“I never thought I would get married so soon, and I know you never thought you’d get married at all,” I tell him, while our guests laugh. “But I’m very thankful for each and every circumstance that brought us here today.”
He nods at me, and I can tell he’s trying to choke back tears.
“I promise to be your wife and your faithful companion until my dying day,” I tell him. “I’ll help you with your business.”
At this, we both look at his father, who gives us the thumbs up sign. He’s had a good week and I think that now that things are settled with Charles and with Isaac, however long he has left will be well spent.
I look back at Isaac.
“I’ll help you in life, with whatever you need. And I’ll always be the most caring, compassionate, most down to earth, totally real bride that you married today.”
“And with that,” the officiant says, as everyone starts to clap. “I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your down to earth, totally real bride.”
And he does. Now and for the rest of our lives.
THE END.
Please enjoy the bonus books that follow.
If you miss Isaac and Veronica and want more of them, be sure to read the last bonus book entitled I Bought a Fake Fiancee. It contains Deleted Scenes from Sold as a Fake Fiancee, which includes Isaac’s wedding vows to Veronica told from his point of view, and their super steamy wedding night.
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Their Very Real Baby.
Sold on St. Patrick’s Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance
Copyright 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Dublin, Ireland – Early March
Chapter 1 – Jade
“Blaaaaaaaaarf!”
I hear the strange noise before I see the obviously intoxicated man who is making it. I gasp and jump out of his way as he’s lurching in my direction. His hair is sticking up like a mad scientist. His eyes are bloodshot red. He smells like a distillery.
His shoulders bump into mine but I manage to move out of his way. Doing so is a major feat that requires a combination step/ turn like something out of the ballet classes I haven’t taken since I was young. But I pull it off just in time for him to vomit on the ground instead of all over my clothes.
He falls down and no one bothers to help him up. It looks like he could use a nap so after making sure that he’s still alive— although clearly in a drunken stupor— I continue heading the way I was going before he so rudely interrupted.
“You guys!” I complain to Tessa and Monique, but they’re too far ahead of me to hear me call out to them.
I shake my head, still a bit discombobulated. The last thing I expected to happen in a movie theater— even an outdoor one— was for a stranger to nearly knock me over and almost throw up on me. But I should have known to be prepared.
When people say the Irish like to drink, they’re not exaggerating. In fact, that might be a little bit of an understatement.
“This is why I didn’t even want to come out tonight,” I mumble, as I mostly catch up with my friends.
But they’re too drunk themselves— and too busy hurrying to join the line at the bar to order more alcohol— to pay any attention to me. At this point I’m just talking to myself, which is probably for the best.
I wish my friends would have witnessed my expert maneuvering out of the path of the drunken stranger and his barf so that I could have bragging rights forever. But I’m glad they didn’t hear me complain. I don’t want to be a spoilsport and ruin their fun even though this isn’t my kind of scene.
I didn’t come to Dublin to partake in the famed pastime of drinking oneself silly, but instead to study Irish literature. I’ve spent the last three months reading Joyce, Yeats and Heaney and exploring museums.
But this is my last night here on my foreign exchange scholarship and tomorrow I must head back to Boston. So I let my friends take me out with them for once.
They’re girls I met in my class back at Boston University. When we found out we’d all be studying together in Dublin, we formed an instant friendship, even though we are completely different people.
We’re all obviously bookworms— being literature majors— but I’m the nerdy one while Tessa is the strong, take charge one and Monique is the fun party girl. We became flat mates and I enjoy their company but I don’t enjoy going out.
I thought that agreeing to go an open air cinema for a showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off would be a fairly tame— yet cold— event. I was right about it being cold, but not about much else.
The projector and comfortable, plush sofas are set up in the middle of Meeting House Square, which sounds like a place where fancy events are held— and often is. It looks almost like the courtyard of a Roman building, with columns all around and tent-like fabric that fails to shield us from the cruel March weather.
Everyone is wearing sweatshirts and huddled up next to their friends or lovers for protection from the elements. Except, of course, for the people too drunk to notice the temperature— including Tessa and Monique, who didn’t even bother to wear jackets.
“Why bother getting dressed up to go out if we’re just going to cover ourselves up with coats?” they had protested when I’d suggested it before we left.
“Good point,” I had answered.
I was talking about a different part of their point than they were. The part where it made no sense to get dressed up in skimpy clothes to go outside in cold weather. And perhaps I would extend that part to make a further point that it didn’t make sense to go out at all. Renting a movie and making popcorn is more my idea of a fun night.
But I would prefer to go to a movie over a bar so I was glad they had chosen to come here. I didn’t know, however, that on occasions such as tonight Meeting House Square was transformed into both an outdoor movie venue and a bar.
Nor that my friends planned to go bar-hopping all around Dublin’s Temple Bar Square area— which offers plenty of options for that goal— as soon as the movie ends. They have since filled me in on such plans.
I join Tessa and Monique in line but by the time we reach the front of it the movie is almost over.
“Three shots of whiskey with Coke backs,” Tessa tells the bartender, and my mouth drops open.
“Tessa, this is my first drink of the night,” I protest. “Can’t we start off with one of those girly martinis you made me last week while we were watching Shameless at the flat?”
“No way,” she says. “It took you forever to drink that and we need to hop on over to a bar.”
She pushes the shot glass in my direction.
“Hurry up and down this before Ferris’ parents come home and find him sound asleep in his bed,” she commands.
“Hey, no spoilers,” Monique says.
“Oh come on,” Tessa says. “Like we haven’t all seen this movie a thousand times.”
I roll my eyes, but I down the drink and then quickly chug the soda to chase down the bitter taste that burns my throat. I had planned to have fun tonight and so far I haven’t so I guess I should loosen up and this drink should help.
I deserve to have a fun last night in Ireland, I think, as I finish off the soda. And I also deserve to celebrate my escape from nearly being puked on.
I don’t know why I have to be so antisocial all the time. All night I’ve been wishing I could curl up on one of the comfy- looking sofas and read a book on my Kindle.
I didn’t dare speak that thought to my friends, however, and I know that they would rightfully make fun of me for having them. It’s supposed to be Girls’ Night Out. It’s supposed to be fun.
“Come on,” Tessa says, grabbing my hand and pulling me in the direction of the street. “Movie’s over. Time to party.”
The credits are still rolling and we didn’t get to the part where Ferris emerges from his room and tells everyone to go home. But clearly there are more pre
ssing matters at hand. Like partying. And whatever else the night has in store.
Chapter 2 – Jade
“Where to?” Monique asks, as we walk away from the open air cinema. “I’m down to do whatever tonight.”
“We have got to take her to Temple Bar, of course,” Tessa says. “After all, what would Temple Bar Square be without Temple Bar?”
“Just another random square,” Monique answers, and laughs.
“Or maybe a circle?” Tessa proposes.
They crack up and I laugh some too but they think it’s a lot funnier than I do because they’re a lot more wasted.
“You guys have been here before?” I ask, looking around to try to figure out exactly where we are.
There’s a party atmosphere that feels vibrant and busy. I’m glad it doesn’t seem like a sketchy place but it also doesn’t feel super safe.
Not being much of a partier— or any sort of partier at all— I’m not familiar with this area of Dublin. I want to make sure I know where we are. I have a feeling I’ll be leaving a lot earlier than these two party animals will be.
“Of course,” Monique says. “We come here all the time.”
“They have live music,” Tessa says. “And great food.”
“That’s good,” I nod. “I am getting hungry.”
“If I eat anything I’ll burst out of my dress,” Monique says. “I need to save my calories for more alcohol.”
“But Jade’s calorie meter is nearly on empty,” Tessa says, “Because she has barely had anything to drink all night.”
We enter the pub and I find that they were right: the band is great and the fish and chips are even better. I even order a pint of Guinness and a glass of Bailey’s to go with it because the waiter tells me that no Irish meal is complete without it.
We hit the dance floor and have a fun time trying to dance to the unfamiliar Irish music. After a couple more drinks I feel a bit woozy and I remember why I don’t like alcohol. I hate feeling out of control.
Monique and Tessa start flirting with some guys they keep calling “Irish lads.” But I hang back, always feeling shy and unsure of myself around men or anyone other than friends and family members with whom I feel comfortable.
When they start locking lips, I decide it’s the perfect time to take a break. I’m a sweaty mess from dancing and I am starting to get tired. I think about calling it a night but I decide to go sit down for a little while instead.
“I’m going to head to the little lassies’ room,” I tell Monique and Tessa, but they’re too busy making out on the dancefloor to pay me any attention— and once again I’m glad.
I go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I sit down on a bar stool near the exit, trying to decide what to do. My fingers instinctively reach into my purse where I keep my Kindle. I’m in the middle of a great book— William Trevor’s Love and Summer— and suddenly it seems a lot more appealing to me than making out with random strangers like my friends are doing.
I start to pull the Kindle out from my purse, wondering what kind of comments people might make about how lame I am, but just then Tessa comes up and grabs my arm. I nearly drop the Kindle but instead it falls back into my purse.
“Come on,” she says. “Gotta get out of here.”
I’m only too happy to oblige.
We run back into the square, Monique and Tessa laughing loudly and drunkenly.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. “Why did we leave?”
“Oh come on, like you care,” Monique practically snorts. “I saw you itching to read your Kindle in a bar.”
She erupts into another cackle of laughter.
“Were you really?” Tessa says, chuckling along with her.
Shit. I was hoping both had been too drunk to notice. I decide to focus the conversation back onto them.
“You both looked like you really into those guys. So why did you run out?”
“Oh please,” Monique says. “Mine decided to tell me he was married, after he decided to make out with me.”
“Ewwww,” I exclaim.
“I know, gross. He was like, ‘Oh hey can we go to your flat because my wife is home.’”
“Wow, that’s even worse.”
“Yeah, so it was definitely time to split. I don’t hook up with cheaters. Of course he wasn’t wearing a ring and I hadn’t thought to ask his marital status before we started locking lips. Note to self: never get to drunk to check on this first.”
“Was yours married too?” I ask Monique.
“No, he was just a really bad kisser, which is almost as big of a sin.”
Now I laugh heartily with them.
“But why were you trying to curl up with a book in the corner?” Monique asks me. “You didn’t even fill up your calorie meter with enough drinks.”
Tessa and I look at each funny and then Monique laughs.
“Is that even a thing? I don’t know. I’m drunk.”
“Seriously, Jade,” Tessa joins in. “What’s up with that? It’s not like you have to be DD or something.”
“I know,” I tell them, shaking my head. “I’m just…”
“What?” Monique asks, stopping on the street and turning towards me, seeming surprisingly more sober than she did just a few seconds ago when she talking about ‘calorie meters.’”
“I’m pathetic, I guess,” I tell them.
“No you’re not!” Tessa insists. “Don’t say that!”
“Well,” I shrug, shivering in the cold night air despite being the only one of the three of us sensible enough to be wearing a coat.
It’s an orange leather jacket I just bought last week while shopping on Grafton Street. It’s warm but I’m still cold. “I know college students and even high schoolers are supposed to be experimenting with everything under the sun but I just never have.”
“You never have what?” Monique asks.
I look at her and then at Tessa. Both of their eyes are bulging out, waiting for me to answer, as if I’m a rare specimen of 19 year old woman they’ve never seen before.
“I’ve never done a lot of things,” I confess. “I never drank before I came to Ireland where I’m legally allowed to do so.”
I start to explain myself. “I guess I was always afraid of getting in trouble. And I know it sounds lame but I like to be clear-headed so I can read…”
“No offense, but we kind of already knew that,” Tessa interrupts, and she and Monique both laugh. “I mean, you always ask us what’s in every drink and how everything tastes and stuff.”
“Remember when Tessa asked if you wanted an Irish car bomb and you said, ‘Do the Irish like to smoke weed in their cars?” Monique asks.
“Yeah,” I say, laughing with them.
“You thought I’d said Irish car ‘bong,’” Tessa explains, unnecessarily.
“To my defense, you were slurring your words,” I laugh.
“I’m sure I was,” she agrees. “I was already a couple Irish car ‘bongs’ in and I’d also had a hit or two from an actual bong. And you didn’t even want any of it.”
“Hey, I tried yours!” I say defensively. “I just hated the taste.”
“So what else haven’t you done?” Monique asks, her face taking on a serious expression again.
I can’t believe I’ve never told them any of my deep dark— or more like extremely innocent and boring— secrets. But we haven’t been friends for very long and I’m a private person. Plus, I just feel silly when I talk about it.
“I’ve never gone out and partied for like, gone to a bar even,” I confess. “I mean, before tonight of course.”
“I guess that’s kind of obvious too,” Monique snorts, as we all start laughing again. “Because you were like ‘What is Temple Bar?’ ‘Why is this square named the same thing as the bar— or is it the other way around?’ ‘Where in the world are we?’”
“Okay, so since you never had a sip of alcohol back in high school then I assume you’ve never done drugs either?”
Tessa asks, getting back to the business of interrogating me about my past experiences or lack thereof.
“Correct,” I respond, as if I’m on the stand under oath.
“Wow, what did people even do at your high school?” Monique asks.
I laugh again.
“Oh, my friends and I were band geeks and book nerds,” I shrug. “We liked to go to musicals and movies and such.”
Apparently I’ve seen Ferris Bueller one too many times, I think, but I don’t add that.
“Have you ever even…?”
Monique starts to ask, but Tessa nudges her and says, “Shhhh.”
“It’s okay,” I tell them, the liquor making me bolder. “I know what you’ve both been wondering.”
They want to know the answer to the Big Question. If I’m still a virgin. If I’ve had my first time. If my cherry’s been popped. And I’m feeling brave enough to tell them the answer.
Chapter 3 – Jade
I take a deep breath. This is it. The moment I confess my embarrassing secret to my friends.
“No,” I tell them, letting out a big breath as if I was just blowing up a balloon. “I’ve never even had sex.”
“Ooooh,” Monique says, as if she’s discovered a rare gem.
“Stop it,” I tell her, feeling stupid. “It’s really not that uncommon.”
“No,” she says, grabbing my hand in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant like, wow, I’m kind of jealous.”
“Really?” I ask, looking at her skeptically.
Her brown curly hair threatens to come loose from the crazy cinnamon bun- style hairdo propped on top of her head with bobby pins and hair spray. Her dark eyes look sincere.
“Really,” she says. “You’re a blank slate. You can have any kind of ‘first time’ that you want.”
“I sure wish I could go back and have my first time over again,” Tessa agrees.
“Why?” I ask her.
Sold as a Fake Fiancee: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance Page 8