The Resilient Bride
Billionaire Marriage Brokers
Lucy McConnell
Orchard View Publishing
Copyright © 2016 by Lucy McConnell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Resilient Bride
Liam Bernhard has climbed Egyptian pyramids, skydived, searched for sunken treasure, reached high camp on Mount Everest, and paddle boarded in Antarctica. He has one final wish before he dies; he wants to be married. With time running short, he hires Pamela Jones to find him a bride.
Kiera Martin has done the Billionaire Marriage Brokers arrangement once before and it didn’t turn out well. She left her verbally abusive husband and BMB behind to nurse her mom through cancer treatments—expensive cancer treatments. Three years later, with few financial options left, still carrying baggage from her first marriage, and her mom in remission, Kiera gives Pamela one more chance.
What she thinks will be the fast road to debt reduction turns out to be the hardest path she’s ever trod as Liam’s diagnosis looms over their every minute together. He showers her with enough love to last eternity, which is good because eternity may be all they have to look forward to. In order to find her happy ending in a world where sorrows outweigh the joys, Kiera must learn how to live in the moment, cherish every good gift, and love like she was dying.
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Contents
Note to the Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
27. Obituary
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
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About the Author
Note to the Reader
Dear Reader,
This book has been four years in the making. Originally Kiera’s story was going to be the second book in the BMB series. She has a short appearance in the first chapter of The Academic Bride and I’ve had readers ask what happened to that sweet girl who was Pamela’s miss-match.
After publishing The Academic Bride, I intended to start writing The Resilient Bride immediately; however, my maternal grandfather passed away and I was unable to address the idea of death in a book because my heart was raw from dealing with it in life. I put Kiera’s story on a mental shelf and went right back to work. A year later my paternal grandmother passed away and within a month, my husband had lost two of his grandparents as well. It was a time full of grief and yet there were sweet experiences too. Still, Kiera waited.
Since then, I’ve had readers ask, “What would happen if one of the BMB spouses got sick?” and “What happened to those miss-matches?” And, as the email’s piled up, I knew I couldn’t put off writing Kiera’s story any longer. I think you were ready for it, which helped me get ready for the process of writing this story. Thank you for your emails!
This is a book that is, and will always be, close to my heart because I poured all the love I could into it’s pages. My sincere hope is that as you read, your heart is touched as well.
Much love,
Lucy
1
Liam Bernhard took a large bite of bienenstich and savored the vanilla flavor as the sweet pastry melted into his taste buds. “There’s enough cream in this to choke a cow.”
“You keep eating like this, and you will be a cow,” countered his older brother, David.
Liam pointed at David’s plate covered with large zwetschgenkuchen. “You’re older than me. Your metabolism is slower.”
David grunted. “I work out.”
Liam grunted back. “Life’s too short to live in a gym.”
The zwetschgenkuchen went to the table and stayed on the square napkin like a forlorn and forgotten friend. Liam didn’t mean to bring up his impending doom, but he just couldn’t see the point of ignoring it like David wanted to. David, Liam’s best friend and partner in crime, had been in a perpetual bad mood, and Liam was tired of living with Eeyore.
The last six months of revelry and dream-making darkened like the German sky above them. They’d skied, golfed, surfed, swum, biked, viewed priceless artwork, toured ancient ruins, dug for buried treasure, and even sailed the high seas. His more recent exploits had taken a domestic turn, and they’d sampled foods across the globe. Even now they occupied two chairs in a small German bakery with a full selection of the baker’s wares spread before them. What did Liam care if he took one bite of everything?
“I’ve been thinking …” Liam trailed off, taking another large bite and chomping away like a kid at scout camp.
“Yeah?” David folded his arms.
“What this adventure needs is a woman’s touch.” Liam had David’s full attention. “I’d like a warm body around once in a while.”
“Exactly what do you have in mind?”
Liam reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card he’d gotten from his trust fund manager.
“BMB?” David raised an eyebrow.
“Billionaire Marriage Brokers.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“A side effect from the tumor, I’m sure.”
David glared at the table. “So what, you buy a wife? Isn’t that human trafficking?”
“Hire. I would hire a wife uniquely chosen for me.”
“Uniquely chosen by whom?”
Liam picked up a kreple. It looked like a donut. “Pamela Jones.”
David licked icing off his thumb. “Is this prostitution? Do I need to call Mom?”
“Ha ha. No. There’s no hanky-panky. It’s in the contract.” Besides the fact that the drugs I’m on make that impossible … For that reason alone, he’d been happy to sign up for a business marriage—any marriage. The fact that Pamela could find him a wife who could also be his nurse was a benefit. David was a great brother and buddy, and Ella was an excellent personal secretary, but neither of them knew the first thing about medicine.
According to his doctor-issued time line, Liam had three months left. That was great on paper, but Liam suspected the doctor had been overly optimistic. He couldn’t explain his premonition, just that he knew if he was going to find a bride, now was the time.
Liam wanted to be married before he died. He wanted to know what it was like to have someone to belong to, and if that meant going through Billionaire Marriage Brokers, then that’s what he would do.
2
Kiera Martin gathered the IV tubing and empty fluid bags, throwing them into the appropriate containers on her way out of Room 304. Ducking her head, she sidled past the bottleneck of family members who drew together in the hallway discussing treatment options for their loved one in Room 302. She prayed she could escape for the day without running into Andrew—again. One of several nurses working in the infusion and advanced therapeutics center, Andrew had a reputation for coming on strong and then dropping out at the first I love you.
Many of the single nurses, and a few of the married ones, had commented on his good looks. With his golden-brown eyes, black hair, and semi-developed biceps, he probably was good-looking. Kiera couldn’t form an opinion. Her dating radar had been down since her horrible marriage to Jack Miller ended over two years ago. Andrew hadn’t picked up on the idea that Kiera wasn’t emotionally available. He was … persistent, which was why she was sneaking out at the end of her shift.
The Huntsman Cancer Institute lobby was a study in circles. The staircase curved around the edge. Cream and gray tile spread across the floor, arranged like rings around the sun. Even the furniture was curved, denoting the eternal natures of hope, love, and faith.
Taking the wide stairs at a light jog, her hand gracing the mahogany banister, Kiera checked over her shoulder several times to make sure the coast was clear. She hit the floor with a jolt of accomplishment and aimed her gaze towards the steel-and-glass revolving door. Like the wheels of fate, the door turned once and deposited the last person Kiera had ever expected to see at the cancer center. Her ultra-padded white Nikes skidded to a stop, the squeak too loud for the formal lobby.
Pamela Jones.
Perfect Pamela, as Kiera had dubbed her, hadn’t aged a day in the past two years, while Kiera felt as though she’d aged twenty. Pamela ran a matchmaking company for the ultra-wealthy, matching brides’ and grooms’ skills together to create short-term business marriages. Pamela was the one who had arranged Kiera’s marriage to Jack the Jerk. They made eye contact, and Pamela’s baby blues sparkled with possibilities.
Kiera gripped her giraffe-print faux leather bag like a quarterback ready to break through the defensive line. She wanted nothing to do with that sparkle, but when Pamela Jones wanted to talk, Kiera found that listening proved beneficial. With a sigh of resignation, she put on her best social butterfly face and marched forward.
Pamela smiled. “Hello, Kiera. You’re looking lovely.”
Kiera loosened her grip on her purse. She’d just finished a ten-hour shift. Her ebony hair hugged her scalp in a tight bun at the base of her neck, her scrubs hung loose on her frame, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup that morning. Undeserving of the compliment, Kiera nevertheless accepted it. “Thank you.”
Pamela Jones had a near-perfect record—Kiera had taken the record from perfect to nearly perfect in one disastrous marriage. However, Kiera couldn’t lay all the blame at Pamela’s feet. Jack was an expert at wearing two faces, one in public and one in private. “You’re looking wonderful yourself.”
Hooking her arm through Kiera’s, Pamela steered them towards the sorrel leather couches.
“Are you here for an appointment?” Kiera hoped not. Though she couldn’t fathom what would be so important as to drag the California mogul to the Crossroads of the West.
Pamela laughed, the sound tinkling through the air. “No. I came to speak to you.”
Drat! “Oh.”
“Shall we?” Pamela indicated a sofa. Kiera sat with her purse on her knees and her bottom on the edge of the cushion.
“How’s your mom?” Pamela asked.
Kiera turned to watch pedestrians pass by on the other side of the large window. Most of them were buried in their phones. “She’s in remission. They do scans every three months.” Expensive scans.
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
Kiera straightened up. “Thank you for the flowers. That was very kind of you.” A large bouquet of flowers had arrived after every one of Mom’s monthly chemo sessions, along with a card emblazoned with the Billionaire Marriage Brokers logo and a handwritten note from Pamela. Caught up in medical bills, prescriptions, housework, and just surviving for a time, she’d forgotten her manners. “I meant to send you a thank-you, but—”
Pamela waved her hand. “Your mother sent a card.”
Kiera made a face. Of course she did. Even facing death, Mom clings to propriety.
Pamela tipped her head. “Do you like working here?”
Slouching, Kiera contemplated her answer. “It’s a good job. A bit hard on the heartstrings, though.” How did a person explain the struggle of working with people who faced death on a daily basis? Of coming to care for a patient, watching them love deep, cry hard, and fight like the Dickens to live while writing in journals and making videos for their children in case they didn’t? It was awful and yet noble at the same time. Some days Kiera dreaded getting out of bed, knowing she would face the Grim Reaper the moment she walked through the door. On those days, she focused on her mom—a cancer survivor—and knew that someone needed to take up the gauntlet.
As if her indecision, questions, and concerns were written on her face, Pamela said, “Perhaps this is not the path you were meant to take.”
Intrigued, Kiera ran her hands along her legs. “I haven’t seen another path. This is what I’ve studied for—dedicated my life to.”
“Darling, there’s always another path.”
“Well, I suppose I could check into private nursing companies. They pay better.”
A smile tugged at Pamela’s cheeks. “You’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
“I have a client—”
Kiera shot to her feet. “Uh, nope.” She shoved her purse into the crook of her arm. “I’m not doing that again.”
Pamela stood. “Kiera.” Her voice was like a thunderclap, slapping Kiera’s fears aside and focusing her attention. “Please, listen. It has to be you.”
Shaking her head, Kiera backed away, fighting Pamela’s supernatural pull. “I can’t do it. I can’t set myself up for another emotional beating. Please understand, Pamela.” She turned, barely catching Pamela’s “I do” before busting out the doors and escaping the possibility of getting married again.
“Is that you, baby girl?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Kierra answered as she shucked her shoes by the front door. Their two-bedroom condo had beige carpets and beige walls throughout, with beige countertops in the tiny kitchen and one bathroom. Far enough away from downtown Salt Lake City, Utah, to make rent affordable, it was also close enough to take the light rail system and save gas money—which was a major plus, considering the medical bills looming over them like the Wasatch Mountains.
“Look what I found today.” Kiera’s mother, Amelia, waved her arms over a sad-looking nightstand like one of Bob Barker’s Beauties on the old Price is Right show. With one cubbyhole, curvy legs, water spots, and horrible green paint, the piece was in bad shape, nicked worse than a table at Chuck E. Cheese’s.
Kiera frowned. The nightstand reminded her of her mom. Chemo had done a number on Amelia Martin. It stole her curves, dulled her complexion, and zapped her energy. Even now, Amelia struggled to be active for a full eight hours in the day, which made holding a regular job impossible. She’d taken to rescuing furniture from yard sales and Deseret Industries, refurbishing them, and selling them on KSL.com. It didn’t pay much, but she pushed herself to exhaustion each day with her efforts.
“You don’t like it?” Amelia’s hands went to her bony hips.
Kiera kissed her cheek as she passed. “I don’t see what you see, but if anyone can make it beautiful, it’s you.”
“Thank you.” Amelia punctuated her words with a nod and a quick brush of her hands over the avocado-green undertaking.
Entering the kitchen, Kiera took out a container of orange juice concentrate from the freezer and found the large pitcher. She set both on the table,
her eyes straying to the mail in the center. On top of the small pile was a blue envelope. Her fingers trembled, and Kiera gulped. Blue envelopes were bad. Blue meant collections.
Whoever had sent the letter was mistaken. She’d been meticulous about making payments, stretching her paycheck like a cheap hair elastic.
Opening the letter, she scanned once before returning to the top to read for details. Sure enough, she was being sent to collections. Double-checking the letterhead, she searched her memory for this particular medical lab and couldn’t remember them. Opening the cupboard above the phone, she pulled out her financial notebook and compared the information to her list of debtors.
“You’re going to put rings all over that table.” Amelia picked the dripping orange juice container up with two fingers and carried it to the sink.
“Sorry,” Kiera mumbled.
“Sweetie, you’re mumbling again.”
“Sorry.” Kiera reached for the phone. “I’ve got to call this company.”
“What company is that?”
“SelectPharm Testing. They say I owe them five thousand dollars. It’s got to be a scam. I’m going to report them.”
The container slipped from Amelia’s hand and clanged into the sink. “Don’t!”
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