Lane's heart skipped a beat. She recognized the voice on the speaker. It was James Dillard, the lawyer who handled Katherine's estate. They were talking about her. Lane stepped back, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. But something that Dillard said caught her attention again. She pressed her back against the wall just outside the bedroom and cocked an ear.
Matthew retorted, “Lane will understand. She is well aware of the terms of our marriage of convenience. The marriage expires in a year. That's a couple of days from today. Then I intend to sell the gallery.”
“I’m well aware of that. Alright, I’ll draw up the papers, then sign the deed turning everything over that belonged to your mom.” Dillard paused then added, “There’s the matter of a million dollars promised to Lane.”
“Sign the check then. That should be enough icing on the cake,” Matthew retorted.
There was a slight pause, after which Dillard asked. “Have you found any buyers already?”
“Yes, there’s an interested party. I just want to make sure that all the assets have been turned over to me before I finalize the deal.”
“I wish you luck then,” Dillard replied.
Lane clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Her body shook as she fought the darkness that threatened to close in on her.
All these months, she had been fooled into thinking he loved her. But it had all been a game that he had played perfectly to get what he wanted.
“Oh God," Lane cried in silent grief. Her heart felt like broken glass. The pain was so intense that she gave out a sob. She tottered to the doorway and grabbed the doorknob for support.
“Lane!” Matthew called out, seeing her there. “Is that you?”
Lane summoned her remaining strength. Even standing upright was a struggle. She wanted to curl up and die. But she couldn’t allow this man to see her so shattered.
“I heard everything.” She felt sick to be in the same room as Matthew.
“I-I-…” he began.
Lane held up a palm and said coldly, “There’s no need to spin more lies. I’ve heard enough to know that you are scum. I hope you and your money will be happy together. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”
“Lane, wait…”
His voice echoed round her head as he tried to follow her. But she was so numb she no longer cared. All she wanted was to put as much distance between them as she could by fleeing out the door.
***
Lane blew air out of her lips repeatedly. The taxi driver thought she was going into some kind of labor. He glanced at her flat belly and scratched his head.
“I’m blowing nervous tension away,” Lane explained, “I have less than two hours to get to the airport and catch my plane to India. I’m afraid I won’t make it.”
“I’ll get you there,” he reassured her.
Lane stepped out of the cab and sprinted to the door of Dillard Law Offices. She knew she should have done it a long time ago. But her devastation had been so great that she had been in no shape to see anyone after she had left Matthew. She had spent her days holed up in a hotel room. She had cried buckets, until her tear ducts gave out. The pain of Matthew’s betrayal had been too much to bear.
She had written a letter and eagerly awaited the reply. When it had finally come, she had known what she had to do, in order to heal. She had to go to India. She bought a one-way ticket, packed some clothes and was now on her way to the airport.
Before she left, however, Lane needed to see Dillard and turn over the key and legal papers pertaining to the gallery.
“Hi, Mr. Dillard,’ she greeted him with relief.
Dillard ushered her to his private office. Lane took a seat as he assessed her.
“Lane, I’m sorry about the way things ended…”
Lane cut him short and said, "That's not why I'm here. I came to bring you this. I couldn't just go and leave things in disarray,” she said, handing him the key and the papers.
“Go? Go where?” Dillard asked.
“I’m leaving for India. My taxi is waiting outside,” Lane replied as she prepared to leave.
“Shouldn’t you talk things over with Matthew before you leave?”
“I have nothing more to say to that shitbag. I’ll sign the divorce papers now if they’re ready.”
“That can wait,” Dillard hesitated. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved something inside, before handing it to her.
It was a manager’s check in the amount of $1 million payable to her name. Lane took the check, read the fine print and then tore it in half.
“Here,” she said, handing it back to him. “Tell Matthew he can shove it up his ass.”
***
Lane was sweating bullets when she finally made it to the airport counter and presented her passport and visa to the ground stewardess. She barely made it to the last call. But the cabbie was true to his word and got her there on time, despite the horrendous traffic.
She sighed with relief when the ground crew stamped her visa and wished her a cheery, “Enjoy your trip to India, Miss Sheridan.”
She searched for her seat and settled down, glad for the chance to think before takeoff. She couldn’t believe she was actually inside the airplane and leaving everything behind. If there was one consolation, it was that she knew Sarah would be all right. Cornell would provide everything she would ever need.
Lane fought back a tear. She hoped that India would treat her more kindly than the US ever had. Matthew Stromm, the only man she had ever loved, had turned out to be her worst nightmare – twice.
“I hope the ground swallows him whole,” she thought with malice. But deep in her heart, she knew she didn't mean it. Deep in her heart, she knew that she still loved Matthew, and that’s what caused her so much pain.
A sudden commotion by the cockpit door pulled her out of her reverie.
"Sir…you can't come inside. You're not a passenger on this flight. Please, Sir. You have to leave or I will have to call the airport authorities."
Lane saw how the stewardess tried to bar the exit door with her body. She proved to be too small and was flung aside. A figure came barreling down the aisle. He looked wildly at each passenger’s face as he moved determinedly down the aisle of the plane.
"Lane! Lane! Where are you? Please don't leave. I need to talk to you."
“Matthew?” Lane gasped in amazement.
The stewardess came running after him and was soon joined by another crew member. Each clung to one of his arms as they tried to pull him back. Matthew struggled and persisted, pushing them away from him.
“Please,” he begged, “I just need to talk to my wife.”
“Sir, we have to insist….”
"Matthew," Lane called out, before someone got hurt.
Matthew turned his head wildly in search of her voice. When he saw her, he sprinted the short distance to where she stood and clutched her tightly.
"Lane, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It’s not what you think it is. Just hear me out please. Please, Lane. Give me another chance, please," he begged.
Lane struggled to get out of his embrace. She couldn’t breathe. He was holding her too tightly.
“Matthew, please…” she whispered.
Matthew released her just long enough for the blood to start flowing again. She was befuddled, confused, not sure if her mind was playing tricks on her again.
Matthew grabbed hold of her hand. He had no intention of letting her go.
“Lane, I know you think the worst of me. I understand completely. But I’m willing to do everything to prove how much I love you,” said a hopeful Matthew as he looked into Lane’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me, Matthew? You know how much that gallery means to me. You have no idea how much you have hurt me,” asked a visibly distraught Lane.
“Lane, please forgive me. Taking my own decisions all these years I forgot that you were a part of my life now. My
intention was not to cash out, but to establish a fund that would help many artists.” Matthew said, unflinchingly. As much hatred as Lane had for him, she could tell that he was telling the truth.
“And just to prove to you I mean every word, I asked James to put everything Katherine owned in a foundation under your name. I don’t want anything to do with it, if I can’t have you.” Matthew pulled out a document from his pocket that proved what he just said.
“You did that?” Lane asked weakly.
“Yes. Everything. Cars, homes, jewelry, even all the paintings in the gallery, except this," he tore the wrapper of the object he carried.
It was the painting of the bride Lane loved so much.
Matthew got down on one knee, still clutching her hand, and looked at her earnestly.
"I never believed in cosmic fate. You were not yet even in my life when I bought this painting. But when I first laid eyes on it, something stirred in my soul. I sent it to the gallery not knowing you would fall in love with it. Don't you see? The painting was meant for me from the very start because it was meant for you. We are meant for each other, Lane. Please don't go. Stay with me."
Lane could hardly see because of the tears falling profusely down her cheeks. Yet she was intensely aware of a hundred eyes watching them.
Lane bit her lip, as a sob wracked her body. She watched as Matthew rose slowly to his feet and wiped away her tears.
“Please forgive me, Lane," he whispered.
Lane nodded mutely and finally succumbed to his embrace. The plane erupted into cheers. They were still locked together in a tight embrace when the metallic voice announced:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. This flight is about to take off for India. So, if the lovely lady has made a decision, I suggest the equally handsome gentleman take her off the plane now."
Lane nodded in agreement as Matthew took her hand. Amidst cheers and banter from the passengers, they made their way slowly down the aisle and out the exit door to where a future promised only the brightest colors that life could offer.
***
The banner announcing the competition flapped wildly in the breeze. Toddlers ran excitedly through the grass towards a white tent. Chairs and tables were slowly filling up with older children as they competed for paint tubes, paintbrushes, and watercolor pads. Moms and dads joined in the fun as they coached their children as to which details to add into their work.
In another part of the field, the atmosphere was more solemn. Young artists were deep in concentration as they added the finishing touches to the canvas. A scholarship was at stake and that meant a lot to the poor, but talented, artists.
It had been Sarah’s idea and Matthew had approved wholeheartedly. Lane and her sister had worked for days to get the event going.
Lane searched for a chair; her back was killing her. She turned pale as the baby inside her tummy kicked suddenly. A gentle hand rubbed her back from behind. She reached for the hand, brought it to her lips and kissed it.
“You should have stayed home and rested. All this running around must be bad for the baby,” Matthew chided with concern.
"And miss all of this?” Lane replied.
Today was the culmination of her and Matthew's dreams. They were using the Stromm Gallery and its income to help talented painters in pursuit of their dreams. The satisfaction of seeing a dream come true was the only reward they sought.
Matthew grabbed a chair and sat beside his wife. Lane gently rested her head against his shoulder as they viewed the scene outside.
“I love you,” Matthew whispered in her ear.
“I know,” Lane whispered back. “You paint my world in all shades of bright colors. I love you, Matthew.”
*****
THE END
Hothead Billionaire’s Convenience Bride
Lila had one picture left of Bjorn. It was of the two of them on their wedding day. It was the only photograph she did not destroy after their divorce. Every other picture that she had of the two of them was torn into as many pieces as possible.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to tear up the picture of their wedding. She told herself that she was keeping it for her daughter Rosie.
But in truth, Lila knew that she had a different reason for keeping this photograph. Maybe it was because she looked so beautiful in that sleeveless dress, wearing a radiant smile that lit up her face like no jewelry or makeup ever could. Perhaps it was because Bjorn was standing next to her, looking so bloody handsome. That was it of course, the real reason why she kept that snapshot. To remind herself that this handsome devil was just that – a devil. That beneath those devastating good looks, the charming smile and the gorgeous blue eyes, was a monster.
Lila felt tears coming and quickly got up. No more tears, this she had promised herself.
But it was hard.
Especially now that she stood to lose everything.
Again.
She walked over to Rosie’s room and looked inside. Her daughter was fast asleep and as per usual, had kicked off the sheets. Her wild, curly hair was spread out over the pillow. Lila covered her up again, tucking her in gently. Rosie meant everything to her; she simply couldn’t face the thought of losing her.
“I don’t know what I am going to do,” Lila confessed a little while later to her neighbor, Barb Tremain. The two of them sat outside their apartment building, on the broad steps that led up to their ground floor apartments. Rosie’s window faced the street and Lila could hear if she called out.
It was Barb and Lila’s evening ritual. At the end of the day, they came outside and Barb would smoke her last cigarette while Lila would have a cup of chamomile tea. They were firm friends and had been ever since Lila and Bjorn had moved into the flat opposite Barb’s.
“I knew he was no good from the start,” Barb liked to say, disapprovingly. “He didn’t carry a single thing into the house. Saw you carrying boxes, pregnant as you were, didn’t lift a finger. Bad cut of fabric, that one.”
As soon as Bjorn moved out, Barb started coming around to help Lila, watching over Rosie when she came home from school. She was like the grandmother Rosie never had.
Lila now said, “Bjorn called me this afternoon. He says he is filing for full custody of Rosie.”
“Come again?” Barb said, incredulous. “No court in the world would entertain his delusional fantasies.” She snorted, very unladylike. Barb had been married years ago to a man who had gone to bed one evening and simply never woke up. Heart attack, the doctors said. But Barb had never gotten over the shock of being a wife one day and a widow the next. She liked to say that she knew very well what a good man was—and Bjorn wasn’t it.
“That’s the problem,” Lila sighed. “Bjorn says he’s cleaned up his act. He has gone to rehab and has been clean for almost a year.”
“Please.” Barb sniggered.
“That’s not all,” Lila went on. “He’s engaged to some investment banker with lots of money. He says they’re going to buy a fancy apartment, send Lila to a top city school.”
“You know why he is doing this, right?” Barb said, poking Lila’s knee with a bony finger. “This is just to get back at you for divorcing him.”
“He left me!” Lila said, close to tears.
“But you kicked him out first,” Barb reminded her.
She was right, of course. Lila didn’t want to think about the night, only two years into their marriage, when she had thrown him out the door. It had been their worst fight yet. And to make matters worse, it was supposed to be a night of celebration.
Bjorn had finally gotten a job with a big investment bank. For years, he had been working at one small, trading firm after another, trying to catch a break. When he finally landed his dream job, there was a cocktail party to which he and Lila had been invited. She had watched him flirt with all the other women all night, disappearing on long bathroom breaks where she was sure he was taking cocaine. But afterwards, at home, when she confronted him abou
t it, he turned around and blamed her for not supporting him and being jealous of his success. He became mean, taunting her and her administrative job at a paralegal firm where she was happy. He twisted her arm, hurting her, leaving ugly bruises. “You like being a nobody, don’t you!” he had said to her with a nasty smile. “And you don’t want me to shine.”
That was when she shoved him out and locked the door.
Barb had heard the whole thing. She was the one who comforted Lila for two days until Bjorn came back and said he wanted a divorce. That had been years ago. He was supposed to see Rosie every second weekend but he cancelled so often that this date was changed to once a month. Rosie told her that her father usually spent more time texting on his phone than talking to her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Barb said, trying to convince Lila. “You are a wonderful mother. You’ve had custody of Rosie now for six years and she is doing great.”
Lila didn’t say anything. They watched people passing by on the street. Even at night, this part of the city was busy. Most people used public transport. It wasn’t a very affluent area but it had been all she could afford. Lately, Lila had been struggling. She hadn’t told anyone about her financial troubles, but she had a feeling Barb knew. To make matters worse, she was about to lose her job. The company she had been working for was in dire straits and started retrenching staff. She had received a letter saying she would be out of a job at the end of the month.
Work was scarce and she didn’t know how she was going to pay her rent. If Bjorn got wind of this, he would surely win custody of Rosie. Lila could hardly breathe at the thought of this. Her dream marriage had ended in an acrimonious divorce, and the company she had given everything for was turning its back on her.
Rosie had turned out all right. The little eight-year-old was a tomboy with a heart of gold. She dressed herself, got her own cereal each morning and did homework every afternoon without being told to. When she smiled at Lila, her world lit up. This was the one thing Lila would never screw up. Being a good mother was more important to her than anything. It was one of the reasons why she had not really been out on many dates after the divorce.
The Billionaire's Fake Marriage (A Romance Collection Boxed Set) Page 10