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

by Vicky Loebel

  “No.” She shook her head slowly. “I won’t marry you. Ever.”

  “That’s it?” Juan Esteban pocketed the keychain. “You steal your friends’ education so easily?”

  “You stole it.” His students had let him steal it. They hadn’t been careful enough. Ellie waved her hand at her bridal dress. “But you’re not going to steal this.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Henrik, resplendent in formal dress, had come to give her away. “Ellie?” His voice was soft, the look he passed over her companions, laser sharp. “Is something wrong?”

  “Indeed it is—” Juan Esteban began.

  “No.” Bekka pinched him. “Of course not. We popped in to give Ellie our best.”

  “Perhaps your best would be better delivered from your seats.” Henrik smiled. “Lucas? Will you escort them?”

  The bodyguard took a grip on Juan Esteban’s elbow. “Gladly.”

  All that money. Ellie dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling guilty. All our college degrees. Her friends had worked with her, depended on her, and she was letting them down. Just like she’d let down the villagers who worked at Vista de la Selva when she had to close the eco-resort.

  How long would it be before she let Ryan down, too?

  “Is something wrong, my dear?” Henrik asked. “Do you need more time alone?”

  “It’s not that.” Ellie gulped. “It’s…. I don’t feel like I deserve him.” She blinked at Henrik’s kind face. “I’m not sure I deserve to marry Ryan.”

  “Ah.” He reached out with long fingers and lowered her veil. “That is precisely the reason you do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ryan waited with his best man, Chris, among the lengthening shadows on the beach in front of Villa Louisa, currently filled to bursting by guests seated in padded chairs. Behind him stood a low wedding platform framed by pillars wrapped in twining white and gold roses. On the opposite side, Frank fidgeted beside his own best man, a heavy-set ex-fighter with a cauliflower ear. To one side, a grand piano sprinkled Satie preludes over the murmuring surf, while ahead a temporary plank walkway waited to transport the bridal party across the sand.

  Ryan tugged his shirt cuffs straight unnecessarily. He was surprised by how many friends and relatives had shown up for the wedding—the final guest count was close to six hundred, including a couple hundred business acquaintances his father insisted on inviting. Ryan was even more surprised by how nervous he felt. He’d been married before, but that had been an elopement, a pledge of eternal love that lasted all of three days. He and Ellie were not promising eternal anything, and yet this felt so much more real.

  “Your tie is crooked.” Lars, a ponytailed copy of his older brother Lucas, strode up and loomed over Ryan. “And your cuffs are getting all mussed.” He pulled out Ryan’s tie and re-knotted it.

  “What?” Ryan hid his sleeves behind his back, frowning. “Shouldn’t you be arresting people or something?”

  “The firm has twelve people on security detail right now.” Lars tucked Ryan’s tie in place and gave it an irritating pat. “Don’t you remember? I’m staying at Villa Louisa as your guest.”

  “And by the strangest coincidence,” Chris murmured, “so is Anna’s friend, Lani.”

  Ryan ought to have jumped on that. He felt the others wait for a sarcastic comment, but he wasn’t feeling particularly witty. “Are you done?” He straightened his cuffs again.

  “Not quite. You’re wearing one black sock and one brown.”

  Dammit. Ryan glanced at his socks and scowled at Chris. “You’re my best man. You weren’t supposed to let me out in public like this.” How long would it be until Ellie appeared? Minutes. Seconds possibly. Not enough time to run inside and change.

  Lars shook his head, laughing. “Relax. Nobody’s going to be looking at you.”

  “Besides,” Chris added, “it shows a proper romantic spirit. Ryan Andersen—too distracted by love to coordinate his hosiery. It’ll probably make the papers.”

  “I’m not….” Ryan squinted at the terrace, forgetting his words. The bridesmaids, dressed in gold, were assembling on the lower staircase. He spotted Gigi behind them in her wedding dress, but there was no sign of Ellie. Had she come to her senses? Changed her mind? Picked this moment to flee for her life? He’d heard her ex-boyfriend was hanging around town with Bekka but had neglected to send Lucas to strangle them.

  Ryan’s chest tightened as he considered what Bekka might try. What if they had cornered Ellie and convinced her marrying him was a mistake? That might not be too difficult, now that he thought about it. It probably is a mistake. Ryan ought to find Ellie and warn her himself. Who knew better than he did how unreliable he was, how unworthy of trust.

  Piano music rose and blended into a chorus of strings. Somebody’s kid toddled along the plank walkway throwing rose petals at the crowd. Lars took his seat as Chris nudged Ryan onto the wedding platform, and then the ladies appeared, Doris, followed by Anna and Lulu, followed by Uncle Henrik with a bride on each arm. Sunlight slanting across Villa Louisa lit the tops of their veils.

  Ellie’s hand came to his and Ryan’s doubts faded. The honorable reverend began to preach about family, commitment, and love. Ryan had known family and seen it smashed on the rocks. He’d made commitments and watched them crumble and fail. He’d thought he loved before, but it had always been a mirage—a trick of light, a whiff of perfume that vanished in the breeze.

  “For better or worse,” the reverend recited, “for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” For honesty’s sake, they’d asked to leave out until death do us part.

  “For better or worse…” Ryan repeated. He’d expected to feel hypocritical, saying the words, but here beside Ellie his heart warmed. “For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” These were real promises, things he believed. He heard the clarity in his voice, the strength in Ellie’s when it was her turn to speak, and knew they’d keep this vow, whatever else happened.

  “…you may kiss….”

  Ryan lifted the veil from Ellie’s beaming face and scooped her into his arms. Beside them, Frank copied Ryan’s move and picked up Gigi. The wedding guests cheered as both couples kissed. Wracked by tenderness, Ryan set Ellie on the ground and kissed her again. Dusk settled over the beach. Colored lights flowed to life above a sea of white banquet tables on the terrace. The wedding march began to play.

  Ryan tucked Ellie’s arm firmly in his and escorted her down the aisle. He didn’t know what sort of life they were heading to, or how long it would last, but he was pretty certain he was the luckiest man alive.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Well.” Gran plopped herself into an overstuffed chair in the ladies’ lounge at Villa Louisa. It had been one of seventeen guest suites when the house was built. But when Ryan started renting the grounds out for events, Mrs. Jamala had converted the suite into an elegant haven of sofas, full-length mirrors, and soft lights.

  “Well,” Gran repeated, “I think it’s safe to call our little shindig a hit.”

  Chris’ wife, Anna, collapsed onto a sofa. “It’s been fun, but I’m pooped.” She aimed a salute at a tall vase of flowers. “Launch the lifeboats without me, mateys. I’m going down to Davey Jones’ Locker with the ship.”

  Lani brought Anna a glass of fruit-infused water. “Hang on, cap’n. We’re about to cut the cake.”

  “I think I’m sinking, too.” Ellie straightened the pastel pleats of her reception dress. Her beautiful opal pumps had been swapped hours ago for low heels. “I’ve danced with more men tonight than the whole rest of my life.”

  Gran cackled. “Certainly kissed a lot more of ’em.” According to Danish custom, the bride and groom were alternately lured away from the party so guests could sneak kisses with whichever newlywed remained behind. Right now, Frank and Ryan were puckering up, giving the ladies a much needed break.

  There had been other Danish customs, too, from cutting up the grooms’ socks and ties with scissors,
to the circle of guests that danced closer and closer, squeezing the new couples until they were forced to embrace. Even the ten-course dinner had involved vigorous activity. When guests clinked their glasses, the bride and groom had to climb onto chairs to kiss, and they had to smooch under the table whenever the guests stamped their feet.

  All good fun, but Ellie was starting to feel like a jack-in-the-box. She yawned. “At least all those relatives aren’t staying at Villa Louisa.” She and Ryan, on the other hand, were. It hadn’t been practical to go anywhere given the tight deadline on the casino. And it’s not like we’ll be on a real honeymoon….

  Would they?

  Ellie wasn’t sure. All those not-so-stolen kisses, all the dizzying swoops and swirls, dancing in Ryan’s arms after the ceremony, had almost made her forget the marriage was fake. And she had the sense Ryan was forgetting it, too. There’d been an eerie shared moment as they spoke their vows. They’d deliberately purged the ceremony of any promise to be permanent. But when she’d heard Ryan’s voice, when she’d repeated the reverend’s words herself, Ellie’s heart whispered forever.

  What if it wasn’t a fake marriage? What if we’re really a couple? Could she respect Ryan after he built the casino? Would his heart break if she made him stop? There didn’t seem to be a solution. One of the two things she cared most about—her island home and her new husband—was going to have to be sacrificed. Ellie ought to be wringing her hands in worry. Instead she found herself floating on a crazy current of optimism.

  I promised to trust him. They’d figure something out.

  “Pardon me, ladies.” Ryan, devilishly handsome in perfectly cut evening clothes, leaned his arm on the doorframe and Ellie’s blood drained from her head. His gaze met hers and she felt a fierce rush of devotion.

  Ryan smiled mildly, but his eyes were fierce too. “We’re being summoned for a last kiss before we cut the cake.” Outside, guests were stamping their feet on the terrace. Gran and Ellie joined Frank and Ryan, and the two couples scurried playfully into the crowd. They made a show of dashing from one table to the next, swapping partners, zigzagging and running in circles while people laughingly blocked them from ducking low to kiss. At last Frank grasped the cloth on the dessert table and yanked it clean out from under the wedding cakes. Cries of horror became a standing ovation. He pulled the tablecloth over both couples and they made their final kiss to enthusiastic applause.

  Gran and Ellie picked up cake-serving knives. This being the Virgin Islands, they had not one cake but three—a traditional five-tiered American cake filled with strawberries and whipped cream, a Danish marzipan Kransekage that resembled a traffic cone made out of iced donuts, and a three-layer Virgin Island black cake, soaked in rum and decorated with formal English icing. The couples took turns cutting small slices, carefully feeding each other bites—Sam and Doris had strictly outlawed cake smashing—and then they surrendered dessert service to the professionals.

  The catering staff began racing energetically to deliver cake and coffee to six hundred guests. Without discussing it, Ellie and Ryan slipped into the kitchen and hurried through the house and out one of the doors facing the hill. They ran laughing along a covered service breezeway, past the gated driveway and twelve-car garage, to the isolated private studio.

  Ryan stopped at the door and Ellie bumped into him. That was nice. She bumped again more deliberately, seeking his shoulders, mouth, and chest, feeling the flow of heat that was Ryan’s thigh pressed to hers. Music echoed from the terrace, the clink of forks and glasses all but washed away by the unending surf.

  “Well,” Ryan said between kisses. “Want to open the door?”

  “Me?” Ellie placed her thumb on the lock, which clicked open obediently. Inside, the studio was much as she remembered—Louisa’s artwork, floor-to-ceiling windows, the long worktable with Ryan’s half-finished architectural models. The door to the master suite was ajar revealing—Ellie’s knees wobbled—an enormous white bed, surrounded by tiers of glowing candles.

  But—Ellie blinked as the main lights came up—the big room held something new. Next to Ryan’s table along the far wall, he’d added a luxurious workspace complete with bookcases, cabinets, and a built-in mahogany desk.

  “My collection!” Ellie ran over and began opening drawers. The shelves and cupboards had been stocked with neatly arranged sketchpads, seashells, and books—all the treasures she’d had to leave behind at Gran’s. Above the desk hung a new framed lithograph of a suspended walkway vanishing into the rain-forest canopy. It wasn’t Ellie’s camp, Vista de la Selva, but it was similar enough to raise a lump in her throat.

  Ryan’s arms folded gently around her. “I hope you don’t mind me getting your stuff out of storage. Doris and Gigi organized everything.”

  “It’s wonderful.” She pivoted into Ryan’s embrace. “You’re wonderful.” His jaw, faintly raspy, caressed her eyes, cheeks, and nose. Ellie inhaled the scent of bay rum mixed with clean linen and sweat and thought she could live on it forever. “And all I got you,” she murmured, nibbling Ryan’s collarbone, “was this dress.”

  “I love that dress.” Ryan pushed Ellie out to arm’s length. “Take it off.”

  Her mind locked. She would have stripped naked immediately if she had the will to move. Instead her body turned to warm honey as Ryan pulled her into his arms. Blazing fingertips lit the back of her neck, burning lips found her throat. She wrapped one leg around him, craving closeness, Ryan’s strong hand found her thigh. Cold air trickled between Ellie’s shoulder blades while Ryan slowly, sensuously, unzipped her dress. The delicate fabric pooled at her feet, leaving nothing except a strapless bra and half-slip.

  Ellie helped Ryan out of his tuxedo jacket and waistcoat. He detached his suspenders and she undid the mother-of-pearl buttons of his dress shirt one by one. They spent a long moment staring, drinking each other in, and she couldn’t decide which was sexier—the sight of Ryan, bare-chested before her, or the way the look in his eyes made her feel.

  “Bedroom?” She kept the squeak out of her voice.

  He kissed her knuckles. “Not yet. There’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Um.” Ellie didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to face their troubles tonight. “Um, OK.” She collected her wits while Ryan steered her to his worktable. It was a messy space, in a controlled-chaos sort of way, with jumbles of foam core board, T-squares, pencils, and paints. Several good water color pictures of—Ellie couldn’t help grimacing—Casino Paradise were tacked to the wall. The table was dominated by a three foot tall model of the building, complete with rooftop garden, rain catchments, and all the ecological details she’d recommended. He’d set it on a base that matched Gran’s property, from the sloping hillside behind the building to the sandy beach lapped by frozen 3D-printed waves, even including the poisonous manchineel tree.

  Ellie examined the long pier sticking out from the beach. Ten boats, twenty, could tie up at once, spilling fuel, killing coral, dumping loads of careless gamblers onto the shore. The more she looked, the worse she felt. This wasn’t simply about money or proving himself to his father. For Ryan, Casino Paradise was a labor of love, and Ellie hated it.

  “Very impressive.” She wished they’d gone straight to bed, wished her mind wasn’t filling with pictures of destruction and waste, of Gran’s family property becoming the poster child for ecological disaster. “You’re very talented.”

  “That’s what I keep telling people.” Ryan leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “But it’s not my best quality.”

  “No?” She couldn’t understand his light tone.

  “I’m affectionate, generous, enthusiastic, almost superhumanly sexy.” He flexed his bare pecs and Ellie half laughed, half swooned. “And,” Ryan finished, “I’m exceptionally tall.”

  “What are you…five-ten? Five-eleven?”

  “Hush, woman. No man ever admits to less than six feet. Let’s say, I’m a giant among moderately tall men.”

 
The air conditioning was chilly. She looked around for her dress.

  “I’m also considerate.” Ryan removed his white shirt and draped it over Ellie’s shoulders, surrounding her in his masculine scent. “Passionate.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “Loyal.”

  She shivered. “So’s a dog.”

  “But my finest quality is flexibility.” Ryan executed a small self-critical shrug. “Well, it can be a defect. Without a sensible wife to keep me focused, my projects tend to derail.”

  A sensible wife? “You’re sort of confusing me.”

  “I know.” His eyes brightened. “It’s for dramatic effect.” He waved at the elaborate model. “So, how far do we need to reduce our fifteen-story casino to make it acceptable?”

  Our casino. “Honestly?”

  He lifted off the rooftop garden and set it aside. “Twelve stories?” He’d cut the model into horizontal sections as if in preparation for this moment. Ryan removed the top five stories and restored the roof. “Ten?”

  Ten stories. At least five hundred gamblers. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “It’s still too big.”

  “I’m still flexible.” He reduced the height to eight stories.

  “I wish I could say it’s enough.”

  “Let’s try six.” He removed two more floors and reassembled the model. This time the building fit the scale of the hill. The painted windows reflected sea and greenery. The rooftop garden blended into the land. “That’s probably as small as we can go,” Ryan admitted, “without losing our shirts on construction.”

  Six stories. About three hundred guests. Not much bigger than the Paradise Resort. “It might be workable,” Ellie admitted. “As long as you cut the boat dock in half.” She still didn’t like the idea. People would be coming to gamble, not to enjoy St. John. But at least the project wouldn’t destroy the whole island. “Are you serious about this? Will CasParDev go along with the change?”