by Nikki Chase
“Like what? Like family? What’s the use of being a billionaire if I can’t spend all that money on the people I care about?”
Joanne takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Good. You should’ve just agreed with me from the beginning. But then again. what fun would that be? I know you enjoy having me persuade you to do stuff. It makes you feel special,” I say, grinning.
“You know it,” she says, obviously grinning just as wide. She asks, “So how did you meet Ali again?”
“Mutual friends. Someone told me she’s in town, so we arranged to meet up.” Technically, I’m telling the truth. I’m just leaving out the part where Ali was referred to me for a job, as well as the part where the meet-up was an interview at my office, rather than a coffee date.
“And when was this? Sounds like things are moving pretty fast for you,” Joanne says.
“Well, when you know, you know… You know?”
She laughs. “Okay. Wow, suddenly you’re a cheesy romantic. Where did the player go? The one who never spent more than one week with any girl?”
“He’s gone,” I say with finality. “It has always been Ali. You know I’ve brought her up from time to time. I can’t forget about her.”
“Yeah,” Joanne admits. “She’s the one girl who seems to have managed to keep your attention for all these years.”
“Ten years.”
“Holy shit,” she curses.
“I know. That’s why I want to seal the deal right now. We’ve waited long enough,” I deliver my lines with precision.
I came up with this cover story weeks ago. I’m glad Joanne is buying it. Maybe soon she’ll finally see what I’ve been telling her and give in.
I wish she’d just agree with me so I wouldn’t have to pull a stunt like this, but that wouldn’t be the Joanne I know and love.
“Hey, Zeke, I’d love to continue having this girl talk, but the nurse is here. I have to go,” Joanne says.
“Okay. Take care, Jo,” I say before the line dies.
Ali
“What? Next week? Are you crazy?” I ask Zeke on the phone.
“Only crazy about you, baby,” he says. “I have the test results you wanted, and I’ll email the document to you right after I hang up. I know any talk about this gets you all hot and heavy, but don’t forget to put our date on your calendar, okay? And by ‘date,’ I mean our wedding day.”
“How do you even find guests who’ll come at such short notice?” I ask, incredulous.
“People like me,” Zeke says matter-of-factly.
The annoying thing is, I know he’s right. For as long as I’ve known him, people have been quick to go out of their way to help Zeke.
That’s how he managed to sneak away from his post as a guard at my parents’ home so much. And I’m sure his people skills have been essential to his success—he handles the assets of wealthy people, who probably work with him because they like him.
This is one of the reasons why I envy Zeke. People have always been interested in me because of my looks or my background, but I’ve never been good at making genuine connections with people.
Zeke, on the other hand, seems to have this natural ability to get along with people. They like him, even if he never lets them get too close.
“Are you sure one week is enough time to get everything done?” I ask again, more out of worry than disbelief this time.
“Of course. I have the best people in the business on the case. Don’t worry about anything. All you have to do is show up on the day,” he says casually, as if we weren’t talking about getting married.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. My driver will pick you up in the morning next week. I’d pick you up myself, but apparently, it’s bad luck for me to see my bride before the wedding,” he says.
My heart jumps when he calls me his bride, but I tell myself not to be silly. Zeke has always been careless with his words—it’s one of the reasons why our relationship fell apart in the first place.
“Okay,” I answer simply, knowing I’m taking yet another step closer to being Mrs. Harris.
I’m not 100% certain I’m doing the right thing, but is anyone ever that certain about anything?
Ali
I look out through the window of the hotel room. From here, I can see the ocean.
There’s no breeze in here, but I can see the palm trees swaying in the wind. The sun is shining, and I can almost hear the waves lapping on the sand.
The hotel staff has set up a beautiful white canopy on a clearing by the beach, as well as rows upon rows of gold tiffany chairs.
This is shaping up to be the perfect wedding—which is ironic, because it’s not even real.
I feel bad for all the brides who have had less-than-perfect weddings. A faker doesn’t deserve this experience.
But then I’ve gone through some bad things in my life that I didn’t deserve, so I guess things are evening out.
I’m alone now, for the first time since Zeke’s driver picked me up this morning. The make-up artist has just left, after helping me get into my white lace dress with the mermaid silhouette.
This dress is absolutely divine. It hugs my body and shows off my figure while still staying classy. The deep V-neck shows just a hint of cleavage, and the dress tapers out just below the hips so it doesn’t wrap too tightly around my ass.
I hesitate to even mention the price tag because it’s so outrageous. Let’s just say it’s in the low five-figures.
When Zeke gave me a credit card to shop with, he didn’t tell me what the limit was, so I was nervous when I was swiping it at the register. The payment went through, of course.
I was relieved, surprised, and also felt more than just a little guilty—most people would have to save up for years to have this kind of money, and I’m blowing it on a dress?
This is no ordinary dress, though. It was made by Vera Saab, a designer whose work I’ve always lusted after.
Besides, I’ve earned this dress, in a way.
I’ve decided to think of this fake marriage as a job, and this dress as one of the perks. Hell, it might even count as my work uniform! I mean, it is an outfit that I need to perform my job.
Heh, “perform.” That word is so apt to describe what I’ll be doing in a few minutes.
I just hope there’s nobody I know who’ll be watching my performance.
Even though I’ve looked through the guest list, I’m still anxious about bumping into someone I know. Since this marriage is a temporary arrangement, it’ll be a lot easier to undo it if we keep it on the down-low.
Of course Zeke needs people in his circle to know about it—otherwise there’d be no point to this marriage. But the few friends that I have don’t need to know about it.
Luckily, Zeke and I run in different circles.
My friends include people who are still loyal to my parents and illegal immigrants who, until recently, have never stepped outside the compound where they were kept captive. Oh, and Seth.
Zeke’s friends are high-profile CEOs, businessmen, politicians, and even a handful of celebrities. I don’t know any of these people personally, but I recognize the names on the guest list.
My parents would’ve been proud. They never would’ve approved of Zeke while they were alive. But they would’ve given this union their full blessing, had they lived to see what a success he is today.
Zeke told me I could cross out any name from the guest list, but the only person I cut out was Rafe.
Raphael Holt—the heir of a banking empire and a close friend of Seth’s. He happens to be the only place where Zeke’s circle and mine intersect.
If Rafe knows about this wedding, he’ll tell Seth for sure. And he’s the last person I want to know about this. He’ll get all worried and over-protective. It’ll get complicated.
Besides, Rafe and I have a little history. We only hooked up once, but nobody needs someone like that at their wedding.
A
lso, he has a girlfriend now—or is it a fiancée? I didn’t even pay much attention when Seth mentioned it on the phone.
Point is, I wouldn’t want his girlfriend/fiancée to sit through the wedding of a woman who has, at one point, slept with her man. It just wouldn’t feel right.
“Is the bride ready?” asks a cheerful voice from the door. It’s the young intern of the wedding planner, Emma. She’s wearing a black sheath dress and her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail.
“Yeah,” I say.
“It’s time! Are you excited?” Emma asks.
“Yeah,” I say again, with an unenthusiastic smile.
I have way too much going on in my head to be excited about this wedding. It’s way more complicated than most weddings—not that this girl needs to know that. It’s probably best not to destroy that child-like innocence in her blue eyes.
“Let’s go,” she says, holding the door open for me.
I’ve purposely chosen a dress that doesn’t have a train, knowing this is going to be a beach wedding.
Okay, maybe that’s not quite accurate.
My whole life, I’ve always dreamed of a beach wedding, so I settled on a train-less mermaid lace dress a long time ago. I don’t want to trap sand in the delicate lace and ruin the dress.
I have to hand it to Zeke. Except for the temporary-business-deal part, this wedding is exactly the way I’ve always wanted mine to be, down to the stone floor of the clearing where the ceremony will be held. I wouldn’t be able to wear heels in the sand or on the grass, so that’s an essential part of the equation.
As Emma and I walk down the empty hallway, she runs down the list of things that will happen during the wedding. I just nod along. At least I don’t have to be the one to carry the conversation. I’ve always been bad at that, especially when I’m under pressure, like I am today.
We take the elevator down to the lobby. When the door opens, Emma gasps.
In a low, conspiratorial voice, she says, “That’s Robert Foster and his wife. They own this hotel.”
I nod again as Emma tugs at her clothes, smoothing them out.
The name sounds familiar, like many other names on the guest list. Maybe Zeke has mentioned it, or maybe my parents used to have dealings with him, or maybe I’ve come across that name on the guest list.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Foster, Mrs. Foster,” Emma says as we pass by the middle-aged couple, who are holding hands as they speak to a man who looks like a staff member.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mr. Foster says. He’s one of those men who have aged well. He has a full head of silver hair and a charming smile. “Congratulations on your marriage, Miss. It’s a fine day for a wedding.”
“Thank you, Mr. Foster,” I say, “for making the venue available on such short notice.”
“No problem. Zeke has been a business partner and a friend for years, and I’m happy to do this for him. Besides, sometimes the heart doesn’t want to wait.” Mr. Foster winks, then kisses his wife on the forehead.
“Sorry, Mr. Foster, but we have to rush. The guests are already taking their seats,” Emma says.
“Of course. We’ll be making our way there ourselves in a minute. We’re just talking to the kitchen head to make sure everything’s perfect,” he says.
“Thanks again,” I say as I follow Emma down yet another hallway.
“I have to tell you, your husband to-be is amazing. Our whole office is impressed that he has managed to get this venue. It isn’t open to the public yet,” Emma gushes, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she goes on, her hands waving wildly in the air.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“I heard he told Robert Foster about your story, and he agreed to it immediately.” Emma speaks louder and faster as she gets more excited. I guess she’s really into her job. She turns to me and smiles. “He’s been a complete romantic since he married his second wife.”
“What’s the story that Zeke told him?” I ask, getting interested in Emma’s chatter for the first time. I know Zeke is a smooth negotiator, but our story is basically one about a business deal. A “complete romantic” wouldn’t have fallen for that.
“Oh, you know, about how you guys have known each other for ten years, and how you have recently reconnected,” Emma says as she leads me outside.
The breeze plays with my curled hair as my eyes adjust to the brightness of the afternoon sun. I take in a deep breath of the salty air. My heels click-clack against the stone pathway.
As we enter a white tent, Emma continues, “Robert Foster and his wife were separated for years as well, before they finally got together. So that was the perfect story to tell him. Oh, and of course it doesn’t hurt that they already had a business relationship before that. If I had attempted that, I’m not sure I’d get the same result.
“Please take a seat here,” Emma says without missing a beat, gesturing toward a beige fabric chair before she buries her nose in her clipboard.
As soon as I sit my ass down, the make-up artist appears out of nowhere and starts to brush various powders on my face again. I close my eyes and let her do her job.
It’s cool and quiet in the small tent. I can hear the murmur of conversation from the seated guests outside, and again I pray that none of them recognizes me.
“Okay, I’m done. You look beautiful,” says the make-up artist.
“Thank you,” I say, giving her a nervous smile.
“Perfect. Just in time,” Emma says. “How are you feeling, Ali? No cold feet, right?”
“No,” I lie.
I’ve been in numerous more stressful situations in my life, so this is not the worst—not by far. But I am anxious.
Still, there’s no need to talk about it. It’s not like I’m planning to change my mind. I’ve made a decision and I’m sticking to it.
One year with Zeke.
Two million dollars and a baby.
It’s a no-brainer.
“Awesome!” Emma exclaims. “Let’s get out there.”
As I stand up, the make-up artist pulls my veil down over my face and smooths out my dress, while Emma hands me a bouquet of long-stemmed white calla lilies—my favorite flowers.
A lump forms in my throat as I realize Zeke has paid attention to the smallest detail. And more than that, he remembers everything I’ve ever told him.
This may sound crazy, but the flowers only make me doubt my decision to marry Zeke.
It’s too difficult to separate this deal from our real relationship. I’m terrified that I’m going to get hurt. But even as my heart pounds in my chest, I know it’s too late to back out.
A lone piano plays, and I emerge from the tent, just as alone.
I insisted to Zeke that I’d be walking down the aisle on my own—my dad may have died, but nobody can replace him, especially not a stranger. But now I wish I had a steady arm to hold on to.
All the guests have stood up, and they’re looking right at me. The faces of these strangers are smiling. I don’t know any of them, but I scan the audience for familiar faces.
I nod at Robert Foster and his wife when my gaze lands on them. Beside them, there’s a younger couple. I stare at them a few seconds too long, trying to remember where I’ve seen the tall, handsome man.
Then I realize it’s Caine Foster. No wonder I feel like I’ve heard of Robert Foster before. They’re a father-and-son business team.
Not too long ago, they made a big commotion in the downtown area, when a relative tried to take over the family business. I remember reading about that in the news.
I walk down the aisle. I’m trying to prolong the moment, but at the same time, I have to follow the beat of the music.
I’m getting closer to the end, and I haven’t even taken a good look at my groom.
To be honest, I’m afraid. Afraid to even glance at him. Afraid it’s going to make me lose my composure.
This is supposed to be pretend, but I’m not faking the hammering of my heart against my rib cage. It’s n
ot just nerves either. Crowds don’t phase me; but Zeke does.
I take a deep breath and steel my resolve, then I let my eyes find him. It has always been easy for me to spot him, even in a big crowd. Something within Zeke calls out to me—I don’t know what it is, but it has always been there.
He stands tall beside the minister, just the way I’ve always imagined he’d look, on our wedding day.
He’s wearing a grey suit with a crisp white shirt underneath and a silver tie. A small white bloom of lily is pinned on his left lapel—it matches the bouquet in my hands.
I feel like I’m about to shatter when he takes my hands and smiles at me. His dark hair traps some of the sunlight, appearing almost golden as a few strands float in the ocean breeze.
The minister, a man in his forties, gives me a kind smile. Then he begins.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to witness a unique moment in the lives of Alejandra Martin and Zeke Harris. Today, they join their lives in the union of marriage.
“From this beautiful location, you can see the ocean in front of you. It’s almost as beautiful as the commitment that Ali and Zeke are about to make…”
The minister continues his speech, but I can’t pay attention. The contradictory feelings in my heart wage civil war against one another.
He stares at me with that mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips spreading into a smile. I can’t bear to look into Zeke’s eyes, but I can’t tear my gaze away either.
Suddenly, he looks sideways at the minister and then back at me.
“…Ali?” asks the minister.
I turn toward the minister, realizing that I’ve probably missed something important.
“The bride is so taken with the groom that she forgets we’re still here,” says the minister with a grin. As the laughter from the crowd dies down, he says, “Ali, do you give yourself to Zeke in marriage?”
“I do,” I say as my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Luckily, my olive skin is dark enough to hide it.
The minister repeats the same question to Zeke.