Sweetheart Bride: A Tropical Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 2)

by Vicky Loebel

  “I’ve been thinking,” Ellie said, although thinking wasn’t what she was doing best at the moment, “we might need to be more convincing as a couple. I mean, physically. Right now, the situation feels awkward.”

  “Agreed.” His hands stayed loosely clasped behind her. “I haven’t wanted to presume.”

  “Me neither. But we’re adults. We should be able to touch each other without—” ripping our clothes off and racing for the nearest clump of shrubs. She coughed. “Without unrealistic expectations.”

  “Most people will tell you any expectations are unrealistic where I’m concerned.”

  “Nonsense.” Ellie leaned against him. His chest was warm and firm like she remembered, and for a brief instant she wished she could take off her top. Of course, there’d be no point unless he took his shirt off, too. “It’s a question of having the right expectations.”

  “About me?” He touched a finger to the nape of her neck. “Like what?”

  “Like, that you’re kind. That you worry about other people’s feelings more than your own. That you act careless because you don’t expect people to trust you.”

  His touch became a light caress. “Does that make you the trusting one?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t trust his casino. Ellie gazed at Ryan’s half-mocking smile. Half-mocking, half-wishful, totally sexy as hell. “I’m still working on trust.” She ran her knuckles along his jaw. “But I’d like you to kiss me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She felt his muscles bunch and lift her toward him, and then hands, feet, and thought were forgotten in the meeting of lips. Ellie clung to Ryan, opening her mouth with his. His face was smooth, arms crushingly powerful behind her. Her mind began to spin from lack of oxygen but she was totally lost in it, lost in him.

  “Ellie,” Gran called from the party. “Elliegator, you gotta get in on this.”

  Ryan recovered first, straightening his tie, using a pocket handkerchief to clean a smudge of lipstick. By the time Gran reached them, Ellie was perched more-or-less innocently on Ryan’s lap.

  “Ellie, they’re holding a dance-off. You two should enter.”

  “Oh.” Ellie looked down, embarrassed. She’d danced with Ryan when they were kids. Or rather, when she was a kid and he was a long-suffering teenager, dragged into babysitting activities at the Paradise Resort. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Of course we should.” Ryan set Ellie on her feet. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He escorted the ladies to the wooden dance floor where Oscar’s DJ booth was flashing neon purple and pink.

  “All right, dancers,” Oscar announced through a voice-deepening microphone. “Here’s how we roll. Sam’s judging. I’ll play tunes from different eras until we run out of either dancers or decades.” She waved a rhinestone-studded banana over her head. “Last couple on the floor gets the Big Banana until the next family occasion. Here we go….”

  The neon switched off and an easy foxtrot filled the air. Nearly everyone on the terrace joined in. Ellie accepted Ryan’s lead and began to sway and turn, hardly noticing what they did. She knew a few ballroom dances, thanks to those kids’ parties at the Paradise, but what if things got complicated? The couples around them looked really good. What if Ryan wanted to win?

  The foxtrot merged into a tango and Ellie winced self-consciously. She’d danced the tango at those children’s parties, too, twirling dramatically across the floor with a rose in her teeth while Chris or Ryan waited with long-suffering patience to swoop her, squealing, into the air.

  Ryan did three quick reverses and dipped. Across the terrace, Bekka hooked one leg around Carl Andersen’s waist and arched her head all the way back to the floor. Ryan, catching sight of them, put his foot wrong and tripped Ellie. They staggered sideways and almost fell.

  “Sorry, kids.” Sam chalked a big ‘X’ on Ryan’s jacket. “You’re out.”

  They weren’t the only ones. Chalk-marked couples were dropping fast as Oscar mischievously slowed and sped the music. To Ellie’s annoyance, Carl and Bekka kept pace like pros. But to her pleased delight, so did Frankie-Baby and Gran.

  The tango became a Charleston. Ellie and Ryan collected champagne and clapped for Chris and Anna’s energetic, if imperfect, moves. The couple scampered off the floor two steps ahead of Sam’s chalk and joined Ryan and Ellie at the bar. Anna wasn’t drinking, Ellie noticed. A wry smile exchanged over club sodas confirmed the reason, while an amused shrug indicated Ryan hadn’t yet figured out he was going to be a godfather.

  The contest took a break. Then it was onto the floor for a 1940s-style jitterbug. Ellie cheered while Gran and Frank jumped, jiggled, and jived. Anna’s dad, who appeared to be something of a ladies’ man, joined the group at the bar with someone Ellie didn’t know on his arm.

  “Your pop—that Carl fellow—is a good dancer,” Anna’s father told Ryan.

  “Three time mid-Caribbean champion.” Ryan turned and ordered a triple whiskey, but after a sip, he set the glass on the bar and put his arm around Ellie.

  She squeezed him sympathetically. “Maybe Lucas can handcuff your dad and Bekka together.”

  “No need. They’re joined at the hip.”

  Hips, hands, elbows, shoulder blades. Not always the same body part, but they were constantly touching. Ellie stood between the dancers and Ryan, feeling protective. If it had been some random female, the way they danced would have been tacky, but with his son’s supposed ex-girlfriend? The woman Carl wanted Ryan to marry?

  The jitterbug ended with three couples on the floor, Carl and Bekka, Frank and Gran, and a much younger pair from Denmark whose names Ellie couldn’t remember.

  Van and Cherry arrived with foaming steins of dark beer. “I’d forgotten what a tough DJ Oscar is.” Van toasted his wife and they polished off half their beer in unison. “You think she’ll make them breakdance?”

  Ryan glanced at his father. “Not if she plans to collect her allowance.”

  “OK.” Oscar flicked switches and the neon came on again. “Last song. Tonight’s sudden-death dance challenge is” —a mirrored silver ball began to spin— “disco if you dare!”

  The music rose. Revolving points of light spilled across the terrace and over the wall. The birds on Ellie’s dress glowed brilliantly under black light. On the dance floor, Frank struck a John Travolta pose while Gran thrust a hip sideways and crossed her arms. Bekka, in tottering stilettos, tugged her dress off of one shoulder and led Carl into position by his necktie.

  Oscar blew short shrill disco blasts on a whistle, and then the thumping strains of “Stayin’ Alive” rolled through the air. The young Danish couple, clearly confused, tried some experimental techno moves and got the chalk.

  People began to cheer and call out names.

  “Frankie! Go, Gran!” Ellie grasped Ryan’s arm and bounced excitedly, watching the couple split apart to boogie side-by-side. Meanwhile, Carl took a series of striking Egyptian poses while Bekka circled him like a stripper pole, yanking her split skirt, swinging her stiletto heels past his face in sweeping standing splits.

  “Go, Gigi!” Ryan joined Ellie, cheering. Bass notes throbbed. Colored lights flickered and changed from yellow to red to blue. Sam watched the couples, holding his chalk. Ryan’s father was the most polished dancer, and Bekka…. Ellie had to admit she’d never seen anyone kick so high. But for pure sassy enjoyment Gran couldn’t be beat, and Frank had the authentic strut of someone who’d spent years at the disco.

  The music began to build to a conclusion. Gran and Frankie boogied apart. Sam nodded decisively and headed for Carl.

  “Sam Parker-Andersen,” Bekka screeched. “If you so much as wave that chalk, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”

  Frank took two running steps, dropped to his knees, and slid with open arms toward Gran. He clasped her thighs right as the music ended. The terrace erupted in applause.

  Sam helped Frank stand and raised the couple’s joined hands. “Congratulations to our Big Bananas.�
�

  Ellie ran over and hugged her grandmother. “You were amazing.” After a slight hesitation, she hugged the gasping Frank as well. “You, too. Where did you learn to disco?”

  “A guy owed me a favor.” Frank sucked in an enormous breath. “I got to be an extra in Saturday Night Fever. But it’s been a while.”

  “Well, well.” Bekka stalked over shoving Carl Andersen in front of her. “Congratulations, Gigi. Frank. That was quite a performance. Can I get the two of you anything? A sarsaparilla? Or maybe a rocking chair?”

  “I’d like a chair,” Ryan’s father growled. “And a drink, too.”

  “I cannot say,” Bekka told Gran, “how happy I am Ellie’s joining our…um…Carl’s family. I’ve always considered the Andersens to be my flesh and blood.” She turned and glared at Ryan. “When’s the big day?”

  He shrugged. “We’re not in any hurry.”

  “But not too long, I hope? Not for two people so obviously in love. Because you know how bad you are at waiting.” She smiled at Ellie. “You better nail him down quick before he meets a better prospect.”

  “I appreciate the advice from someone so experienced at getting nailed.”

  Ryan’s father was beginning to turn purple. “I agree with Bekka,” he choked out finally. “The sooner you two are married the better. It will be a relief to finally see Ryan settled.”

  “Us too,” Gran chimed in unexpectedly. “We vote soon, too. Frankie and me are getting hitched this weekend. We could make it a double wedding.”

  “What?” Ellie stared at her grandmother. “You’re marrying Frank?”

  “He’s taking me on a round-the-world tour.” Gran wrapped her arms affectionately around the man’s thick neck. “We thought we’d make it legal first.”

  Ellie’s world was spinning out of control. She looked at Ryan, who appeared to be swallowing a brick. “We haven’t planned anything,” she said desperately. “Where would we even hold a wedding?”

  “Registry office, same as us,” Frank suggested. “We’re going to do a picnic breakfast afterward with Gigi’s friends.”

  “What’s this?” Henrik’s husband Sam joined them. Tall, silver-haired, as elegant as Henrik but with a sturdy competence that seemed to sweep troubles away. “A registry wedding? For Carl’s eldest? Sorry, but that’s simply unthinkable.”

  “Right.” Ellie sighed slowly. At least someone here had sense.

  “We could hold it Saturday at Villa Louisa though.” Sam tapped his chin.” The weather’s supposed to be clear by then, and the outdoor terrace is as big as any ballroom.” He smiled at Gran and Frank. “A double wedding is perfect. Doris and I will handle everything.”

  “But—” Ellie said, at the exact instant Ryan shouted, “Wait!”

  He swallowed visibly. “Thank you, everyone. Ellie and I appreciate your enthusiasm. Sam, there’s nobody I’d rather have plan my wedding than you and Doris, but—”

  “But nothing.” Carl Andersen cut him off. “It’s a good plan.” He turned to Sam. “Do it.”

  “Hot damn.” Gran rubbed her hands enthusiastically. “There’s three bridal stores by the cruise ship port that specialize in rush orders. We can get matching gowns. I call dibs on Doris as bridesmaid.”

  Chris’ mother smiled. “Perhaps matron of honor.”

  “That works.” Gran clapped Doris’ shoulder. “Anna can be one of our bridesmaids.”

  “And I’ll personally make sure,” Bekka contributed, “all Ryan’s girlfriends find out he’s temporarily out of circulation.”

  “But—” Ryan gurgled.

  “Unless,” his father said, “you don’t want to get married. Unless you’re just fooling around.”

  Ellie gripped Ryan’s hand in rising panic. How had this happened? A flood of voices, of helpful wedding tips, washed over them.

  “Will everyone please stop?” Ryan held up his palm. “Seriously. Stop. Ellie and I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we don’t need to be rushed—”

  “Ryan,” Henrik asked quietly. “Do you intend to marry this young lady or not?”

  His grip on Ellie tightened. “Yes, sir.”

  “Ellie, do you have reservations about marrying Ryan?”

  Henrik Andersen was not the sort of person she could lie to. Ellie considered her answer. She had plenty of reservations, but strangely, they weren’t about Ryan. “No, sir,” she answered slowly. “I’m just surprised.” She wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten here, but she wouldn’t embarrass Ryan in front of his family. “If we can really arrange a wedding by Saturday that’s…um…great.”

  “OK.” Ryan pulled Ellie to him. “OK, we surrender. Saturday it is.” A circle of relatives crowded in, congratulating, offering advice, slapping his back.

  Ellie stuck a smile on her face and held it there. For the second time in her life, she was going to hold a fake wedding with Ryan.

  She crossed her fingers, hoping this time nobody would get paddled with a geography book.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ryan had always assumed he’d end up in a loveless marriage. Some kind of practical arrangement designed to add a few leaves to the Andersen family tree without driving anyone completely crazy in the process. He’d even gone so far as to offer himself as first prize on a wedding reality show at the Paradise Resort and then ruined everything by losing his head and eloping. And what a soul-searing pit-of-Hell experience that turned out to be.

  He lit a cigarette and pushed an estimate for steel I-beams to one side on the desk. Outside his private office, last night’s promised rain whipped the beach in front of Villa Louisa into a gray frothing frenzy.

  There had been plenty of examples of loveless marriages in his family. From the Danish Andersens who, if not without love, were at least frighteningly stern, to the Caribbean branch which was more-or-less shot through with matrimonial mayhem.

  Of course, there were exceptions. Chris had Anna—a nice girl for a nice, slightly unimaginative guy—and Van had Cherry—a smart lady for a well-meaning dope. Could someone as idealistic as Ellie make up for Ryan’s widely recognized defects?

  It doesn’t matter. We won’t have a real marriage.

  The thought depressed him. He’d sunk from a probable marriage-of-convenience to an actual marriage-of-lies, and while he was more than willing to take advantage of his relatives from time to time, he’d never actually been dishonest. Ryan’s system had always been to admit he was taking advantage of people and then charm them into liking it. He almost wished Ellie had exposed him last night, had slapped his face and broken their engagement, because the idea of dragging her into something ugly made him sick.

  But Ellie hadn’t slapped him. She’d held his hand and agreed to marry him.

  Ryan switched on his desktop computer and brought up the old familiar pictures of his parents’ wedding at Villa Louisa. The beach, the flowers, the crazy 20th-century hair. Carl and Louisa beamed at each other with the confidence of two people who were deeply in love. He skimmed through photos, sampling ten years of life. Family parties, Ryan’s birth and christening, Louisa’s exhibitions, travel abroad. Bit by bit his mom’s expression grew more and more troubled, his father’s more remote.

  The outside door opened, admitting Oscar in a gust of damp air. Her hair was green and pink today, pulled into Sailor Moon pigtails, and as an additional fashion statement she’d worn short lederhosen complete with deerskin straps.

  “I thought you gave up smoking,” she said.

  He had, almost. “That was exercise.” He crushed the butt. “What’s up?”

  “Mrs. Jamala’s gone into a baking frenzy.” Oscar deposited a plate of cookies on Ryan’s desk. “She says if no one eats these by noon she’s quitting.”

  “Our guests have gotten her riled up.” In addition to him, Oscar, Lucas, and Ellie, they now had Frank and Gran at the villa, with more of Ryan’s cousins expected by the wedding. “She’s afraid we’ll hire a chef and she’ll miss her chance to do some serious cooking
.” Ryan selected an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. Real butter, real eggs, imported European chocolate. Just like mom’s servants used to bake.

  Oscar peered at the slideshow on Ryan’s screen. “It still upsets you, huh?” She watched their relatives fade in and out. “Louisa’s marriage of doom?”

  “Not usually.” The frozen years flicked by. “I’m feeling uncharacteristically responsible this morning. How about your own mother’s doomed marriage?”

  “The witch Esmerelda?” She shook her pigtails. “No way. They were together what, three months after I ruined mom’s figure? Most of it fighting?”

  All of it fighting, as far as Ryan recalled. Esmerelda had been prone to screaming and breaking vases while Carl had unleashed his usually well-controlled anger and taken to smashing furniture.

  “Anyhow,” Oscar said, “my mom’s alive, which makes it easier to be glad she’s not around. Plus, I got a pretty decent brother out of the deal.” She punched his arm. “And I kept Dad.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “He’s not so tough on me. Everyone says you’re like Louisa. I think it worries him.”

  “Horrifies, you mean.”

  “Partly.” She hopped onto Ryan’s desk and put the cookies in her lap. “The only time he ever gets really drunk is when you’re off adventuring. Cliff diving. Free climbing. Your sprint-boat racing career had him on triple doses of Xanax.”

  Ryan had forgotten about the sprint boats, although he remembered the compound fracture that ended his last race. “I didn’t know about the drinking.” Or that he’d been leaving Oscar to deal with it alone. “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem.” She placed another cookie in Ryan’s mouth. “Next time you cliff dive, take me along.”

  “I’ll think about it.” He’d like a nice cliff now. The simple life-and-death challenge of making a climb without a safety rope. The moment, looking down, when nothing mattered except surviving the fall. Instead, he had a casino with tons of bills and complicated paperwork, a trust that would make or break his financial future, a web of lies.