Vacation Bride: A Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 1)

by Loebel, Vicky

  “I used to think I’d like working.” Bobbie crossed her legs and propped her feet on a chair. A move, Chris couldn’t help noticing, that riveted Ryan’s attention. “I dreamed of a career in film the way other girls dream of becoming mothers.” She inhaled steam from her coffee. “Turns out, it’s almost the same. Too many squabbling dependents, endless chores, and never enough hours in the day.” She gazed out over the water. “Though I suspect most moms don’t get this view.”

  Chris bit into a crisply-fried Johnnycake and watched his cousin staring at Bobbie. The man did not look ready to propose to someone else. “Are you really going through with this? I mean, all the way to your reality show wedding?”

  “Why not? Sure.” Ryan pushed his plate aside and opened an opal-studded cigarette case. “We need the ratings. They’re all terrific girls.”

  “They’re barracudas.” Chris had seen a lot of fortune hunters over the years. “They’re only after your money.”

  “Not only. They’re also after my body.” Ryan smirked and lit his cigarette. “Besides, Andersen marriages are always about money. You know that.”

  “True enough.” Chris’ father had been disinherited for marrying his mom. The Andersens had softened since those days, but bickering about money—who had it, who deserved it, which of Chris’ many relations had the greediest spouse—still dominated every clan gathering. “That doesn’t mean you have to marry a piranha.”

  “They’re tough competitors.” Ryan shrugged. “I think it’s cute.”

  “They act cute in front of rich bachelors.” That was why Chris kept his fortune a secret. “Nobody resort managers like me get a different performance.”

  “What’s wrong? Has one of my ladies turned down your advances?” Ryan blew smoke and grinned at Bobbie. “Remind me to tell you someday how hard it is to get laid when you’re a blond-haired, blue-eyed, tropical resort manager. So many women….”

  “…so little time,” Bobbie finished.

  Chris grimaced. “So many air conditioners to repair.” He stacked dishes for housekeeping. “Which reminds me. I plan to service the A/C in Building Five today.” As soon as he finished reviewing the booking reports. “Please warn your cute contestants, so they won’t drive us crazy with complaints.”

  “Do your maintenance tomorrow,” Ryan said. “I need a ride to St. Thomas today.”

  “There’s a public ferry every hour.”

  “Ah, but you need a ride to St. Thomas. We’ve got papers to sign. The ones promising you’ll take my place on the show in case of accidental death or dismemberment.”

  “I’ll do what?”

  “Pure legal formality,” Ryan replied smoothly. “I need an alternate bachelor to protect the production company against lawsuits. We were supposed to have done this weeks ago. I’m sure we discussed it.”

  Chris was sure they hadn’t. “What do I care if you’re sued?” But the answer was obvious. Vacation Bride was paying for improvements around the resort. If the production company went bust, those bills fell back on the Paradise, and there was not enough money in Chris’ operating budget to cover them.

  Ryan stubbed out his cigarette. Chris didn’t need to explain his determination to make the resort a success without dipping into family money. Ryan felt exactly the same about the production company.

  “OK,” Chris grumbled. “Fine. I’ll run you over.”

  “I knew you would.” Ryan stood and dropped his napkin on the table. “Anyway, we need your boat. There’s a roll of electrical cable to ferry back.” He offered Bobbie his hand. “Care to join us? I booked lunch at the Ritz.”

  “The Ritz? On St. Thomas?” His partner’s eyebrows knitted. “On our budget?”

  “Personal treat,” Ryan assured her. “Champagne, lobster. The chef has promised something quite spectacular involving flames and chocolate for dessert. Won’t cost the production company a cent.”

  “I see.” The woman rose gracefully and accepted his arm. “In that case, wild dolphins couldn’t drag me away.”

  Chapter Three

  Anna stepped down from an open air safari bus and squinted into the blinding St. Thomas sunshine. Scattered along the sparkling waterfront was every type of boat she’d ever imagined, from sailboats to luxury yachts to giant cruise ships that spilled tourists, like fanny-pack-carrying ants, into the shops and tents clustered around the wharf.

  She snapped a photo to send Diane and glanced back at the bus. “Watch out for the suitcases, Dad.”

  “I’m old and feeble.” Her father picked his way down the bus steps. “Not blind.”

  It had been a busy day. Upon arriving in the Virgin Islands, the new contestants had been met by the entire female cast of Vacation Bride and, to Anna’s dismay, a video crew who’d promptly whisked the twelve women, seventeen pieces of luggage, eleven personal stylists, and one dad into an open air safari bus for a publicity tour of the island. The roads were narrow. The cars drove nerve-rackingly on the wrong side of the road. And their bus driver—a young man convinced he’d never die—had cheerfully described every landslide and traffic accident that had claimed the life of an innocent tourist during the last twenty years.

  Anna didn’t care. She didn’t even mind being shoved and stepped on by the show’s veteran contestants. She’d been captivated by tropical hillsides, by riots of flowers spilling from the jungle, by the breathtaking contrast of cobalt ocean and stunning white sand. Even the manmade clutter of resorts, parking lots, and rusty cars held together by wire couldn’t spoil St. Thomas’ breathtaking beauty. Anna had worried the bumpy ride might tire her dad, but he’d been as excited by the warm breeze and sunshine as she was by color, especially after spotting the island’s sprawling green golf course. It did feel good, though, to get off the bus and onto the waterfront sidewalk.

  “All right, ladies!” the tour guide called in lilting Caribbean tones. “We meet four hours from now to take the ferry to St. John.” She passed an envelope of discount coupons and vouchers to each contestant. “Until then, you’re free to visit shops and restaurants in Charlotte Amalie.”

  “Shops?” Anna gripped her oversized handbag. Apart from Diane’s eighty bucks, she was broke. “Four hours of shopping?”

  “Awful, isn’t it?” Tiffany, the show’s top contestant for three weeks straight, addressed Anna. “This is our only chance to improve our wardrobes all week.” She peered over her sunglasses. “I don’t see how you’ll manage.”

  “Manage. Right.” Anna studied the rising red roofs of the town. Charlotte Amalie was famous for historic buildings, but it was also famously steep. No way she was going to drag her dad into that hillside maze. She turned away from Tiffany and thumbed through coupons, looking for something to do close to the waterfront. There was a coupon for one free cocktail at a nearby tourist trap. A fifteen dollar value. Anna shuddered. And a voucher for a round of putting—a ninety dollar value—at a place called Guilder Golf at the marina.

  “Excuse me?” Anna approached their guide. “Can we wait on the bus?” She wondered if she should mention her father’s illness. But he’d hate making a fuss. “Or go straight to the resort?”

  “There’s a public ferry,” the woman said. “But by the time you get to the terminal, catch the boat to St. John, and rent a taxi, you won’t beat us by much.”

  Or save very much money. “OK. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” The guide rejoined the video crew and the open bus rolled away.

  Anna squinted into the crowd of tourists at the wharf. “I guess it’s coupon adventure time.” She handed the envelope to her dad. “What looks good?”

  He flipped through vouchers, hesitated at Guilder Golf, and moved on. “Want to split an ice cream?”

  “Hey! Are you two heading to town?” Lani, another new contestant, ran over dragging the sister she’d brought as her stylist. “You want to go together? I have to buy a swimsuit for the race tomorrow.” She flashed an impish grin. “And I need to make sure my family won
’t disinherit me after they see the show.”

  “Make it a one piece,” Anna’s father suggested, “with a skirt.”

  “And matching sun hat and bathrobe. I know!” Lani laughed. “See? That’s the sort of advice I need!”

  “I can’t afford to shop,” Anna admitted. “And though I never thought I’d say this in February, it’s too hot to tramp up and down hills. I thought we’d find someplace cheap to sit down here and watch the boats.”

  “Cheap? Good luck! I hear even a bottle of water costs six bucks in this town.” Lani scrunched her forehead. “I know!” She rummaged through her own vouchers. “How about I swap my free gelato on the wharf for your cocktail at Amalie’s Bar and Grill up on Main Street?”

  “Sure.” Anna located the printed slip. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, everybody!” Lani waved her vouchers. “Let’s pool resources! Free drinks, free waxing, free lipstick, one complimentary admission to Coral World. Who wants what?” She organized the girls and began swapping papers in and out of manicured hands. Within minutes, Anna had traded a dozen coupons for drinks and appetizers she didn’t want for snacks at shops by the waterfront. She also—thanks to Lani—had seven putting vouchers for Guilder Golf.

  “My mom’s an 11-handicapper.” Lani winked. “I’m pretty sure I caught a golfer’s gleam in your father’s eye.”

  “You sure did! Thanks!” Anna hugged her. “Why don’t you text us pics of the swimsuits you try? Dad can give you his expert opinion.” They exchanged phone numbers, and then Lani and her sister scampered off with the other contestants.

  Anna stowed the coupons in her wallet and looped her arm through her dad’s. He’d grown so thin over the winter. This vacation simply had to make him well. “What’ll it be?” She forced an optimistic grin. “Ice cream, or Guilder Golf?”

  “I’m pretty sure we can get ice cream on the way to golf.”

  “Sounds like a plan!”

  Anna and her dad carefully crossed busy Veterans Drive for gelato, picked up free pretzels from one of the tents, and then strolled contentedly along the waterfront, snapping photos of picturesque buildings and boats. Simply walking together in the sunshine was lovely. Even better was watching her dad devour gelato, his pretzel, and half of hers. Anna couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten more than a bite or two of anything.

  Her phone chirped, delivering a picture of Lani in a stunning white bikini plus one word: disinherit?

  Anna’s dad took the phone and punched laboriously, You’re out of the will!

  “You really think Lani should buy a skirted swimsuit?”

  “I think if we start there, she might end up with something reasonable.”

  “Maybe.” Anna bit her lip, remembering her own chlorine-faded one piece. Tomorrow, she’d have to wear that in front of the cameras. “She’s nice. Lani. I hope she wins.”

  “What? You’re not after that rich playboy yourself?” Anna’s dad waved at the towering yachts tied up at the wharf. “You could buy your old man one of these.”

  “All I’m after is a tan.” Although the yachts were impressive, with their rows of decks and bristling antennas. Anna loved water. She’d been on and off boats on Lake Michigan all her life. But she’d never seen anything like these sea-going mansions. They walked along admiring the sights until they reached the entrance to Guilder Golf. Between a pair of mega-yachts—in a berth five times too big for it—a little pilothouse boat was loading a roll of cable.

  “Maybe we’ll buy you that one, Dad.” Anna grinned. The boat was perfectly respectable, but there was something funny about the way the mega-yachts frowned down on it, as if they were about to sprout arms and toss the intruder out to sea. Anna smirked, imagining the cartoon she might draw, and then squeaked in embarrassment when the captain glanced around and spotted her laughing. The man was good looking. A little under thirty, blue-eyed, sandy-haired, with the deep tan that comes from working outdoors. He crossed his arms and glared straight at Anna, who searched desperately for someplace to hide.

  “C’mon, Dad!” She pulled her father into the open doorway. “Those golf coupons are calling.”

  Guilder Golf turned out to be a cross between a tourist trap and a compact country club for people who came in on yachts. It had a video game room, a netted driving range, and six impeccably-manicured putting greens arranged around an outdoor bar with a view of the marina. Anna got her dad started on the putting green, purchased a diet cola for eight bucks, and found a place to sit overlooking the water. The little cargo boat had finished loading, she noticed. The captain paced back and forth, speaking into his phone. He looked tense and Anna wondered what was bugging him. Girlfriend? Parents? Tourists who laugh at his boat? She got the sketchbook out of her oversized bag. A few pencil strokes blocked in the handsome captain, silhouetted against his pilothouse.

  All at once, Anna noticed the boat’s name: Paradise One. She wondered if this man was going to ferry them to the Paradise Resort, in which case it might be awkward to be caught sketching his picture. On impulse, she grabbed her phone and took three quick photos while the captain’s back was partly turned.

  There. Nobody would ever know. She propped her phone on the table, tapped the screen to magnify the man’s impressive shoulders and then, after a quick glance to be sure her Dad was OK, settled in to draw.

  Chapter Four

  The problem with family was that sooner or later you ended up owing them, and they could be utterly ruthless about collecting the debt. Chris paced back and forth across the deck of Paradise One and scowled at his phone. Where the hell was his cousin? They’d signed the contest papers at their Uncle Henrik’s law office. Then Chris had returned to load supplies while Ryan and Bobbie ate lunch at the Ritz. But that was hours ago and Chris was feeling annoyed, feeling the pressure that came from mixing business with family.

  Of course, he really did owe his family everything. His mother, Doris, who’d worked tirelessly to support Chris after his father died. His cousin, Ryan, who’d dragged him, kicking and screaming, back into the Andersen family. His Uncle Jacob, who’d crashed his helicopter and made Chris into a billionaire. Chris clenched his fists, remembering. He was supposed to have been on that helicopter. At the last moment, fed up with endless arguments over money, he’d stormed off, abandoning three young cousins.

  He still had the last texts from nine-year-old Sophie: Why’d you leave us? I’m scared.

  Chris put his phone away. The crash wasn’t his fault. The fact his aunt and uncle might have behaved better if he’d stuck around didn’t make him a murderer. No amount of blaming himself would bring them back.

  Hell with it. He grabbed his laptop. Might as well get a sandwich. Chris leapt the short distance from his boat to the dock and strode to the entrance to Guilder Golf. It wasn’t the best or cheapest food in Charlotte Amalie, but he knew the staff, and they’d let him sit and work until Ryan showed up.

  Chris placed his laptop in its usual spot and waved to the manager. Too late, he spotted the cute tourist who’d been laughing at his boat. She had a nice face, fresh-scrubbed, with big eyes and brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Luckily, she was busy drawing on a sketchpad and didn’t notice him.

  Chris opened his computer and brought up the spreadsheets that ruled his existence.

  “Hey, mon. How’s it floatin’?” Roy, the bar manager, dropped a club sandwich on the table. “If I had myself a hotel full of beautiful women, I wouldn’t be lookin’ so glum.”

  “Your wife’s sisters are all beautiful,” Chris commented. “But I don’t see you laughing when they empty your water tank or blow the electrical fuses.”

  “You got a point.” Roy’s teeth flashed white. “But me, I’m a married man.” Recently married. With his first child on the way.

  Chris took a bite of his sandwich. “How’s Jeanine?”

  “Bored to death. Jeanine and me, we thought we’d take the day off tomorrow and come over to watch that swimsuit contest you got going at
the Paradise.”

  “Your pregnant wife wants to watch girls in bikinis?”

  “She says it makes her glad she got a reason to be fat.”

  “OK. Sure. Why don’t you stay for the barbeque?” Chris scribbled in a small waterproof notebook. Roy was a resort brat, like Chris. They’d practically grown up together, and Roy’s scratch band, The Roy-Als, was a popular favorite at the Paradise. Roy was the only person, apart from his mom, Chris had offered to help out of his inheritance, although neither one of them had accepted a single cent. “I’ll ask Doris to leave two tickets at the desk.”

  “Eight tickets,” Roy said. “We’re bringing all those beautiful sisters.”

  Chris changed his note. “Done.”

  “Thanks.” Roy slapped Chris’ shoulder and headed for the bar. He slowed beside the ponytailed tourist, glanced at her drawing, and turned back to Chris with surprise.

  What’s this? Roy jerked his thumb at the woman.

  Probably a snotty picture of the Paradise One. Chris grimaced, annoyed that he and his boat had made a bad impression on a pretty…er, silly…woman who thought he should own a yacht.

  Technically, Chris did own a yacht, though he hadn’t been on it in years. That was why he kept the slip at Yacht Haven Grande. After his uncle died, Chris had asked the captain to run the ship as a charter, partly because he and Captain Greta were old friends, partly because it infuriated his remaining uncles not to be able to hire her away. The charter just about broke even, except in months when Ryan booked a cruise.

  And on the subject of Ryan…. Chris returned his attention to his spreadsheet. His cousin’s reality series was cutting heavily into resort profits. He should have made Vacation Bride wait for the off-season, although the plumbing upgrades had not come one moment too soon.

  Chris’ phone buzzed. He picked it up, expecting Ryan, and found a text from Roy instead. Check this. A crooked photo revealed the tourist woman sketching…Chris blinked…sketching him. Sketching his back, at least, face in partial profile against the pilothouse of his boat. Chris raised his eyes and stared at the woman. She was young, early twenties, with an athletic body and winter-pale skin. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t even looking his way. Then how?