An Improper Bride (Elliot & Annabelle #2) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 4)

by Nadia Lee

“We ordered Chinese,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t get hold of you.”

  I shrug. “That’s fine.”

  I climb the steps to the master suite and drop my purse in the walk-in closet. The dress slithers into a heap on the floor, and I kick it into a basket for dirty clothes. I put on a super comfy sleeveless black dress that reaches mid-shin. The full-length mirror on the wall reveals a young woman with shadowed green eyes staring back at me. The makeup on my face is as wilted as old lettuce, and I feel as bad as I look.

  Annoyance surges. Why am I not taking better care of myself? I’m wasting energy on things that simply won’t matter once the year’s up. I go to the bathroom, drag a couple of makeup remover wipes across my skin and wash my face. Have dinner and go to sleep. Maybe a little warm milk before bed to help myself relax.

  Feeling immensely better, I go downstairs and sit at the table. Nonny yawns again as Elliot explains the mistake she made on the last problem on her homework.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not getting it,” she says.

  “Have you been staying up texting all night?” he asks.

  “No. Just can’t sleep these days.”

  I frown. Whenever something’s bothering her, she goes through a bout of insomnia. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nonny…”

  “I’m serious. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Sure. That’s why you have dark circles.”

  “Runny mascara,” she says. “I’m going to buy some waterproof stuff tomorrow.”

  I shake my head. “If you want, I’ll sit with you tonight.” Sometimes that helps her get to sleep.

  Her gaze darts in Elliot’s direction. “No, it’s okay.” She sighs. “Please. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

  I cross my arms. “If you promise to get some decent sleep tonight.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I prooooomise,” she says, drawing an exaggerated cross over her heart.

  Elliot’s frowning as he watches our exchange. I don’t explain anything to him. Instead, I merely clasp my hands, while Nonny puts away her math homework.

  Just as he asks, “What was that—?” the intercom buzzes. Relieved, I start to rise, but he gestures at me to stay seated. “I’ll get it.”

  As he leaves the table, I turn to Nonny. “If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

  She looks at me, her eyes troubled. Her teeth dig into her lower lip, then she shakes her head. “It’s just the excitement of the new school and everything. I’ll be okay.” She pats my hand. “You know me. I’ll be back to sleeping like a baby soon.”

  I nod, hoping that’s true.

  Elliot reappears with our food. He lays it out, and we dig into the orange chicken, sweet and sour pork, and beef and broccoli. The shrimp and egg fried rice is fluffy yet moist, and the spring rolls are just crispy enough.

  “The beef is too salty,” Nonny announces.

  “Wonder if they got a new chef,” Elliot muses. “The place is usually better than this.”

  “I don’t think it’s that bad.” I always enjoy extra salt in my food when I’m on my period. Not that I’m going to announce my cycle at the dinner table. “If you want, I’ll eat it, and you can have the chicken or pork.”

  “If I eat it with rice, it’s not as bad.” Nonny loves beef too much to give it up over something as minor as sodium content.

  “By the way,” Elliot says to her, “are you going to be okay with eating alone on Friday?” he asks.

  “Sure,” she says. “What’s up?”

  I shoot a quick glance at him.

  “Your sister and I are invited to dinner.”

  “With who?” I ask.

  “Gavin and his wife Amandine.”

  I tense. Dennis said Gavin is the one doing the background check again. “What for?”

  Elliot’s eyebrows rise.

  Damn it. That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to say. “I mean, it’s not like they know me. Kind of unusual, isn’t it?”

  Elliot is now looking at me like I’m some kind of alien. “Ah, inviting someone to dinner is a way of getting to know them.” He spreads his hands. “Gavin’s a friend. And Amandine is curious about you and wants to meet. That’s all.”

  “Curious about me, huh?” I put my chopsticks down, abruptly losing interest in food. Elizabeth swore nobody knew about my arrangement with Elliot except his family, but she could’ve been mistaken. Why else would Amandine be “curious”? We’ve never met. I’d never even heard of the woman.

  “What’s wrong?” Nonny asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “You’re right about the food. It’s a little salty.” I reach for a bottle of water and manage to take a few sips for her benefit.

  Elliot’s not buying my act. But my sister’s presence stops him from probing.

  Nonny has one more bite of the chicken and yawns. “Okay, I can barely keep my eyes open. Can I be excused? I want to go to bed early.”

  “Go ahead. I’m beat too. I think I’ll join you.” I stand up. “Are you done, Elliot? If so, I’ll clean it up.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll dump everything when I’m done.” His voice is firm and expressionless.

  He’s annoyed, but that’s probably better than him wanting to probe.

  Nonny and I squeeze each other good night. She also gives a hug to Elliot before going to her room. I hope her insomnia is over. It’ll stop when she’s feeling better.

  I go upstairs and brush my teeth before jumping into the shower. I act fast, hoping to be in bed before Elliot shows up. That way I can pretend I’m asleep and avoid questions about my reaction to Amandine.

  But…no such luck. Elliot is back as I put away the dryer.

  He gives me a sidelong glance, his eyes filled with something I can’t quite read, then brushes his teeth. I go to the bedroom and get rid of my bra before crawling under the soft sheet with a sigh. It feels great to be horizontal and get some rest even though it’s going to take a while to fall asleep. I’m too cranky, and my stomach cramps are bad enough that it’s hard for me to sleep during the first two days of my period.

  The mattress dips, and Elliot rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re tense.”

  “I’m tired.” I press my lips. I should probably get this out before he starts kissing me. “I’m on my period,” I say it fast like I’m pulling a Band-Aid.

  He digests that, then curses.

  “At least I’m not pregnant.”

  “There’s that.” He is quiet for a moment. “Did you take something?”

  “Yes, but it never helps much.”

  He makes a sympathetic noise deep in his throat. He reaches around, his fingers kneading my tight back muscles, and I sigh. It feels so good, and he seems to know exactly how to touch, how much pressure to exert to loosen the knots.

  “About the dinner on Friday…” Just like that tension returns in spite of myself. His eyebrows pinch, and I know he’s noticed too. “Do you not want to go?” he asks.

  “It’s not that. I don’t know if Amandine would really want to meet me.” I don’t want to be a circus freak Elliot’s acquaintances and friends marvel at for the crazy deal I struck with him.

  “Why wouldn’t she?” He waits a beat. “She’s probably curious about you because she was certain no woman would ever marry me.”

  My body doesn’t loosen at the explanation.

  “I have a certain reputation. I’m sure you’ve already googled and seen stuff about me.”

  I sigh. Yes, I’ve seen the articles and photos about his escapades. And the sex tape.

  He continues, “Amandine is nothing like Tiffany. She’s actually quite sweet, like her name sake.” He resumes the massage. “It’ll be good for you to make some friends in this city, and she’s perfect. Used to be an art teacher, until she married Gavin. Then she started to focus on her own work.”

  “Is she any good?” I ask even though I know the likely answer. She’s probably a genius
. Elliot seems to surround himself with the smartest and most talented people he can find.

  “I don’t know. Never seen her stuff.” He gives me a quick grin. “Just between us, I think she probably sucks. Why else wouldn’t she show it off?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Judgmental much?” I feel too relaxed to scold him though. His fingers are far superior to the ibuprofen pills I took earlier. “She might just be shy.”

  “Possibly. Anyway, she still wants to meet you.”

  I don’t particularly want to meet people who are going to be nice to me only because of Elliot. I look into his eyes, about to tell him I’m not interested. The warmth and concern in their depths stops me. He’s making an effort since the dinner disaster, when I made those ugly accusations. “If you’re upset about what I said after Tiffany dumped champagne into Nonny’s punch, don’t be. I was being unfair, and I know it.”

  “Being honest about your feelings isn’t wrong.” He takes my hand and kisses the palm.

  I can’t stay recalcitrant when he’s like this. “I’ll go,” I say, sighing. “Let me know the exact time and what I should wear.”

  He nods, then rubs my back until I fall asleep.

  Chapter Six

  Elliot

  Thirst wakes me. The room’s dark, and the house is completely quiet. I lie there, blinking. I don’t want to turn on a light and disturb my wife.

  She sleeps facing me, one leg thrown over mine. Long lashes lie in a fan against her pale cheeks, and she looks impossibly young, her rosy mouth soft and vulnerable. She doesn’t seem twenty-two.

  There were shadows in her eyes earlier, and I wonder what caused them. It was probably something I screwed up. I seem to be a complete fucking idiot when it comes to dealing with this particular woman. If anybody saw how I fumbled, they would never believe I made my fortune at the age of twenty-one using nothing but brainpower.

  Still. I hope she has a good time with Amandine and Gavin on Friday. I’m determined to make it awesome for her.

  I leave the bed, careful not to jostle her, and pad over to the bar in the corner of our suite.

  It’s out of water. Shit. Forgot to restock.

  Sighing inwardly, I make my way down to the kitchen. As I pull a bottle from the fridge, something moves in my peripheral vision. I turn; there’s a small lump on the couch that looks suspiciously like a curled-up body.

  What the hell?

  Sucking down the water, I go to the living room. I turn on the recessed lights by the wall-mounted TV. The lump twitches, and my gaze collides with the bleary eyes of my teenage sister-in-law.

  “Nonny. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?”

  If she were younger, I might’ve thought she didn’t want to sleep in her room or had a bad dream or something.

  “Why are you up, Elliot?” she mumbles, adjusting her pillow and twisting away from the light. “Oh shit, did I fall asleep?”

  “You went to bed after dinner. What the heck are you doing out here?”

  “Um.” The throw slips down as she moves, and I see the phone clutched in her hand.

  “Ah. Texting with some hot guy?” I keep my tone teasing and light, hoping it’ll encourage her to talk. If she’s into some guy, I need to find out who he is and make sure he isn’t an asshole. If he is, he’ll be gone faster than bad fish.

  “No, no.” She flushes. “Nothing like that.” Her fingers pick at the throw. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t mean to nod off out here.”

  “Right.” I prop my elbow against the back of the couch and rest my chin in my hand. “You are a terrible liar.”

  “I had to stay awake.” Her voice grows small. “Just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “Um.” She wrings her hands, twisting the throw. “It’s a little strange.”

  I arch an eyebrow.

  “Or maybe a lot strange.” She bites her lower lip.

  I let the silence stretch.

  “Anna’s been really stressed since the dinner,” she blurts out. “You know, when your mom put alcohol…”

  And just like that, my gut clenches like I’ve been kicked.

  “I don’t like it when she’s stressed. She shouldn’t be, you know. She’s married now, and you’re so good to her.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I’m anything but good to her, but Nonny’s too young and innocent to know any better.

  “But she…” Nonny clicks her teeth. “I…I was just worried.”

  Shadows too dark for someone her age fill her eyes. Does she know something that my PI couldn’t find out? Something as harrowing as the rape my wife suffered?

  I reach over and squeeze Nonny’s hand. She’s probably still groggy from the interrupted slumber, and I know she hasn’t been sleeping well and her defenses are low. This is a sneaky ass move, but I can’t help myself. “Did something happen?” I keep my voice low and coaxing. “You can tell me. Sharing might help.”

  She looks at me, her gaze uncertain and troubled. “You can’t tell Anna. She’ll be totally upset.”

  “I won’t.”

  Her throat works, then she looks down. “When I was eight, I saw her fall down the stairs in our house.”

  “That’s…an unfortunate accident.”

  “It wasn’t an accident. It was late at night, and she just stood at the top of the stairs and…threw herself down.”

  Cold knots in my gut. “What?” I lean back with a shaky laugh. “Maybe you were mistaken.”

  She looks at her hands. “I thought that too, but she got up, went back upstairs and did it again. I watched.”

  Clammy fear clutches my heart. It wasn’t a suicide attempt, most likely. Hanging or jumping off the roof is a more common choice. “How old was she?”

  “Fifteen.” Nonny’s voice is so small I almost don’t hear her.

  Sudden nausea roils through me, and I wish I hadn’t drunk all that water.

  “She was really stressed out around that time.”

  Probably because she found out she was pregnant. Nonny doesn’t know that though.

  “She was gaining weight,” she adds. “She was angry all the time, and she told me I was being annoying. I apologized, but it only made her angrier.” She looks up at me earnestly. “I probably was annoying. I can ask a lot of questions and get nosy and stuff.”

  Her defense of her sister shakes something inside me. “Then what happened?”

  She shrugs. “I tried to stop being annoying. And she got better.”

  The explanation breaks my heart. It’s not her fault, but she has no idea. And it’s not a story I can tell her either. It’s my wife’s to tell.

  “She went to Europe later that summer, and it was good for her. She came back more relaxed and happy. She even lost the weight.” Nonny drops her gaze back to her hands again. “But I worry when I screw up or when she’s really upset. Our old apartment was sort of bad, but I liked it that there weren’t any steps inside. She probably doesn’t do it outside when somebody could see her. But here…” She takes a quick look at the steps leading to the master suite.

  I put a hand over hers. “Nonny, it’s not your fault. And I’ll make sure to watch over your sister.” I force a reassuring smile for her benefit. “You trust me, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I do. It’s kinda weird.”

  “So next time you’re worried, just let me know, okay?”

  “Thanks, Elliot.” She throws herself at me, and my arms close around her slight frame. I feel like a total shit, especially for the utter trust she has in me. She has no idea how bad I am for her sister.

  “All part of the service.” I pat her back. “Now why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep?”

  “Thanks.” She grabs her pillow and goes.

  I sit there, elbows resting on my knees and face buried in my hands. No way I can sleep now. I feel so vile and shaken, I feel like I’m going to throw up if I see my wife now.

  For the
first time in forever I hurt for a woman who’s in my life. She’s lost so much, but never given up. In the past two years she’s carried the burden of taking care of herself plus her teenage sister. I don’t know if I could’ve been that mature about it. When I was in my early twenties, I was too gleeful about the possibility of showing my father he had no hold over me to give a damn about anything or anyone. I worked hard and partied harder.

  A stripper wife is supposed to be easy, fun and temporary. That’s why I wanted one in the first place. But my particular stripper is turning out to be anything but, and I don’t know how to handle her. I know I’m fucking everything up.

  Selfish bastard. That’s what I am. And for the first time in my life, I hate it.

  I don’t know how long I sit in the living room, staring at the staircase. I can almost imagine my wife as a teen, tumbling down the stairs, her unprotected body hitting each step, and my stomach roils. The soft light coming in from outside tells me it’s probably almost dawn. I have to fix this. I can’t keep doing what I’m doing and hurting her.

  My phone vibrates on the coffee table where I left it last night. Elizabeth’s smiling face pops up on the screen. It’s got to be something important for her to call this early. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

  “Oh good. You’re up.” Her voice is crisp.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Guilty conscience?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been debating whether or not to tell you this. It’s really none of my business, and I don’t want to look like I’m ratting anyone out, but…”

  “What is it? I won’t repeat it.”

  “I slept on it. I really tried to view things from your perspective, but I just can’t. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman and more emotional about things like this.”

  I sigh. “Spit it out.” It isn’t like my half-sister to go on and on before getting to the point. She knows I prefer straight shooting.

  “You are the most insensitive uncouth barbarian ever.” She doesn’t speak loudly, but her voice doesn’t have its usual pliant softness.

  I agree one hundred percent with her assessment, but I’m not sure she’s come to the conclusion for the same reasons I have. “Did I forget to send your foundation a check?” My assistant mails one every quarter. It’s for a good cause, and I enjoy supporting Elizabeth.