His Virgin Bride: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Lila Younger

  Copyright

  © 2017 Lila Younger

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1 | Grace

  Chapter 2 | Eli

  Chapter 3 | Grace

  Chapter 4 | Eli

  Chapter 5 | Grace

  Chapter 6 | Grace

  Chapter 7 | Eli

  Chapter 8 | Grace

  Chapter 9 | Eli

  Epilogue | Grace

  I hope you also enjoy this bonus book, Taking his Virgin! | Ava

  James

  James

  Ava

  James

  Ava

  James

  Ava

  James

  Ava

  Epilogue | James

  Other books by Lila Younger

  Chapter 1

  Grace

  I take a deep breath to steady myself before I open the gray door in front of me.

  You got this Grace. Today is your day!

  Of course, I said this a million times before, but I can’t walk into an audition cynical and jaded. Nobody is ever looking for that when they’re casting. They want peppy, upbeat people who are ready to tackle anything and everything. Which you are, I remind myself. You’re ready to take down this audition.

  Once I’m sufficiently energized, I pull open the door and walk in. The waiting room is a decent size, with chairs lined up into four rows, and there are a bunch of people in here already. Moms with babies, handsome men, old grannies, and a couple other young women like myself-my competition. I walk to the front of the room where a woman’s sitting behind a desk, and sign in.

  “I’m here for the clothing commercial?”

  She swivels in her chair and grabs a piece of paper and hands it to me. It looks like this is one of those commercials with no lines, which is both nice and doubly difficult. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I actually have to get a callback-and then book it-before I have to worry what it’s going to be like. I smile, but the woman doesn’t smile back, so I quickly pick up my purse and slip into an empty chair. I look through the scene. It seems doable. I’m supposed to walk through a series of sets, each one from a different decade, all while wearing the brand’s signature pair of jeans. There’s going to be a guy, my love interest I presume, and at the end we fall in each other’s arms.

  My positivity slips a little when I see that part. You see, I get dinged a lot for looking too fresh and wholesome. Too ‘girl next door’, is the common complaint I get. And it seems like this one is about to be the same. I give my head a small shake. I can’t think like that, I remind myself. I can’t let those feelings show. And they do. My face is like a book, my mom has always said. It makes it seem like acting would be a poor choice for me, but the stage is the only time I’ve ever felt comfortable with becoming someone completely different. I was bitten by the acting bug when I starred in our school’s Christmas play, and ever since I’ve wanted to become an actress. My parents were skeptical at first, but when they saw how badly I wanted this, they decided to let me give it a shot. A year of acting school later, and here I am living the dream, going to auditions by day, and waitressing by night.

  There goes my attempt to be upbeat again.

  I put the paper down on my lap. Clearly I’m not going to be able to focus on this right now. Instead I sneak a glance around at the other actresses vying for the same spot. There’s a gorgeous redhead, her hair in a messy yet stylish bun, wearing a flowy silk shirt and wide trousers. She exuded that sort of cosmopolitan feel that could work really well for what they want. Then there’s the brunette directly across from me. She’s in a white V-neck t-shirt and jeans, with strappy sandals on her feet, exactly what you imagine when you think of a SoCal babe. Both of them were miles ahead in sexiness.

  I look back down on my paper and sigh. This is not good. At this rate, I’ll definitely psych myself out of the audition. I close my eyes, trying to remember the lessons that I learned from my teacher. Find my character’s motivation. Connect, interpret the scene so you know exactly what to do when it comes time to get in front of the casting director. Think sexy, I instruct myself. Think attraction.

  But nothing pops into my head.

  I mean, there’s David, my next door neighbor. He’s kind of cute. We exchanged hellos a few times, but he’s shyer than I am, if that’s possible. He’s not really the kind of guy that sets my body on fire and makes me pant with desire though. In fact, I have yet to meet any guy who does. In high school all the girls worshipped the football team, but even then, I just picked one to fit in. They were just so immature that it turned me off of them. And then there was what happened with Colin that just sealed the deal…

  “Grace Edison,” the woman behind the desk calls out.

  I stand up quickly, gathering my things. I didn’t expect them to call me already. I thought I’d given myself at least fifteen minutes, but they called me after only five. I hurry to the front, and she points toward the door on her left for me to go through. It’s a much smaller room, and there’s a man and a woman sitting at a desk. I walk over to them and shake their hands. The guy, Arnold, gives me a no nonsense shake, but the woman, Dana, is more welcoming. I peg her as the creative for the ad agency, on gut instinct, and Arnold as the creative director. I can feel the jitters starting up in my stomach, but it’s not overwhelming. I always feel it before I do an audition, and I’ve learned how to use that adrenaline to make my acting better.

  We launch into my casting video, but I can already tell right away that I’m not what they’re looking for. They aren’t leaning forward and excited, and Arnold’s even scrolling through his phone! I want to be angry, but I know that my video could set me up for a future callback, plus, getting mad at the casting director is a good way to end up on the blacklist. Most of these wrap up in just a couple of minutes, and this one is no different. When I finish up, I go to say goodbye and shake their hands again, but the guy’s not even looking. Dana stands up and walks me to the door at least.

  “If I may,” she says softly. “I think that perhaps you should look into casting for a role that’s more… youthful and innocent. You might find more luck there.”

  My heart drops like a stone. I plaster on a smile to my face, trying to show that I appreciate what she has to say. Too bad I’ve already heard it all before.

  “I will, thanks.”

  She pats me on the shoulder and I walk out the second set of doors. I keep my back stiff and straight as I walk out of the casting office. The elevator dings and opens as I arrive, and two more actresses step out towards the waiting room. I walk in, let the doors close behind me, and slump against the mirrored wall as the elevators bring me down to the parking garage. Another morning wasted. I knew that it was a long shot when I heard about this one, but I haven’t received very many offers, so I decided to try and make it work. It’s out of my hands now. At least Dana seems interested in me. Maybe she’ll remember me the next time s
he needs someone youthful for a commercial.

  I rub my eyes with my hand. I wish that I could change how I look. I have a feeling I know why I look so wholesome. You see, I’m a virgin. Yup. Still a card carrying member of the never-had-sex club. Forget about oozing sexuality, I don’t even know what it all feels like, why I’d want it, none of that. Of course, there are actors and actresses who are able to connect with roles that have nothing to do with their life experiences. But that sort of raw attraction to someone… I feel like that’s one of those things that are so basic that I should know. But I made a promise to myself: My first time would be with someone I love, preferably after marriage. It’s a promise that’s ended more than one relationship early, but I figure if they were sticking around for sex and not for me, then I’m better off anyways.

  Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting each time.

  The elevator doors open to the parking lot and I walk quickly back to my car. I have to navigate out of the downtown core, and traffic isn’t terrible, but it takes me at least an hour to get back to the apartment that I share with Trina. By then I’m ready to lie on the couch and relax for a little before my double shift tonight. I open the door to my roommate’s hopeful face, which falls as soon as she sees my expression.

  “What happened?” she asks, scooching over on the couch to make room for me.

  We only have one couch, mostly because of the limited space in our apartment. It’s small, which means it’s cheap, but it also means we don’t have lots of furniture either. In fact, the whole place is sort of crowded and messy with our stuff. I plop down beside Trina and grimace.

  “They wanted sexy again,” I say with a sigh. “The creative practically told me that I wasn’t going to get it.”

  “Want me to break out the ice cream?” Trina asks.

  “No, it’s fine. I sort of expected it already with this kind of commercial,” I tell her.

  “Hey, it’ll happen,” she says encouragingly. “Probably when you least expect it.”

  I nod, wanting to just put it all behind me already.

  “So why are you at home instead of going to school?”

  Trina launches into a long explanation about her current project she’s working on. She would have been exactly what they’re looking for, I can’t help but think as I listen. My best friend since kindergarten, when I shared my animal crackers with her since her mom forgot her snacks, Trina and I are sort of complete opposites. She’s got olive skin that tans beautifully, and this sleek sharp bob that never has a hair out of place. In comparison, I’ve got blonde hair, long and usually up in a ponytail. She knows her way around men too. I’ve lost count of just how many, but she’s always got one or two on the phone begging to be with her. She’s tried to set me up a few times, until I finally told her that the men she’s looking for probably aren’t the kind for me. We have very different views on sex, but that’s never stopped our friendship.

  She was the only one I wanted to be roommates with when my parents gave me the okay to try out acting. Trina’s in college for computer science, which always makes people do a double take. So not only is she gorgeous, but she’s got lots of brains too. Seriously. She’s going to be changing the world someday. I hoped that I would too, but that’s sort of rapidly going down the drain. Aside from the Old Navy commercial I booked almost two months ago now, I haven’t gotten anything. The money I’ve saved up is running out too, and pretty soon I’m going to have to start asking my parents for money, which will never happen.

  I wonder if maybe I should be looking into college too, making acting my hobby and get a real job.

  “Oh no,” Trina says and I focus back into the conversation. “You’re going into that place.”

  “What’s ‘that place’?”

  “That place where you get where you end up sprawled on the couch moping the day away.”

  “I’m not that dramatic,” I say defensively.

  “You’re an actress. Dramatic runs in your veins. Or it should.” She jumps up off the couch. “Come on. I know just what we need. Retail therapy.”

  I hold my hands up to wave her off. It’s a tempting thought, but I definitely shouldn’t be spending money. Plus, I have to adult.

  “Can’t. I have a double shift today.”

  “So call it off. Doesn’t what’s-her-face owe you a shift?”

  “Yes, but I do need the money. It’s not like I get paid a ton at the diner,” I say dryly. I wrinkle my nose. “I’m going nowhere fast am I?”

  Trina comes forward and gives me a hug.

  “It’ll happen for you Grace,” she says. “I’ve seen you on stage. You can act. You just need that chance.”

  “Well, I hope that chance comes soon,” I say wearily as I get up to change. “Because I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for it.”

  Chapter 2

  Eli

  The heavy wrought iron doors of the Copeland estate slowly swing open, and security guard, Ken, waves as I drive through. Ken’s been with the family for decades now, longer than I’ve been alive at least, his snowy white hair peeking out over the formal cap on his head. He probably wouldn’t be any good if someone actually tried to get through, which is why my grandfather also has a state of the art security system installed all over the grounds. Familiar old trees give shade as I cruise down the drive. Everything here is stately and old, almost transporting me back in time. The mansion itself is three stories high, spread into two wings that sweep back towards the well-tended gardens. The front facade has multiple stone statues, carved and placed around it as though it was some European castle instead of a hotel baron’s home.

  I pull up to the front door and get out of my Ferrari. The slam of the door echoes in the quiet air. My grandfather’s bought acres all around the mansion, adding more and more in his old age. It’s as though he’s trying to shut out the rest of the world. Not a good approach for someone at the helm of a multi-million corporation. I walk up the steps, the front door opening just as I arrive. My grandfather’s butler bows. Yet another mainstay in the household. I have many memories of Jacob’s disapproving look as I slid down the bannister of the grand staircase or brought back a girl on the weekend.

  “He’s expecting you in the solar,” he murmurs deferentially.

  “Thank you,” I say, striding forward.

  Childhood memories flash by as I walk down the halls. Rich brocade carpet dulls my footsteps, the place seeming darker and more somber than before. Paintings, sculptures and antiques stand on either side of the hallway. Doors to the rooms are closed tight, as if preventing anyone from going inside. It wasn’t always this way. My grandmother lit up the whole house, a whirlwind of activity that would make each day bright and exciting. People were always visiting, plans were always being made, parties and teas and balls that lasted until the early hours of the morning. But she died a few years back, and the energy of the house with her.

  I enter into the kitchen, and one of my favorite people is there, kneading bread dough like she always has. She’s got her grey-streaked hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, and her uniform is freshly starched. Martha’s round face looks up, beams at me, and she claps the flour off her hands. We hug, and she has to tilt back to get a good look at me.

  “Well it’s about time you came to visit,” she says scoldingly. “Almost six months have gone by Eli, and not a peep from you. I know you always have a phone glued to your ear, so there’s no excuse for not keeping me updated.”

  “I’ve been busy with the new flagship hotel,” I say.

  Martha snorts.

  “More like you’ve been busy with the ladies. I know you Eli, and your ways. And I warrant that your grandfather knows them too,” she adds, nodding towards the solar. “He’s not pleased.”

  “The papers exaggerate,” I mutter.

  “Well, they had to be writing it based off something, don’t they?”

  She puts her arms on her fat hips, an old Martha gesture of disapproval.

  “Go
on then.”

  I flash her a smile, and she gives me one too, forgiving me in an instant. I slowly open up the doors to the solar and slip through. This used to be my grandmother’s favorite place. She had flowers flown in every day, covering the room and making me sneeze every time I entered. My grandfather sits in the far end of the room, on a wicker chair that faces out into what used to be the prizewinning gardens out back. Also my grandmother’s doing, though now that she’s not here to spearhead the planting and the tending, it’s fallen into disarray.

  My grandfather looks gaunt, thinner than he was the last time I’ve come to see him. His once rich dark hair has faded, but his beard is neat, and his clothes still neat. His face is etched into a permanent frown.

  “Hello grandfather,” I say respectfully. I take a seat on the wicker loveseat diagonal to him.

  “Eli,” he says, his voice gravelly. “You’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “There was traffic leaving the city.”

  “There’s always traffic. Shouldn’t you account for that?”

  I don’t say anything. There’s no point. He will just bring up another thing to criticize. My grandfather wasn’t always this way. Distant, yes, but I think I made him proud. Both of my parents died when I was three in a car crash, and he and grandmother took me in. They never approved of my mother, but when it became clear that I was his only heir, he brought me under his wing. Grandmother loved me, in a way, but she was never maternal. That role was left to Martha to fill. Despite all this, for whatever stupid reason, his approval mattered to me. And I strove to do the best I could in the company. At first, it was obligation and gratitude that kept me there. But now, the hotel business is my business. I’ve turned our company around from an economy line brand into something more, acquiring, merging, and investing in our hotels until I’d built up an empire. I thrived on business, on closing the deal, on every venture or crazy risk that succeeds for me.

  That’s why I’m here today.

  My grandfather is still the owner of the company. He sits on the boards, he is the one with the final say. But he’s made missteps that I’ve had to correct. And worse, he doesn’t believe in technology and the internet, fighting back hard against my suggestions until all of our competitors have done the same. I’ve fought for every percentage of our market share. It’s been enough up until now, but there’s a chance for us to expand overseas, to go international. It’s risky, but I can do it. I know that I can. The only thing that’s preventing us from succeeding is my grandfather. Time and time again he’s delayed handing over the reins. He promises he will once I’m able to turn around this hotel, after I’ve overseen a division, after I open up in every single state. The goalposts keep moving with every success, but I’ve proven myself to him every time.