I Married a Billionaire

by Melanie Marchande

  "You didn't have to bring me here, you know," I heard myself blurting out in the middle of an unrelated conversation. Oh, God. Why on earth had I let those words slip out? That wasn't what I meant to say at all.

  But Daniel just laughed. He was beginning to feel it a little himself, I could tell; his eyes were brighter, the skin of his cheeks rosier, than I'd ever seen. Even in the low light, his transformation from businessman to just man was very noticeable.

  "Yes I did," he replied, easily.

  "No, I mean…" I leaned over the table, consciously lowering my voice a little. "We could have just said we went."

  "Trust me," Daniel countered, his face growing serious again. "In the circles I run, it's best to back up your claims with as many facts as possible. The staff here all knows the same people I do; they bring all their first dates here. By being seen here with you tonight, I'm establishing my backstory." He smiled, suddenly. "And having a pretty good time, wouldn't you agree?"

  I nodded, crashing back to earth with the sudden reminder of why we were really here.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to…bring that up right now. I just, I didn't want to get too carried away."

  If he wondered what I meant by that, he didn't ask, thank God. I wasn't even sure what I meant by that. I hadn't intended to let on that I was already starting to lose perspective on our "relationship." I was sure the last thing he wanted was for me to actually fall for him. It would make everything so complicated. Why did my brain always have to do things like this? Why did it have to be so stupid?

  "I understand," he said. "Don't worry. If you ever have any questions or concerns about how I'm choosing to handle all of…this," he made a vague gesture, "please don't hesitate to ask."

  "Sure," I said, reaching for my refilled wine glass and taking a substantial swallow.

  Daniel sat back in his chair, rearranging his face into the mask of a man who was having a great time on a first date. I cursed silently. Even I'd been taken in for a while there. Of course he was just pretending.

  We were at the dessert courses by now, and I could hardly taste the tiny, re-imagined tiramisu that I shoved into my mouth. All I could do at this point was pray that things got less awkward the more time we spent together.

  Or, not. I could put up with a year of awkwardness for two million dollars, couldn't I? Hell, I'd been putting up with a lifetime of awkwardness all on my own. And I had no one but myself to blame for that.

  "So, Maddy," Daniel said, gently rolling the stem of his empty wineglass between his thumb and forefinger, rotating the glass a half-turn, over and over again. "What were you doing with yourself before you came to work for me?"

  His words were positively dripping with meaning. Was this how he talked to people he was actually trying to seduce? Did it even occur to him, that while the sensible part of my mind understood he was faking, he was still going to make my hormones rage?

  He sounded exactly like in my dream.

  I had to forget about that fucking dream.

  I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. "Retail," I said, simply. "And college before that."

  "Where do you go to school?"

  "The Institute, downtown."

  "For graphic design?"

  I nodded.

  "You're very talented, you know," he said.

  I looked around me instinctively, as if he could be talking to someone else.

  "Thank you," I said, finally. My voice sounded very far away. I reached for my water glass. The ice was all melted, bringing the level of the water up high enough to slosh some on myself as I took a drink. I groaned, reaching for a napkin to dab myself off.

  I'd really done it. I'd managed to get uncoordinated-drunk on my first date with a billionaire. Great job, Maddy!

  Daniel chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "No more wine tonight, maybe," he said. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "Coffee doesn't sober you up," I muttered. "That's a myth."

  "I know," he said. "But would you like some anyway?"

  "Sure. Fine." I dragged myself into a more proper posture in my chair. "Can I ask you some questions, Daniel?"

  "Anything."

  "Everybody says you're a billionaire, is that true?"

  His eyes scanned the table. He actually looked a little uncomfortable, but I must have been mistaken about that.

  "I suppose," he said. "I'm not Bill Gates or anything like that."

  "No," I replied, unable to stop the lopsided grin that spread across my face. "No, you're certainly not."

  He looked up again and smiled back, a little…bashfully?

  "I live comfortably," he said. "I've never tried to hide that."

  "Sorry." In retrospect, I didn't know what came over me. I knew it was rude to ask people about money. For some reason, the fact that he was so freakishly rich made me feel like the rules didn't apply in this situation. But no matter how much money the guy had, he probably didn't want to feel like he was being stared at in the zoo. I realized I was blushing.

  "It's all right," he said. "I can certainly understand the curiosity. And I did say you could ask me anything. To be perfectly honest, I don't really know much money I have at the moment. That sounds appalling. Doesn't it? God." He laughed a little, sounding bewildered at himself. "But it doesn't really feel like mine. Most of it came from investments my father set up for me when I was a teenager. I never really see it. I feel like you're about to burst out laughing at me."

  "I'm sorry," I said. I was tittering. "It's just…the fact that you can have all this money and not even touch it. I can't even imagine. You know?"

  "I do. Believe it or not, it wasn't always like this for me."

  He sipped his water, and something in his face told me this was the end of that discussion, for now.

  I lowered my voice. "Do your parents know about your…plan?"

  He hesitated for a moment. "They've both passed," he said, finally, looking up from the table.

  "Oh. I'm sorry." I felt like I was doing nothing but apologizing tonight.

  He shrugged. "The fewer people know about it, the better. We can talk about this later, if you like. I'd rather not continue this conversation in public."

  "Of course."

  Well, this was going fantastic. If this were a real first date, I would have blown it completely. I hunched over the table, staring down into the steaming cup of organic free trade gourmet roasted coffee that I hadn't touched. Daniel was waving the server down for the check.

  Once he'd filled it out with his own elegant pen, produced from an inner jacket pocket, he leaned over the table again and spoke in soft murmur.

  "I think it's best, for appearance's sake, if we leave in the same car. And I would appreciate it very much if you would come home with me and spend the night."

  My throat tightened. "So soon?"

  "Well, by this time, we've been having an affair for a few weeks now. It only makes sense you would come home with me after our 'first date,' if only because it's hardly our first date."

  "Fine," I said.

  He was almost whispering now. "You can stay in your own room." He smiled. "With a lock on the door. I have no plans to take advantage of you. Right now, everyone here thinks I'm telling you about all the naughty things I'm going to do to you, when we get back. Smile back. Smile back."

  I did, even as goose bumps rose all over my skin. "It's a good thing the acoustics are so bad in here," I purred, slipping my foot out of my shoe and resting it lightly on top of his. It was dark, but the tablecloths were certainly short enough that someone might see, if they happened to look. His eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. I wasn't sure if it was the situation, or the man, or the wine, or some combination of all three, but I felt bold.

  "I hope their imaginations are sufficiently filthy to put the right words in my mouth," I said, slowly stroking the small part of his leg I could reach with my toe under the cuff of his pants. It was the first time we'd touched, other t
han shaking hands. I could feel his eyes on me - and the eyes of a few other patrons as well - but I refused to look up, instead pouring a little cream into my coffee, stirring it, and then raising the spoon to my mouth. I slid it into my mouth and licked it clean with an exaggerated gesture. It would be laughable under normal circumstances, but I hoped the alcohol and the atmosphere would work in my favor. If I could at least make Daniel half as uncomfortable as he was making me, then I would win.

  Of course, it was backfiring horribly as well. I couldn't tell if the look on his face was entirely acting or not, but I was tingling all over. Even through my pantyhose and the fabric of his sock, I could feel the heat of his skin on my foot. Suddenly, my mouth was very dry.

  In the low light, his eyes looked dark. It was impossible to tell if his pupils had really grown large, or if perhaps something else was growing -

  No, no no. Snap out of it, Maddy!

  I pulled my foot away abruptly, clearing my throat and straightening up in my chair. The spell was broken.

  His car arrived a few minutes later, and I let him lift me to my feet and lead me outside, his hand resting on the small of my back. Yes. There it was. And so soon, too.

  Later on, our relationship would be described as "whirlwind." I was sure of it.

  He had a place downtown, at one of those high-rise buildings with a doorman. An actual doorman. In this day and age. I caught his eye and nodded, tittering and leaning on Daniel's arm. Playing just slightly more drunk than I really was. The doorman nodded and favored me with a knowing smile.

  The elevator ride seemed to take ages. A heavy silence permeated the car. I ran my fingers through my hair, my head still buzzing with the wine and the thrill of deception. The doorman thought we were an item. Everyone was going to think we were an item. There was a certain perverse joy in the whole thing, I had to admit.

  "What's so funny?" Daniel said, and I realized I was grinning like an idiot.

  "I don't know," I said. "Just, everything."

  He seemed slightly bothered as we finally reached our floor and stepped out into the hallway. I wasn't sure what I'd said or done to offend him. Then again, it could have been any single thing I'd done, or a combination of all my missteps finally come home to roost. What if he was regretting his decision to choose me? The thought made me feel sick to my stomach - because of the money, I was almost sure. And of course I never liked disappointing anyone.

  He unlocked the front door, and we both stepped inside.

  The front of his apartment looked like a furniture showroom. My shoes clacked on the polished hardwood floors as I walked down the hall, past a little table made of sleek black wood, with a small live bamboo plant on top of it. It was situated as if it might be a place for the mail, except that putting the mail there would ruin the illusion of a perfect design magazine home. Deeper into the room, there were two spotless white couches sitting face-to-face on either side of a gray runner rug that led towards a massive fireplace. I stepped out of my shoes and sighed, resisting the urge to rub my temples.

  "I'll be back in a moment," said Daniel, heading towards the loft staircase that I assumed led to his bedroom. "Make yourself at home."

  I collapsed on one of the sofas, slumping in a very unladylike fashion not befitting of my elegant apparel. The ceiling looked like it was a thousand miles away. I shivered a little, hugging my bare arms. Excessively high ceilings always made me feel cold, for some reason.

  Daniel came back down the stairs two at a time, his tie gone, shirt un-tucked, and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. "Can I get you something?"

  I shook my head. "I think I'd just like to go to bed."

  He hesitated for a moment. "Of course. Tomorrow, if you don't have other plans, I was hoping you could stay over and work on our story for the INS interviews."

  "Sure," I said, getting to my feet. "Which way?"

  "You can have your pick of the two guest rooms. Here, I'll show you."

  He walked ahead of me down the hallway, opening the first door we encountered. "Here's the bathroom. I've put out some fresh towels." He moved on to the next door, pushing it open and flicking on the light. "This is the main guest room."

  I peeked in. It was every bit as sterile and un-lived-in as the rest of the apartment. "Okay," I said.

  "And here's the other. It's a bit smaller, but some people prefer that."

  I followed him further down the hall.

  At least this one looked a little bit like a normal bedroom. It was cozy, just the right size, and there wasn't a bamboo plant in sight. "Yeah, this'll work."

  "I had a feeling you'd pick this one. There are some fresh clothes in the closet; Emma gave me some guidance on that."

  "Thanks," I said. I could have sworn that my brain was telling my feet to walk forward, to go into the room and shut the door. But I just kept standing in the doorway, inches from Daniel, hyper-aware of the sound of his breathing.

  "You really do look stunning in that dress," he said. "I wasn't just saying that."

  I swallowed before I spoke. "That's not what you said before."

  "It's not?"

  "No, you just said 'stunning dress.'"

  "Well, I meant you look stunning. The dress just complements it."

  My eyes drifted to the floor, instinctively. Accepting complements gracefully was not among my talents. "That's very nice of you to say," I muttered.

  "Look at me," he said, his voice soft and persuasive.

  I did. He looked as if he were struggling to say something, or perhaps struggling not to say it.

  "Hey," I said. "I'm really tired. We can talk tomorrow, okay?"

  "Yes," he said, finally. "Of course. I'm sorry. Good night, Maddy."

  He withdrew abruptly, and was gone in a moment. I shut myself in my room and flopped over onto the bed, trying not to let myself think too hard about what had just happened between us. For the first time, I was sure I'd seen Daniel's façade crack. I wassure he had some genuine attraction for me, beyond what he was required to display for the sake of our "relationship."

  Then again, maybe he'd just been swept up in the seductive atmosphere of the evening. Hell, maybe he'd had a sex dream about me.

  I sat up, biting my lip. It had been a joke in my own head, but the idea of weighing so heavily in this thoughts that he couldn't even escape me in his dreams…a powerful man rendered helpless, writhing between the sheets, wanting me, needing me…

  No, no, no. I had to keep my head screwed on straight. These weren't harmless fantasies; not when I was going to be living with his man and pretending to be his wife. I was going to lose sight of what we were really doing. I was going to fall for him if I wasn't careful.

  There it was. That was the first time I'd really admitted it to myself, in as many words. Was I really that pathetic, to fall in love with a man simply because he was creating a believable facsimile of wooing me? Admittedly, he was good at it. The dress, the restaurant, the way he'd looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world he'd ever wanted. It was enough to turn anyone's head around.

  I was pretty sure I remembered reading somewhere - or maybe learning in a class - about how a large percentage of humans' affection for each other is purely related to proximity.

  "Well, I'm fucked," I said out loud to the empty room.

  Chapter Five

  I wasn't sure if it was the sunlight or the noises from the kitchen that woke me up. I dragged myself out of bed and down the hallway to the bathroom with some difficulty; I'd finally been able to drift off to sleep after hours of staring at the ceiling in the dark, but I definitely hadn't gotten any decent rest.

  After a quick shower, I felt slightly more human. I wrapped up in a thick, fluffy robe and padded down the hallway towards the kitchen. Daniel turned around when he heard one of the stools at the elegant breakfast bar scraping along the floor.

  He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt that said something about a corporate fun run in 2008. So he did know how to dress like a normal pers
on. That was encouraging.

  I just wished the sight of it didn't make my mouth water.

  Well, maybe I was just hungry.

  "Good morning," he said, smiling at me. His eyes flicked up and down a few times, as if he hadn't expected me to come to breakfast in a bathrobe. But what the hell - we were going to be married soon, right?

  "Hi," I said. His hair was falling loose over his forehead, and I couldn't stop staring at it, wanting to push it back into its proper place. "I like your…shirt."

  I'd almost said pants. Clearly, I just needed to keep my mouth shut.

  "Thank you," he said, taking it as gracefully as anyone might be expected to. "How do you take your eggs?"

  "Over medium, I guess." I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten eggs that I didn't prepare for myself. As it turned out, he made them just the way I liked - gooey but not runny, no uncooked whites. While I dipped my toast in the yolk, I watched him eat the frittata he'd made for himself. There was a veritable rainbow of chopped vegetables mixed in, almost more than there were eggs. No toast. So this was how he maintained his figure. For some reason, I'd always imagined him as one of those people who can eat absolutely anything and never gain an ounce. It was comforting to know he had a human side after all.

  After breakfast, I got dressed in the surprisingly casual clothes he'd picked for me, and we settled down in the living room. Daniel pulled out a small notepad and pen.

  "We need to get our story straight on certain details of our relationship," he said. "Since we'll be living together, and acting as a couple, we ought to be able to give genuine answers to most of the questions. But there will be questions about the beginning of our relationship, about very personal things we might not know about each other. They'll be the sorts of questions that are difficult to fake. When it comes to the time of the interview, if they ask you a difficult question that we haven't prepared for, simply say that you don't know or you can't remember the details of what they're asking about. Never try to guess or make up an answer."