by Nikki Chase
Considering how much he has suffered over one false charge, I don't blame him. It's no different, really, from my hatred of liars.
So really, on that night right before I moved out, there was no chance for us to emerge from the fight with our relationship intact.
He had lied to me, and I had accused him unfairly. Yeah, no wonder it went badly.
I’m glad we managed to get past that.
I moved back into that same apartment after we made up. Raphael had asked if I wanted to move in with him instead, but I chose to live in my own tiny apartment and pay him rent. I needed to feel like a big girl who had her shit together, after everything I’d gone through.
I step out of the shower, dry myself off, and wrap a towel around me.
When I open the door to the bedroom, my jaw drops open.
The room looks like it did that first night we landed in Paris and came to this holiday house. Candles and rose petals all over the place.
The only difference? The flowers now form a path from the bathroom door to the bed, where Raphael sits, wearing a nervous smile and his usual jeans-and-T-shirt combo.
“What is… When did you do this?” I ask in amazement.
When we went into the bathroom, there were no candles or rose petals. Just the fireplace crackling in the background.
“When you were taking your unnecessary shower,” he answers with a grin. “I also had Marie make the initial preparations while we were out at the Louvre.”
“This is nice, Rafe. It reminds me of our first trip here.” I follow the path of flowers on the floor, my wet feet stepping on petals and plush carpet.
“Yeah, you were my fake fiancée back then.”
I smile as the memories come flooding back.
“And now, princess,” he says as he drops down on one knee, “I want you to be my real one. I love you and I think we make each other happy, don't we?”
I nod dumbly, not quite believing what's happening.
“I know you're not ready for a wedding right now, but we can have a long engagement if you need it. I just want you to know that I’m in this for good. You're the one I want to grow old with.”
I continue nodding. It sounds like a dream, but this is real...right?
“Is that a yes?” Raphael chuckles anxiously as he looks up at me, taking my hand in his. “Oh, hold on. I’m so excited to seal the deal, I forgot about the ring.” He takes a small item from the bed and holds it up with his hands.
“That looks familiar,” I say.
“It should. You used to wear it. But now I want it to mean something to both of us, instead of just a prop for a lie,” he says. “If you want a new ring, that's fine, by the way. I could get you a new one. I just thought it would be nice to use this one because of the sentimental value. Diana told me I’m being cheap, but—”
“Oh my god, stop talking already,” I cut him off. “Yes, Rafe. That's my answer. I’ll marry you. Now put that damn ring on my finger.”
We both grin at each other as he slips the ring on my finger for the second time. An old piece of jewelry for a new commitment.
“I love the ring. I can't believe you’ve been keeping it this whole time.”
“What? Of course I’ve been keeping it,” he says as he gets up and pulls me into his arms. He gently strokes my hair. “I’ve always planned to propose to you with this ring, in this room. I’ve always wanted to use this same ring to mark you as mine.”
“Even when I moved out without telling you? When I gave the ring back to you?” I lean against his chest.
“Especially then,” he says, his vocal cords vibrating against my cheek as he speaks. “I promise I’ll do my best to make you happy, princess.”
“I’m already happy.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Extended Epilogue
Piper—One and a Half Years Later
“Rafe? You’re not supposed to be here,” I whisper in the dark, half-asleep.
“Are you scared we’d get into trouble?” Raphael whispers back as he gets into bed. The mattress dips under his weight.
I can’t believe he’s doing this, but I have to laugh. “What? We’re not kids, Rafe.”
“Obviously,” he says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He moves one hand up to my tits, while his other one travels down to my thighs. “No kid would have a body like this.”
“Rafe, I’m serious.” My voice sounds unconvincing, even to myself. “You really should…” My sentence hangs in the air as I bite my bottom lip, trying to stifle a moan. Raphael is kissing the back of my neck, and it's starting to feel really good. I’m starting to want him to stay, too.
“What, what should I do, princess? Tell me.” He pinches my nipple through the thin cotton of my old shirt, while rubbing my clit over my panties.
“You should leave,” I sigh, even as my fingers dig into his arms, not letting go. The moonlight streams through the slats of the bamboo blinds and hits the stone of my engagement ring just right, making it shine.
It's a warm night, and I'm always dressed light for sleep on a night like this. I’m only wearing an old shirt and panties.
After one year of living together, Raphael knows this. He also know exactly how to get me into the mood. I squirm as he teases me with light kisses all over my neck and shoulders.
“Why? Nobody's stopping us,” Raphael says.
“That's because nobody knows you're here,” I manage to say between hitched gasps.
“You don't think they'd just find it adorable that we still can't keep our hands off each other?”
“That's not the point.” I moan, revealing my true desires. “It's bad luck.”
“But you're mine. These are mine,” he says as he grabs my tits and my pussy to make his point. “Nobody is going to keep me away from you.”
“But you’re not supposed to see me tonight.”
“No, that's where you're wrong. I'm not supposed to see you in your dress. But you're not in your dress, are you?” Raphael slips his hand into my panties and run his fingers along my wet folds.
Damn it. Now he knows how wet I’m already getting. He's not going to leave me alone now.
Don't get me wrong; I love how much Raphael still lusts after me. That flame in his eyes still ignites for me, and it makes me feel wanted, craved, desired--makes me feel like a woman.
But we're getting married tomorrow. Does he really need to do this now?
“Shit,” Raphael curses.
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
“Your shirt. It’s pretty long, princess. I’d say it could be mistaken for a dress,” he says. “We should get it off you before we get cursed with bad luck.” Raphael pulls my shirt up and caresses my tits.
Without even thinking, I arch my back, pushing my tits forward into his big hands and pressing my hips against him. Against his thick, hot, rock-hard cock.
I’m a goner.
I lift my hands up and let Raphael take my shirt off all the way, sighing and moaning, no longer trying to hide or deny my arousal. I gasp when he pushes two fingers inside me, removing my panties with his other hand.
“You like that, princess?”
“Yeah,” I say. There's no stopping this now. I'm already naked and wet, yearning to be filled up by the cock poking into my ass.
“Yeah, I can feel your pussy grabbing onto my fingers.” He rubs my clit as he continues to pump in and out of me.
It sounds wet. I hope nobody happens to pass by the door and hear these obscene noises.
“You ready for my cock, princess?” Raphael asks as he thrusts his cock forward, making me wish he’s already inside me. His fingers are no longer enough.
“Y—yeah,” I moan.
“I know. I can tell,” he whispers as he nibbles on my ear lobe. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Raphael pulls out his fingers, making me whimper. It suddenly feels so empty inside me.
He quickly yanks off his own clothes and gets back behind me. Hi
s skin feels hot and smooth, his body hard and unyielding.
“Fuck me, Rafe,” I moan, knowing how much he loves it when I lose control and beg him. “Please.”
“Of course I’ll fuck you. This hard-on isn't going to go away on its own,” he says as he pushes his cock against my opening. Damn, he’s really hard.
I stick my ass back to give him a deeper angle. He slides all the way in, then he slaps my ass cheek and grabs it.
“You're so fucking sexy, princess. I can't believe I’ll get to fuck you for the rest of my life. I can't believe this is all mine.”
I want to tell him I feel just as lucky, because he’s responsible for many earth-shattering moments in my life. But instead, I grip the bed sheets and bite my bottom lip, unable to do anything but hold on. My body is already starting to tremble from the arousal building up within me.
So I reach one hand behind me and grab his ass. My nails dig into his perky cheek as I pull him close, wordlessly begging him to fuck me harder.
He obliges. He puts one hand over my waist and pulls me onto him.
“Come for me, princess,” Raphael growls into my ear as he pulls me by the hair.. “Cream yourself all over my cock.”
I cry out when he starts to play with my clit, sending me over the edge. Electricity crackles throughout my body. Sparks snap at the tips of my fingers and toes. The charge in my core grows as Raphael fucks me with abandon, doing me hard and fast. I feel him grow slightly harder, and we both explode together.
My whole body quivers in Raphael's arms. I throw my head back onto his bare, brawny chest. He continues to pump into me a few times, until he has shot every last drop inside me.
“Aren't you glad you let me stay?” Raphael asks, teasing me.
“Yeah,” I say, as if I ever stood a chance against him. I’ve never been any good at telling him no. I add, “That was amazing, Rafe.”
“I’d better leave before someone finds us,” Rafe grins. He plants a chaste kiss on my temple, even as his cock remains buried inside me. “Tomorrow, you’ll be my wife. And then nobody would be able to keep us apart again. No man, woman, or silly superstition.”
He leaves just as quickly as he entered.
I lie alone on the bed, naked. It's like he was never here, like he was just a figment of my imagination. The only evidence of him ever being here is the warm liquid dripping out of me.
Déjà vu.
I feel like I’ve seen this scene before, a million times, in my mind.
Sunshine filters through the stained glass windows of the church, casting splotches of color on the old wooden floor. I see yellow, red, and green on the aisle.
I hold on to Dad’s arm as we make our way toward the altar, the train of my white lace dress dragging over the floor.
Dad and I are getting along so much better, now that he's gotten his act together. He's too scared of losing the house again to half-ass his job now.
I like this new, improved Dad. I just wish Mom were alive to see him. She would've wanted to be here, too, to see me get married to the love of my life.
I swallow to push down the lump in my throat. I can’t cry now, not with so many eyes on me.
I look up to see Raphael—my rock.
He's standing tall beside the minister, giving me his usual wicked grin. He looks impatient, but I can't walk any faster with the slow tempo of the old church organ, not to mention the high heels.
Eventually, I reach the end of the aisle. I thank my dad and let go of his arm.
The corners of my lips curl up to form a big smile as I put both my hands on Raphael's.
Knowing him, he must be uncomfortable in his three-piece suit, but he doesn't seem to care. He's got his eyes on me and he's no longer paying attention to his surroundings.
The priest speaks with a thick French accent.
I'm not going to complain, though. It's hard enough to find a church that looks photogenic enough to suit Raphael's family’s tastes and whose priest could conduct a wedding ceremony in English.
Luckily, Diana’s wedding planner managed to find everything on their checklist. She's a godsend; somehow she has managed to wrangle all eighty of our guests into various private and commercial flights to Paris, and herd them into their rooms at the mansion.
Marie has also been amazing at accommodating everyone. She seems excited about hosting such a big event, and I’m sure Elise and Diana have given her a long checklist to go through, as well.
As for me, I only have one thing on my checklist: the man standing in front of me, the one staring at me with love and devotion.
He repeats the words the minister says, but they mean so much more coming from his mouth.
“I, Raphael Holt, take you, Piper Ford, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.”
Tears already prick my eyes as I listen to Raphael's vows.
I guess it's acceptable to cry in public on my own wedding day, but I was hoping I’d be able to maintain my composure.
Now, I know I should abandon all hope. My voice is cracking already as I begin to repeat the traditional vows.
“I, Piper Ford, take you, Raphael Holt, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse…”
I try to speed through the words before I start tearing up, but I can't hold it back anymore. My vision blurs and, the next thing I know, tears are streaming down my face.
I pause for a few seconds while I find my voice, before I pick up where I left off.
“...for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.”
I look up into Raphael's brilliant green eyes for strength, and find complete acceptance there. He doesn't care if I’m crying or if my make-up is running. All that matters is we’ll always be together from today onward.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister says.
Raphael lifts my veil and whispers, “Hey, it's been a while since I last saw you.”
I giggle, remembering how he slipped into my room last night. I hope we'll always be this playful and happy around each other. I hope we'll never get enough of each other.
In front of all our loved ones, we seal our union as Raphael kisses my smile.
Life will never get boring with him by my side.
Single Dad’s Fake Bride
A Fake Marriage Romance
Megan
My boss, Ethan Hunter, is a ruthless, heartless monster.
It’s okay, though. Justice will be served.
I’m going to put him in his place. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“Megan, my office, please,” his deep voice suddenly filters through the speaker of the phone on my desk.
I roll my eyes. It’s like he can smell it when I so much as think about him. He’s like a shark that can sense blood in the water.
As usual, his tone is authoritative. His word is law.
I, a lowly servant, must now obey.
“Yes, Mr. Hunter,” I reply through the phone.
I hate that speakerphone thing. It just goes to show how conceited and self-important he is.
We could’ve gone with a normal phone. You know, the kind that rings and lets you decide whether to pick up before the other party gets to say anything.
Instead, we have this thing that leaves me no choice as to whether I answer or not. I have to listen, and I have to listen right away. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of something else.
It has interrupted me many times. I’d be typing, and then a message would come in, and my fingers would just hover over the keyboard of the computer, forgetting where I was before hearing his latest decree.
Mr. Hunter wants me to be at his beck and call, to instantly answer whenever he chooses. He’s always the only one who gets to make all the decisions.
I let out a
sigh. I’d better get my ass into his office before I incite his wrath.
I knock on the door.
Even if he’s the one who has summoned me, even though he knows full well that I’m coming, knocking is still mandatory.
I know he’s my boss and I’m being paid to do his bidding. Still, it annoys me that he can demand my time and attention whenever he wants, and I have to get his permission for every little thing.
“Come in,” he says from behind the door.
I grab the handle and push the door open. I never get used to what I see in his office, because it’s so picture perfect, it’s almost unnatural.
This scene belongs on a business magazine. There’s no need for styling of the office or the man; no need for wardrobe tweaks or make-up; no need to even clear any clutter. Even the lighting from the big glass wall behind Mr. Hunter is perfect.
This space is always flooded with light, although somehow that doesn’t help make the space feel any warmer. Mr. Hunter’s office is steel and glass, cold and unyielding, black and gray.
It looks good, but it’s sterile. Soulless. It suits him, I guess.
“How can I help you, Mr. Hunter?” I ask with a smile, standing at the doorway. I can’t step further inside this office without him explicitly ordering me to do so.
Mr. Hunter’s previous assistant, who quit to be a stay-at-home mom, taught me to always address him in this formal, excessively polite way.
It suffocates me, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I just keep reminding myself that I’m not going to be here forever. I’m not really his assistant. This is just a cover—a temporary one.
“Please pick up my daughter, Penny. Her school let out early today, and I have an interview to do,” he says as he flips through the folder in his hands, not even bothering to look up at me. “Normally, I’d ask my driver to get her, but he’s on sick leave today.”
“Yes, Mr. Hunter. Should I take the cab?” I ask, suppressing the urge to yell at him about how rude he’s being.