” Chelsea said, keeping her voice sweet. “You look entirely too young to be Sebastian’s mother.”

  It was the truth, actually. Her face had been lifted and filled and peeled so many times that her skin was utter perfection. Despite the artfully gray and purple hair, she didn’t look a day over forty, much too young to be Sebastian Cabral’s mother.

  The eyebrow rose again and she studied Chelsea. “Hmph.” She looked over at her son. “I’ll have you know that you broke Lisa’s heart. She had to find out via Perez Hilton that you got married. How do you think that makes her feel?”