The Billionaire Takes a Bride

by Jessica Clare

  “This is going to be incredibly awkward, isn’t it?” Chelsea worried.

  “Nah. You watch. My mother will sail through. She always does. But for a moment, we’ll be able to turn the tables on her at least.” The door dinged at six and Sebastian got out, tugging Chelsea behind him. Ten minutes later, they had two sleepy cameramen and a sound guy with them in the elevator as they headed up to the seventh floor.

  As the elevator dinged, Chelsea had weird butterflies in her stomach. Why was she nervous? Other than the fact that “Mama Precious” Cabral had been utterly horrible to her, her opinion didn’t really matter. Only Sebastian’s did. Maybe it was the TV crew that was even now filming her reaction that was setting her nerves to jangling. Or maybe it was that she was going to meet the rest of Sebastian’s family, and if they all acted like his mother . . . well, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about that.

  The Cabral penthouse opened up to a pair of white double doors, and Sebastian knocked on it before turning to Chelsea and giving her an impromptu kiss on the mouth.

  She knew it was for the cameras . . . but she was still touched. That kiss of support and affection made her a little weak in the knees, as did the accompanying hand squeeze.

  Someone shuffled to the door, and it opened a moment later. An elderly woman in a gray maid’s uniform gave Sebastian a wide-eyed stare. “Oh, Sebastian. Hello.”

  “Morning, Eula,” he said, pushing his way inside and dragging Chelsea along with him. The cameramen followed close behind. “This is my wife, Chelsea. Have you met her yet? Chelsea, this is Mother’s housekeeper.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Eula,” Chelsea said sincerely, and pulled her hand from Sebastian’s. She offered it to Eula.

  The elderly woman gave her a quick smile and hugged her. “You’re so pretty! Oh, Mrs. Cabral’s not going to like you.” She chuckled. “Or Lisa. Come on in, then. Do you want coffee? I just made a pot. Your mother’s in the kitchen, Sebastian.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll head. Thank you, Eula.” He patted the woman on the back and then offered his hand to Chelsea again. “Come on, love.”

  Love? The endearment surprised her, as did the feeling of warmth that flooded through her as a result. Maybe it was just for the cameras. She shouldn’t have gotten so excited about it.

  Keeping her feelings in check, Chelsea eyed the lavish penthouse as they headed in deeper. It didn’t look very lived in. Pop art in a Warhol-esque style covered the walls, and each painting seemed to be one of Sebastian’s mother. The walls were bleach-white, with bleach-white carpets. The living room was a step-down, the sunken floor decorated with an artsy glass-top table that looked as if it was made entirely from broken shards. The sofa was bleach-white as well, with a few bright red pillows tossed on it, and curved around the edges of the room. There was no television, and she guessed the living room was mostly for filming. Actually, she wondered if most of the house was for filming instead of living in.

  As they entered the kitchen, the bleach-white motif continued, this time for the cabinets, countertops, appliances, and flooring. Sebastian’s mother sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, a coffee cup raised halfway to her lips, a curler in her pink bangs. She narrowed her eyes at Sebastian and Chelsea. “What are you doing here, Nugget?”

  “Family meeting,” he said, releasing Chelsea’s hand. He moved in and pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, then gestured at Chelsea. “It’s time for the rest of the family to meet my wife, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s fucking early,” she said, and frowned when the sound assistant approached with the boom mic. “We’re filming?” Her hand went to her hair. “With no warning? Sebastian, Mama Precious is not happy.”

  “Well, Mother,” he said easily. “I thought you might like a taste of your own medicine after what you did to Chelsea yesterday.”

  The woman’s eagle-eyed stare went to Chelsea and she shot her another withering look.

  Chelsea waved.

  “Your family is not going to like this,” Mrs. Cabral repeated. “Not one bit.”

  “I didn’t ask them. Where’s Dad? What about Dolph and Amber? Cassie?”

  “Cassie’s visiting a friend in Europe. Dolph and Amber are upstairs. Your father’s in bed because it’s early.”

  “Come on, Chelsea,” Sebastian said. “You want to go wake up everyone with me or stay here with Mother?”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m going with you.” She moved to his side and slipped her hand back in his.

  Mrs. Cabral snorted and took a sip of her coffee.

  Sebastian seemed to be having too much fun surprising his family. He was practically bounding up the stairs with Chelsea at his side, heading for the bedrooms. He moved to the first one and knocked. “Amber’s the youngest,” he said to Chelsea, then looked embarrassed. “You knew that, right?”

  “I haven’t watched the show,” she admitted. Though everyone pretty much knew who the Cabrals were. She was pretty sure she’d recognize Amber if she saw her face.

  Sure enough, the door opened a few moments later and a sleepy girl in an off-the-shoulder designer sweatshirt and sleep pants yawned. “What the hell, Sebastian?” She peered at Chelsea. “Oh. This the wife? Mom is going on and on about her.” She gave a little wave, her hand covered by the long sleeve of her shirt. “I’m Amber.”

  “Hi. Chelsea.” She pointed at Sebastian. “His wife. Surprise!”

  She giggled. “’Bout time someone bagged his ass.”

  “All right, now,” Sebastian said, teasing her back. “We’re gonna go wake up Dolph and meet everyone downstairs. Can you be there in five?”

  “Sure, just lemme put my face on.” She yawned again and shut the door. “Tell them not to film me in natural sunlight,” she bellowed through the door.

  “Noted,” Sebastian called back, and headed farther down the hall, pulling Chelsea along with him. “Let’s get Dolph, then.”

  As they headed down the hall, Chelsea could hear faint rock music coming from under one of the doors. Sebastian paused at it and knocked. He waited, then knocked again. Then he looked over at Chelsea. “Probably drunk again.”

  Again? “Should we leave him alone?”

  “Hell no. I’m waking him up.” He knocked one more time and then pushed the door open.

  Dolph’s room was a mess of posters, junk, and dirty clothes. It looked more like a teenager’s room, though the man in the bed was easily college age. And slipping out on the other side of the bed in an old T-shirt?

  Lisa Pinder-Schloss, her hair in a rat’s nest.

  Her eyes went wide at the sight of Sebastian. Dolph just rolled over in bed, hugging a bottle of vodka.

  “Well, this kills two birds with one stone,” Sebastian said drily. “We’re having a family meeting downstairs in five minutes. You’re both invited.”

  Lisa’s hand went to her hair. “This isn’t what it looks like, Sebastian.”

  “It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not together, we won’t ever be together, and I’m married. You can sleep with whoever you want.”

  Chelsea leaned in and waved. “Wifey right here.”

  Lisa’s eyes went wide and she looked at Sebastian, then Chelsea. Her inflated lips quivered and for a moment she looked like a sad duck. “So . . . it’s really over?”

  “It was way, way over two years ago, Lisa. Two years and some change.” He gestured at his sleeping brother. “Wake him up and meet us downstairs in five minutes. We’re filming a family meeting.” With that, he looped an arm around Chelsea’s shoulders and led her out of the room.

  She looked up at him as they headed down the hall. “What are you thinking?”

  A smile crossed his face. “I’m thinking I’m damn relieved to see that. Now she’s his problem, not mine. She must have decided to hook on to him when her story line with me wouldn’t work.”

  “Not disappointed, then?”

  He gave her a horrified look. “Never.”
He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the brow. “Not in a million years. This marriage is everything I wanted.”

  She doubted that, but she kept those suspicions to herself. Her mind went back to their foreplay last night. She’d been so into it, and then the thought of progressing into actual sex had freaked her out. She had to figure out a way past that.

  Because she wanted to have sex with Sebastian now. She just . . . couldn’t. Not yet. But maybe she’d get there soon.

  “My father’s downstairs,” he murmured to her. “Come on.”

  She nodded and let him lead, her thoughts moving back to the big family confrontation. She hoped things didn’t get ugly between Sebastian and his family. The fact that he cared about them meant that they were still close. She didn’t know what that was like. She’d grown up in a single-parent home until she’d left for college and her mother had found religion and turned into a missionary. She was somewhere in India right now, ministering to the poor and trying to convert them. That was . . . really not Chelsea’s thing. She’d been more or less on her own since graduating from high school, with the exception of her bond with Pisa.

  She hadn’t realized how much she missed having someone to lean on. To let her know she wasn’t alone and dependent on the goodwill of a friend. Because a friend was different than family. And Sebastian?

  He was her family now.

  Sebastian’s dad wasn’t what she’d expected. Maybe because his mom was so over the top and the rest of his family was a tabloid-loving group, she’d expected him to be a bit more like Mrs. Cabral, full of plastic surgery and vinegar. In reality, he was . . . old. Very old. Withered and gray-haired, he was still in bed when they knocked on the door. Sebastian helped him into his bathrobe and then into a wheelchair, and introduced him to Chelsea.

  There was at least thirty years between Mrs. Cabral and her husband. But the elderly man had Sebastian’s green eyes and he grinned up at her. “My son picked a pretty one,” he said in accented English. “He is lucky.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” she said, smiling at him. She clasped his hand in greeting, and didn’t miss the warm look Sebastian shot her way. However weird the rest of his family was, it was clear he loved his father.

  They wheeled Mr. Cabral into the kitchen and immediately Mrs. Cabral came over, fussing. “You woke up your father, Nugget. That is just terrible of you.” She leaned in and kissed her husband on the forehead. “Are you tired, Daddy Money? Do you need to sleep?”

  And there was another surprising aspect of the Cabral relationships, because while Mrs. Cabral was evil incarnate to Chelsea, there was real affection between her and her elderly husband. He kissed his wife’s hand and then gestured at the dining room table in the next room. “I’m here for the family meeting. Where are the children?”

  “They’re coming,” Mrs. Cabral said, and she still sounded miffed. “Let’s get you situated at the head of the table, shall we? Do you want some coffee, sweetie?”

  Over the next few minutes, yawning family members filed in. Dolph and Lisa showed up, both looking a bit embarrassed. Lisa’s hair and makeup had been fixed, and Chelsea noticed they sat on opposite sides of the table.

  Sebastian sat next to Chelsea, her hand in his. He was silent as they waited for everyone to come in, but his fingers moved over her hand, tracing the lines of her palm and brushing over each knuckle and fingertip, then rubbing the back of her hand before gliding up her arm. Over and over, the soft touches continued, until Chelsea’s skin prickled with goose bumps and her nipples hardened in response. She wanted to squirm against his soft, caressing touches, and as she clamped her thighs together, she realized she was aroused.

  Just from that simple touch. Oh, wow.

  If Sebastian had guessed how she was feeling, he didn’t indicate it. His gaze was on his family as they grabbed cups of coffee, bitched about the hour, and generally prepped for the cameras. The assistant with the boom mic moved into place the moment Amber slid into her seat, and then they were all gathered.

  “All right, Nugget,” his mother said, pursing her lips as she drank from her coffee. “Tell us what you want us to hear.”

  Sebastian’s hand stroked down Chelsea’s arm, and she had to fight back a shiver of delight at that simple touch. “I feel like it needs to be stated again. I know we’re not a normal family, and no one in this family does things the normal way. Including, it seems, me.” He looked over at Chelsea and gave her a warm, easy smile that made her stomach flutter. “Because I met Chelsea and knew we were meant to be. We dated fast, and we married fast. And we’re happy. She’s my wife, and I’m tired of her being harassed by people in this family. She’s here to stay.”

  Mrs. Cabral sniffed. “That’s a very nice speech, Nugget, but I don’t see why you’d marry that whore instead of Lisa, who loves you.”

  Lisa’s face turned beet-red.

  Sebastian stood up, his chair scraping backward with a screech. “If you call my wife a whore again, Mother, we’re done here. For good.”

  The room grew unspeakably tense, and Chelsea felt awkward. Lisa looked like a deer trapped in headlights, and Sebastian vibrated with anger.

  “Kitten, kitten,” Sebastian’s father said in a tired voice. “Enough with the words. She looks like a good girl.”

  “Hmph,” said Mrs. Cabral. “He’s a billionaire. How do I know she’s not after him for his money?”

  “We signed a prenup,” Chelsea offered. “I really don’t want his money, just his company.”

  “He doesn’t have any companies,” Mrs. Cabral cried shrilly. “His money is inherited—”

  “Shh, shhh,” Sebastian’s father said, and his wife quieted down. “She means she enjoys being with him. Do not be so quick to judge, my love.” He smiled kindly at Chelsea. “What is it you do?”

  Oh, now she felt stupid. “I make custom soaps and sell them online.” It seemed like such a small, petty career, and for the first time in her life, she wished she’d finished college so she could say something smarter, like lawyer or biologist.

  But Amber perked up, leaning forward over the table. “Soaps? Really? Can I have some?”

  “Sure. I can make you a few. Do you have a particular scent you like?”

  “Patchouli.”

  “We are not having patchouli in this house,” Mrs. Cabral said. “It smells like hippies.”

  “Then jasmine,” Amber fired back, and mouthed to Chelsea, patchouli.

  “Can I have some, too?” Lisa asked. “Whatever scent you have.”

  “Sure.” She tugged on Sebastian’s belt, since he was still standing and looking frustrated at his family. “Sit down, Basty.”

  That got his attention. He shot her a not you, too look and thumped into his seat. “All right, then,” Sebastian said after a moment. “Are we clear? Chelsea is my wife. She is not the antichrist. I did not rent her by the hour.” He shot a scathing look at his mother. “I love her. And we want to be left alone by the cameras, by the dive-bomb filming, everything.”

  Chelsea stiffened in her seat and tried to remain casual as Sebastian took her hand in his again.

  He loved her?

  Or was that just for the cameras?

  “Mama Precious will not interfere,” Sebastian’s father said in his wavering voice. “She will leave you two alone so you can enjoy your new marriage.” And he gave them both a wrinkly smile.

  “But, Daddy Money.” Mrs. Cabral pouted. “Be fair.”

  He patted her on her manicured hand. “I am being fair, kitten. Remember what it is like to be young and newly married. The last thing we wanted on us was cameras.”

  To Chelsea’s surprise, Mrs. Cabral tittered and leaned in and kissed her ancient husband on the cheek.

  Amber made a face. “Gross.”

  “Besides, you have your cancer story line for this season,” Mr. Cabral said in a reasonable voice. “Save something for next year.”

  Mrs. Cabral looked thoughtful and then nodded.

  Well, at l
east that was settled. Sebastian squeezed her hand again and she should have felt relieved, shouldn’t she?

  But she kept going back to his words. I love her.

  This marriage had started out a sham for the cameras, or rather, to avoid the cameras. Was it just another lie?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chelsea was quiet as she prepped her derby bag for that night’s bout. He worried about her, and couldn’t help but hover around as she packed her socks and her freshly aired-out knee pads and her newly cleaned uniform.

  “You okay?” he asked from the doorway.

  “Yep. Just trying to get my head in the game.” She didn’t look at him, fiddling with the zipper on her bag instead. “We’re playing a tough team tonight, so I need to start living and breathing derby right about now.”

  “Is that why you’re heading out early?”

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and nodded. Gone was the demure floral dress from this morning. In its place was a pair of jeans with ripped knees, and a T-shirt that read Keep Calm and Skate On. “Yeah, we’re having some warm-ups and team building before we get on the track.”

  He nodded and hung out in the doorway a bit longer. “You’re not upset about this morning, right?”

  “About your mother calling me a whore? It wasn’t the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.” She grinned at him and moved to pinch his cheek. “I’m not worried about it at all. I know you don’t think I’m a whore, so we’re all good.”

  “I think you’re pretty amazing, actually.” The words came out of him easily, and when she stiffened, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in confessing it. But it was true. The more time he spent around Chelsea Hall—now Chelsea Cabral or Chelsea Hall-Cabral, he supposed—the more he wanted to be with her. Wanted to hear that cheery laugh of hers. Feel her soft skin pressed against his as she slept next to him, her cold feet on his leg.