by Ava Claire
The Billionaire's Forever (His Submissive, Part Twelve)
The Billionaire's Forever (His Submissive, Part Twelve)
Midpoint
The Billionaire’s Forever (His Submissive, Part Twelve)
Ava Claire
Copyright 2013 Ava Claire
SMASHWORDS EDITION
The His Submissive Series
The Billionaire’s Contract (Part One)
The Billionaire’s Touch (Part Two)
The Billionaire’s Passion (Part Three)
The Billionaire’s Heart (Part Four)
The Billionaire’s Girlfriend (Part Five)
The Billionaire’s Secret (Part Six)
The Billionaire’s Lust (Part Seven)
The Billionaire’s Promise (Part Eight)
The Billionaire’s Desire (Part Nine)
The Billionaire’s Past (Part Ten)
The Billionaire’s Trust (Part Eleven)
The Billionaire’s Forever (Part Twelve)
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****
Getting the chance to drive Jacob's 'baby' should have been a momentous occasion. I'd fallen in lust with the Maserati the moment I saw it. With its smooth lines, contours and an engine that you could feel vibrating all over your body, I often imagined what it would feel like to wrap my hands around the steering wheel. To feel the wind whipping my hair as I set the asphalt on fire.
Instead, when he handed me his keys and opted to drive my Sonata, all I felt was an aching wariness. Apparently Alicia Whitmore ‘didn’t do sports cars’. She looked even less thrilled about riding in my sedan.
I watched Jacob ease his mother into the passenger seat then slide behind the wheel. I took a few steadying breaths and started the Maserati, following their car to Alicia’s hotel.
Before you think I'm the worst, I was thrilled when she made a quick recovery. The doctor said she was practically at a hundred percent and green-lit her discharge from the hospital. I couldn’t have been happier--for both human decency and selfish reasons. Selfishly because it meant Jacob could spend more time at home instead of the hospital. And I had compassion for the woman and was genuinely glad that she'd recovered after the heart attack and was doing well enough to be released.
It didn’t change the fact that I had an unsettling feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Her clean bill of health also meant she was doing well enough to make good on her promise to give me and Jacob ‘the best wedding since the royal affair’.
Our definitions of 'best' differed. Mine wasn't prestigious enough to put in history books. I just wanted something small and memorable because it focused on me and Jacob. Alicia's concept called for an army of people. From her rumblings as she ignored the doctors pleas to take it easy as she plugged away on her Mac, she was going to fix the national economy crisis with our ceremony alone.
She hired Lindy Alistair, one of the most prolific (and expensive) wedding planners in the States, who'd been ferociously corresponding with Alicia since she paid her monstrous fee. I had to grin and bear it through conference calls, nodding hesitantly as they came up with the concept for the wedding. A concept that I’d been trying to escape since Jacob and I first started dating:
A Cinderella Story.
The only thing we'd agreed on was that we didn't want it held in a church. They'd decided to do it at Greenwald Gardens instead, a historic, Victorian house just outside the city with acres of lush green landscaping and marble statues that screamed money. Lindy called it ‘delightfully luxe’.
I’d only seen pictures online--and I hated it.
As we eased onto the bustling street, angled toward Alicia's hotel, I kicked myself. Not literally, but mentally, I was bruised from head to toe. With every smile, every nod, every lie, I dug myself deeper in a hole, suffocated by regret. I was dreading my own wedding. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life and I was scrambling to pick a date so I could start a countdown until it was over.
"What's wrong with you?" I said aloud, the scold echoing through the empty car. I didn't bother with a response because it would be a little strange having a conversation with myself and also because I knew the answer. Jacob was worth billions of dollars. Small and simple wasn't in his dictionary. All eyes were on us, everyone and their mama already verbally affirming that he'd downgraded by choosing me. If we didn't have the huge affair that all the gossip magazines and shows were hinting at, completing the Cinderella narrative they'd created--
They? Them? Why are you listening to everyone but you? And Jacob? It is your wedding, right?
But that wasn't exactly true. Jacob was a public figure. And as his fiancé, his future wife, so was I. That meant whether I liked it or not, the public pinned their hopes and dreams on us. It was the price of fame.
We pulled into the valet lane in front of Alicia’s hotel and I almost laughed as the valets practically rock/paper/scissors-ed for the chance to drive the Maserati. I opened the door and handed them the keys, a tiny part of me annoyed that I didn't even enjoy the likely one and only time Jacob would let me drive it.
I barely had time to dwell on the rueful moment because Alicia was beaming, holding out her elbow for me. Like we were old friends about to go on a friendly stroll.
My eyes darted to Jacob and he sent me a silent order.
Behave.
I took her arm with a smile and glared at Jacob over her head.
We stepped inside and the concierge was waiting, a bubbly girl that didn't even look old enough to have such a job, complete with blond hair and a Valley Girl accent.
"Mrs. Whitmore, I did as you asked and let the photographers camped out hear me say that you'd be staying with your son.” She was practically giddy with excitement. “They cleared out almost immediately!"
I glanced at Alicia who was smiling conspiratorially with the young woman. "Thank you, Delilah." She looked back at me and winked at my surprise. "This isn't my first time at the rodeo, dear."
It made sense that she’d know the old bait and switch play. At the height of his fame, Carlton Whitmore was sure to have had photographers hounding him and his family. I was only known as an extension of Jacob and now that we were engaged I could barely get a cup of coffee in peace. To have any privacy, any sense of normalcy, one had to get creative.
More than surprised I was impressed that she’d thought ahead and worked something out with the hotel staff. Her misdirection was genius and we didn’t have to deal with flashing cameras on top of everything else.
I stopped in the lobby, waiting for Jacob.
Alicia shook her head, her salt and pepper bob swishing. "We can head on up to the apartment. Lindy is waiting."
My eyes bulged. "What?"
"There's so much to be done," she explained, dragging me in the direction of the elevator. "If you want the ceremony as soon as possible as you’ve stressed on several occasions, we have to set everything in motion."
Just tell the truth! "Um--” I racked my mind for something, not sure she could handle the truth. She’d just been hospitalized for crissakes. “Should you be doing anything strenuous?"
She gave me a look before punching her floor button. "It's wedding planning, not a 5K."
Classical music spread through the silence as I stood there, silently freaking out. I was glad the elevat
or didn’t stop for other passengers because I was pretty sure I'd explode if I had to move one inch.
This was too much. I had to say something--or it really would be too late.
The doors parted and I didn't realize I was still standing inside the elevator until she said my name.
"Leila?"
I blinked and Alicia was in front of me, concern in her gray eyes.
The doors started closing so I hit the door open button, then wished I hadn't.
"Is everything alright?" Her name rung out and the truth I was about to finally release was wasted. She'd already started down the hall before I could say 'No'.
I sighed and followed her, finally seeing Lindy Alistair in the flesh. She seemed much younger than Macy Scott, both physically and demeanor-wise. She had long, jet-black hair except for blunt bangs that slashed across her forehead. While most would hide their freckles behind foundation and concealer, she rocked hers proudly. The spots sprinkled one cheek before spreading over the bridge of her button nose and spilling onto the other cheek. Big blue eyes were framed by dark, thick lashes. I was surprised by her casual dress, her thin body clad in an oversized plaid shirt, denim shorts, and gladiator sandals. She looked ready to meet a friend for coffee, not discuss the wedding of the century. And standing in the hall of Alicia’s posh hotel, she looked downright dowdy.
She held out her hand, bubblegum pink nails glittering. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Leila!"
I shook her hand gingerly and stood their awkwardly as she and Alicia hugged like they were best friends.
“And you,” she said, holding Alicia at arm’s length, worry clouding her face. “Are you alright? We totally could have done this after you got settled in.”
Alicia plunked her key from her clutch and we spilled into her suite. "Don’t be silly. Thanks for meeting us, Lin."
"Of course," Lindy answered, picking at her bracelet. "I'm still a little shocked you wanted to see me so soon after you left the hospital."
Alicia waved her hand, dismissing the statement. "I'm not an invalid. And we have a lot of ground to cover if we're going to get them down the aisle in three weeks."
"Three weeks?" I hissed, clutching my chest. Heart attacks weren't contagious, but damn if I wasn't feeling all the symptoms. Pressure tightened my chest. Nausea settled in my stomach and the urge to vomit was overwhelming. I couldn’t catch my breath and my heart banged in my chest.
Lindy took my reaction in slowly before looking back at Alicia. "I was under the impression the bride was aware of the date?"
Alicia glided to the wet bar. "She said as soon as possible. Short of Vegas or eloping, that's as soon as possible."
She was right, I had said ASAP and while a tiny part of me jokingly just wanted to get on with it, honestly, I thought I'd have enough time to talk my way out of it. Three weeks nixed that as an option.
I tugged at the front of my blouse, heat slapping me in waves as sweat dashed down my spine. Lindy looked genuinely concerned. Her eyes told me that she could tell something was very wrong.
I gave her a pained smile. "Could you give us a second?"
"Absolutely," she answered quickly. "I'll be right outside."
I waited until Alicia poured herself something to drink before I gathered myself, ready to come clean.
"Alicia--"
The door swung open and I got ready to tell Lindy off, but it was Jacob standing there, handsome face pulled into a scowl.
He came in, his voice tight with anger. "Mother, why is a wedding planner outside your hotel room?"
I sighed with relief. Thank god. He was going to end this whole mess.
"I thought you agreed no wedding planning until we got you settled in."
My heart plummeted. Just a stay of execution, then.
He started admonishing her for the alcohol she was gingerly sipping, but I tuned the conversation out. I didn't care that it was 11am. I maneuvered around them and pulled out the vodka. The clear liquid sloshed into the glass and I brought the rim to my lips, still trying to figure out how to say this, especially with Jacob in the room. How to tell her thanks but no thanks, even though she practically said this was her life's goal. On her freaking deathbed.
"You were literally in the hospital half an hour ago," Jacob growled, taking her glass away. "Booze, visitors, stress..." He trailed off and I looked over at him. He was genuinely pissed. Not because she'd disobeyed him.
He was afraid. Worried.
He loved her and was terrified she'd end up back in the hospital.
I took another sip. I wanted to believe that Alicia changed, that she was gonna try. For Jacob's sake. For her own sake--because Rachel Laraby was a walking, talking billboard for how hate can devour a soul and make a beautiful person a monster.
This wedding meant so much to Alicia. She was barely home and was already working to make sure everything was perfect.
I just didn't have it in me to break her heart.
Me, not wanting to hurt a woman who'd hurt me so effortlessly. It would have been funny if it wasn't so sad. If it didn't mean sacrificing my dreams.
****
Mia Kent walked into the ladies room and I barely recognized her. The soft lines of her face were the same, along with wide blue eyes that glared at my slack-jawed expression.
The bleach blond length with one side brutally short was now a dark, chocolate brown. A single plait weaved down her shoulder and the shorter side was smooth, the symmetrical nature of the haircut camouflaged. Except for a peach bronze on her cheeks and a glossy sheen on her lips, Mia wore no makeup. Instead of some hipster number that showed too much skin, she wore a black romper paired with a cropped denim jacket and animal print flats.
"Mia,” I breathed, staring at her with awe, “You look amazing!"
Her annoyance faded into a hesitant smile. "I do?" She fingered the dark locks gingerly. "This is as close to my natural color I've been in a long time."
I was so used to the blond that it was a shock to the system, but the rich color accentuated her features, intensifying her electric blue eyes. "The color is beautiful, the outfit is casual, yet sophisticated--" I paused, the slight smile on my lips broadening. "I'm impressed."
"And you--" She stopped. Her eyes slowly took me in, decidedly less awestruck. "Uh..."
'Uh' was right. Sure, I was wearing all the right pieces--a cobalt blue blouse, a cream colored skirt and nude heels--but it all looked kinda meh because the rest of me was pretty lackluster. My hair rioted against all attempts at taming it, determined to do nothing except frizz, so I piled it on top of my head. All the hairspray and gel in the world couldn't smooth my flyaway curls, so it looked like I'd taken a section of hair at the crown of my head and tried for a ponytail while the rest just did its own thing.
A lack of sleep meant I had bags beneath my eyes and my complexion was splotchy and irritated. Mia looked ready for a new chapter--I looked like a beat up edition far past its prime.
She stepped up beside me, taking the foundation from my hand. "Long night?"
"Something like that." I answered. Considering her signature look was drag queen chic, I should have been a little more apprehensive when she took the sponge and went to work. I decided to just go with it. At this point, you're so low you can't go anywhere else but up.
"Does this have to do with Jacob's mom?" she asked cautiously.
The cowardly answer was yes. Alicia had pretty much disregarded Jacob's pleas and kicked the planning into overdrive. From this moment until the wedding, there would be no such thing as free time.
Jacob was so preoccupied with making sure she didn't do anything to strenuous that it was pretty much all Alicia Whitmore, all the time.
But the fact remained that the reason I tossed and turned all night was the same reason I'd tossed and turned ever since Alicia decided to become Mother-in-Law of the Year. I was pissed at myself for not speaking up. Not asserting myself. As easy a target as Jacob’s overzealous mother was, she was a sympt
om, not the disease.
I wasn't gonna unload on Mia. Not when she'd come here with her A-game. “It’s cool. I’m just tired.”
She didn’t push it, shrugging a shoulder as she finished, standing back. Since she wasn't cringing, I took it as a good sign, but still hesitantly turned back to the mirror.
I had to give credit where it's due--she'd worked some kind of magic on my face. My eyes still told the truth of the hour or so of sleep I'd gotten, but the bags had been camouflaged. My cheeks were perky and smooth instead of droopy and blah. I didn't even protest when she stepped toward me and started tugging my hair band from its futile position, freeing my curls to bounce past my shoulders. I was about to look like an eighties rock star, but I figured it couldn't be much worse than what I looked like before. She pulled a clip from her pocketbook and spun me around to face the sink. She twisted two bunches and brought them around to the center of my head and secured them. The contrast between the controlled twists and my wiry curls worked. It was the perfect style to compliment my light makeup and soften the fierce lines of my outfit.
"Mia..." I didn't know what else to say besides that. I just couldn't believe she'd done what took an army of stylists an hour to pull off in five minutes. And there was another, not so nice reason I was so shocked.
She gave me a knowing smile. "Surprised the magazine’s favorite ‘How Not to do Your Makeup’ target can show restraint?"
I bit my lip peevishly. Guilty as charged. "It really looks amazing, Mia." I turned back to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I kept finding some new contour that accentuated my cheekbones or made some feature really pop.
"If this acting thing doesn't work out, I think you have a bright future as a makeup artist." I'd said it jokingly, but my smile dropped as soon as I saw her crestfallen face. I wheeled to face her, hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong?"
Her blue eyes hardened to ice. "You don't have to make fun of me. I know it's not that great."