Fake Wife

by Stacey Lynn

  Once she’s settled, I close the door and head to mine. We’re outside the security gate when she talks again. “I read the contract you left for me, and the section in your grandmother’s will about your marriage.”

  My hands grip the steering wheel tighter. I hadn’t left it out for her to read. “And?”

  “Well, it says you have six months to get married and then the marriage has to stay valid for two years before you actually can take ownership of the house.”

  “But I can move in right away,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, but does it make sense to wait? I was just thinking it’d be best to get the wedding over with so we don’t stretch it out.”

  Already she’s planning on getting rid of me. The thought settles like a weight in my gut, and my blood pounds harder inside my veins. I don’t spend time thinking about why that makes me mad enough to hit something.

  “You sound like you have a plan.”

  She laughs lightly, nervous thin fingers brushing down her thighs. “I guess I figure why wait? We can spin the story. I ran into you, we talked insurance over lunch, and it was love at first sight. All of that’s captured on photos anyway, so we could make it work for us. Have a whirlwind romance, married within the month, and then we don’t have some long, drawn-out engagement or anything that makes you have to put up with me for longer.”

  At least we’re on the same page. Her thoughts mirror the ones I had this morning when I was drafting the contract.

  “Did you sign the contract or did you have any questions?” Her fingers dig into her thighs, knuckles turning white, and I look at her, taking my eyes off the road in front of me for a moment. “Was there something you didn’t like? Want changed?”

  The intimacy clause jumps to mind.

  Pink floods her cheeks and she ducks her head. I look back out to the road, fighting back a grin. Yeah, that’s what she’s thinking about.

  Unfortunately, she doesn’t say what I’m somehow hoping she will. Something along the lines of “We should do it. We should mate like bunnies for the next two years because why the hell not?”

  “No, it looked fine. I signed everything.” When I look back at her, there’s a tiny line between her brows. “So, do you agree with my idea? Get married and get this show on the road?”

  Her voice is sad, quieter and grittier than normal, and I don’t like it. There’s something about this she’s truly not happy with. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Without thought, I take a hand from the wheel and place it over hers. I squeeze it, trying to comfort her, and am rewarded with a zing of hot electricity shooting up my arm. What the fuck?

  She gasps, like she’s felt it, too, and her hand tenses.

  I don’t let her go, but squeeze her harder. “Talk to me. There’s going to be enough lies and secrets over the next few years we’re keeping from people who mean the most to us. We should at least be able to be honest with one another through all of it.”

  “Us against the world, huh?” she teases, and I grin as her voice goes back to normal.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” I’m not even sure I should tell Trey what’s going on. I trust the guy with my life, but this isn’t something I can risk, either. All it will take is one wrong word spoken and our scam is blown up, but there’s no way I can lie to the guy for years, either.

  Fuck. The more I think about this, the more complicated it’s going to become.

  “Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” Teagan says, going back to the topic. “I was just thinking today of all the times Drake asked me to put my dreams on hold, all the times he promised I’d get what I wanted once he finished his residency, and now…” Her voice trails off and she shrugs. Looking out the window, she finishes her thought on a whisper. “Now I’m doing it all over again.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. There’s nothing left to say, really.

  “Whatever.” She shakes her head and turns to me, flashes me a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “Only two more years, right? It’ll give me time to get everything in place. This will work out perfectly. Really.”

  “What’s your dream?” She hasn’t said anything. She’s mentioned goals and something about a horse farm at lunch, so I can imagine, but what she says rocks my world.

  “Equine therapy.” She pulls her hand from mine and this time I let her. Unfortunately, it means my hand lands on her thigh, and holy fuck, the warmth practically sears my palm. I yank it off and slam it back onto the steering wheel. “After my parents died, my grandma raised me on her farm. I’ve read a lot about how horses are really good animals to work with special-needs kids. And ever since I learned that, I’ve always wanted to start my own farm to help them. It’s a pipe dream, really.”

  Fuck, this woman. She’s more pure, more full of goodness than I’d even imagined. “Sounds fulfilling.”

  If I could slap myself upside the head, I would. Fulfilling? That’s the word I use?

  “Yeah,” she huffs out on a laugh. “It’s also a dream, really. Maybe I should think of something more suitable to my background or experience.”

  “Which is?”

  She laughs harder, cold and just as emotionless as her voice turns again. “Nothing. I’m a college dropout, just a girl who followed a guy she thought she loved across the country, and the only experience I’ve picked up along the way is shelving books, dishing out library cards, and waiting tables.”

  I hate that for her. I’m not sure where the emotion comes from, but her ex has to be a special kind of asshole not to see the goodness he had warming his bed, lead her on, and throw her away when all she did was love him.

  In an effort to keep her mood from dissolving further, I try to stay light and encouraging. “So do it, Teagan. You’ve got two years. Go back to school, start working with horses. I am providing you the opportunity to go after this dream of yours. Take advantage of it.”

  “School requires money, which I won’t get for years,” she reminds me.

  “I’ll help in any way I can. We’ll be married. It’s my job to take care of you.”

  “I’m not the gold digger those women claimed I am. I agreed to the financial payoff, but I’m not taking more of your money.”

  The urge to argue with her burns on my tongue, but I keep quiet. The ferocity in her voice makes it clear what she thinks. I want to pound my chest in victory. I’ve finally found a woman who doesn’t want just my money, but she’ll need it at some point.

  I slow down, driving through the quaint shop-lined streets as we reach the small town of Cannon Bluffs and pull into a parking spot outside the mom-and-pop grocery store.

  “I suppose I could get a job first, maybe go back to waiting tables. Then I could take some night classes or something to learn business management.”

  “One thousand a month,” I say, and her eyes slam into mine with the speed of a wrecking ball.

  “What?”

  “One thousand a month. It’s nothing to me, but if you want, we can take it out of the two hundred and fifty. If we do your plan, get married in a month, that’s twenty-five grand and you’ll still get two hundred twenty-five grand at the end.”

  I’ll also buy her whatever the hell I want. She’ll need clothes and dresses fit for social events.

  “Thanks, Corbin.” She reaches out and squeezes my arm. A friendly gesture, one I like way too much. What is it about her touch the sets me on fire? “I appreciate this.”

  I laugh softly, unable to stop from reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear again. Soft and silky, it falls through my fingers. “I’m pretty sure you’re doing me an equally large favor. Don’t worry, Teagan. Everything will work out just fine.” I pull back from her reluctantly and her hand, unfortunately, falls from my arm. “Let’s go get the groceries. We’ve got a weekend to finish getting to know each other and then we have to get back to the city.”

  “The city?”

  “Yeah, where I live. I can’t do my job a
nd live all the way out here.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes flicker out the window. “Of course. I hadn’t even thought of where we’d live.”

  “You’ll stay with me,” I say before she can begin to worry. When she jerks her head in my direction, I continue. “I like your idea. Whirlwind romance, love at first sight. People will eat it up. We’ll go back to Portland next week, have our first public date at whatever next event is on my calendar, then we’ll get engaged. Within a month we can be married.”

  She blinks rapidly, shocked. I am, too. But she’s right. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can end it. The sooner I can finally get Eleanor’s house in my name and out of my father’s twisted grip forever.

  “Sound like a plan?” I ask when she continues blinking, not speaking.

  She makes a face, like she’s smelled something sour, but eventually she nods. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

  But her voice is still sad and I wonder briefly what I’ve said to hurt her, then I shake it off.

  Agreement. Business. No emotions.

  We can become friends, but that’s as far as it can go. I can’t constantly be worrying about hurting her every time the reality of the situation smacks us across the face.

  Chapter 9

  Teagan

  You can do this.

  I can’t do this.

  Tonight will be fine.

  Tonight will be a disaster.

  The constant flip-flopping in my head is driving me absolutely insane.

  Smoothing down my emerald silk dress at the hips, I’m completely on shaky ground. Corbin didn’t lie last weekend when he said we’d return to his condo in the city and begin our ruse.

  We’ve been spotted all over the city this week, dining, walking in and out of his building. He neglected to tell me he not only owns it, but lives on the highest floor—a two-story penthouse that’s completely different from the mansion in Cannon Bluffs. There’s no warmth in his place, except for a few interesting wooden tables piquing my curiosity, but I haven’t yet asked about them. Every time he catches me looking at one, especially the narrow whitewashed entry table whose drawers look like they came straight from a barn, he distracts me.

  They’re important to him somehow, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk about them.

  Yet they’re one of the few things he doesn’t talk about. We talk all the time. Little things, important things. I’ve told him about being raised by my grandma, who died my second year of college. He’s given me glimpses into his family that tell me life isn’t as picture perfect as the photographs of him and his family lead me to believe.

  And now I’m dressed in a spectacular gown that does wonders for my hourglass curves, ready to attend my first formal night out with him.

  Where we’ll meet his father and mother for the first time.

  He’s already arranged for us to go to dinner on Sunday at his parents’ house, insisting no one will believe he’d get engaged without spending time with his mom. When I asked him about his dad, he said it was unlikely he’d be there and then gave me a look that said he didn’t want to discuss it further. Corbin clearly despises the man, and any time his name is mentioned, Corbin shuts down, which doesn’t give me a great feeling about meeting him tonight.

  Tonight is our first true show. It’s the first night we’ll be in public as an official couple, me on his arm and surrounded by all of his friends, his associates at Lane Holdings, but it’s not his dad who terrifies me the most.

  It’s his best friend, Trey Kollins. They’ve been friends since high school, and they’re constantly texting and talking. A few nights this week, Corbin has gone out for drinks with Trey, but I haven’t yet met him.

  And while I gave him the green light to tell Trey the truth about us thinking it will be good to have someone in our corner, he’s been reluctant to share the truth with anyone. I hate that he’s lying to someone he trusts so much.

  Which means tonight I’m about to put on the most important performance of my entire life and I’ve never acted a single day.

  “You can do this,” I say, lying through my gritted teeth as I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Yesterday when Corbin brought home this dress, he dumped the box it was in unceremoniously next to where I’ve taken up residence on his black leather couch while he was working during the day. What can I say? A week without work and nothing to do, that supple leather is going to have a permanent print of my ass pretty soon.

  I opened the box, gasped, dangled the matching shoes from one hand and insisted absolutely not. He’s not dressing me up like some Barbie doll and wasting what has to be thousands of dollars.

  My arguing was pointless once Corbin reminded me this was a charity event for Portland Children’s Hospital, and while he knew I had style, I had nothing appropriate to wear and no means to purchase anything on such short notice.

  Since I’ve only spent time with Corbin, who is surprisingly normal, I’ve completely forgotten I’ve crashed into an entirely different world.

  Which is why I’m now draped in Vera Wang and standing in a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes. A quick Google search proved the shoes cost more than I made in four months at the library.

  I’m just hoping I survive the night without staining the dress or breaking a heel.

  Or making a complete fool out of myself in front of some of the wealthiest citizens in the Pacific Northwest.

  And if they follow the gossip sites as much as I do, or gossip among themselves, then I know they’ll all be talking about the gold digger who crashed into Corbin Lane’s Mercedes a week ago and has somehow wormed her way into his home.

  Needless to say, I’ve ended the Google alerts on my phone for Corbin’s name and unfollowed him on all social media accounts. By Tuesday, I stopped being able to handle the hurtful and wretched things I saw being said about me. I’ve not read them since, but four days was enough to get the general gist that legions of females under the age of sixty now completely despise me.

  A knock hits my door and I jump, surprised I’ve wasted so much time.

  “Come in,” I call out, already knowing it’s Corbin. A quick peek at the clock on my phone tells me we needed to leave five minutes ago.

  At least he hasn’t bellowed for me yet.

  I turn as the door opens and my breath immediately lodges in my throat.

  “Holy…” I whisper, my eyes dropping and rising, taking in Corbin’s sexy-as-sin body clothed in the sexiest all-black tuxedo I’ve ever seen.

  He’s perfect. Tall and wide shouldered and narrow waist. Beneath the tuxedo, I’ve seen those muscles. I’ve seen almost all of them, because Corbin has no problems walking around his house in only a pair of shorts after he showers or sweats after he works out. When he comes home from work, he typically jogs upstairs and shucks off his suit to change. Admittedly, I’ve totally stared as he walks back down the stairs, gray sweatpants on and still pulling a tight white T-shirt over his chest, and my goodness, is his body carved to absolute perfection. I’ve memorized every plane of his body and then gone to bed dreaming about that very same body. I’ve dreamed about running my hands down the muscles of his arms and clamping my hands on to his ass as he drives into me.

  But this…fully dressed in a tuxedo is almost better.

  He clears his throat. I’ve been unashamedly gawking at him. Worse, he’s let me.

  “Hey,” I say. “Sorry I’m late. I’m nervous, I guess.” I reach for my shiny gold clutch, which accents a gold necklace he provided along with the dress, and turn back to him.

  When I do, I almost stumble directly into him.

  “Corbin?”

  His eyes are glued to where my ass just was, and he still hasn’t said anything. Jaw clenched tight, he’s white knuckling the door handle and his lips are pressed tightly together.

  I think he likes the dress.

  A small part of me wants to shimmy and shake in celebration, but he quickly snaps his eyes to mine and barks, “Time to go.”

>   I startle, but he’s already turned, heading out the door and down the hallway.

  I follow him quickly, and by the time I meet him at the door to the elevator in his entryway, he’s glaring at his phone like it’s offended him.

  Okay. Perhaps him liking the dress is all in my head.

  I try to find something say, but he makes it clear by keeping his gaze on his phone and moving to the side when I step near him that he wants nothing to do with me right now.

  Which is a shame. And disappointing. I could use some comforting. A small little pep talk telling me we’ll be able to handle tonight just fine. That perhaps the friendliness we’ve somehow been able to speak to each other with this week won’t immediately evaporate as soon as we step into the elevator and are whisked away into the night.

  There’s something about condo living in the city I can definitely see myself getting used to. This building has everything, including its own boutique grocery store and wine cellar, a restaurant for residents only, room service like we’re living in a hotel, and dry cleaning. There are a host of other amenities including an enormous weight room, sauna, an indoor pool, and an outdoor one. Living here this week with Corbin has been more like an extended vacation I could only dream of, and not real life.

  Except it is, and I have to continue reminding myself no pinch is necessary—I’m not dreaming.

  The elevator arrives and the doors open, but in a move completely unlike his normal gentlemanly qualities, Corbin steps inside and moves to the side instead of gesturing for me to enter before him.

  A frown tugs at my lips but I blow it off. Perhaps he’s as stressed and worried as I am. For all the talking we’ve done this last week, we still don’t know each other well, but I’ve seen him go from friendly to jerk with a snap of the fingers before.

  He’s also been quick to apologize.

  I fidget with my clutch, wishing I had something to do so I wasn’t staring at us in the mirrored walls. With every floor we reach, descending to the lobby where I know a car will be waiting for us, my pulse quickens.

  By the team we reach the lobby, I’m on the verge of having either a heart attack or a panic attack. Quite possibly both. Corbin steps out, and as I follow him, he holds out his elbow, still staring at his phone. I take his rudely offered arm and we walk out to the waiting car together. I’m not amused.