Daddy's Bought Virgin: A Fake Marriage Romance (Innocence Book 2)

by Roxeanne Rolling

  I finally fell asleep that night and managed to forget everything. I slept so soundly that I didn’t remember where I was when I woke up.

  I guess my body thought that the whole thing had been a dream.

  But it certainly wasn’t a dream when David Masters came into my room when I was still in bed.

  He was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed his massive muscles, not to mention his tattoos. And his shorts—well, they were short and showed his massive thighs, not to mention his constant and growing erection.

  Today’s the day of the wedding. It’s scheduled for 5 o’clock.

  I’ve spent the entire day so far locked in my room, heading into the private bathroom for water, which I drink out of the faucet, because there isn’t a cup.

  I’m simply too embarrassed and shy to head into the kitchen where I might encounter any number of house staff, not to mention David himself.

  When he was in here earlier, David told me to take the day off of work, and that the team would be in to see me before the wedding.

  “The team?” I asked him.

  “The make up team, and the fitting team for the dress. You’ve got to look good.”

  So I’m just waiting, biding my time. I’m completely terrified of what this team is going to do to me. The closest I’ve ever done to something like this is getting my nails done once with Sasha, and honestly I found the whole process unpleasant. I haven’t ever even been to a spa—the idea of getting pampered simply isn’t in my workaholic achiever nature.

  But I’m going to have to pretend. After all, that’s what I’m getting paid for. I’m going to have to pretend to be the perfect, happy bride, ecstatic to be marrying David Masters.

  I have my Kindle with me, since the dapper man in the suit nodded his head when I asked if I could bring it along. I bide my time reading romance novels, in which the heroine always falls for the muscular hero, who cares deeply for her from the beginning of the book. Why can’t my life be like that? David Masters certainly doesn’t seem anything like these heroes.

  The room is nice. Way nicer than the fanciest hotel I’ve ever been in. But that’s what the room, and honestly the house, remind me of—a fancy hotel. Everything is exactly where it should be, and everything seems to be for show, rather than for some purpose.

  It couldn’t be more different from my apartment, where the window sticks when I try to open it, and the heat is either on full blast, or not on at all.

  Here, the temperature is exactly right. It’s simply too perfect, to the point almost of annoyance.

  The door flies open.

  David Masters stands tall in the door frame, his shoulders massive and his eyes intense.

  He’s wearing an elegant suit, with a great cut that shows off his torso and his tapered waist.

  He’s clean shaven, absent, for once, of his perpetual stubble.

  Normally, I like a little bit of stubble, so long as it isn’t approaching a full on beard. But he looks good clean shaven.

  “You don’t knock?” I say, finding a little bit of the confidence I’ve been looking for. I know he’s paying me a million dollars, but he is asking an awful lot, isn’t he?

  “Remember what we talked about? It’s my property.”

  “And I’m your employee, right, right,” I say.

  “You’ve been in here all day.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t want to… bother anyone.”

  “The team will be here soon with the dress,” he says, eyeing me up and down. Did you invite your father to the wedding yet?”

  “Uh…”

  “And your friends?”

  “I only really have one friend.”

  “You’re popular, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. “I’ve always been busy.”

  “You need to call them and invite them,” he says. “I’ve invited Judge Carter himself, and this has to look realistic. It’s not going to look good if you don’t have anyone there for you.”

  “Can’t we just say that I’m from out of town?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t get the sense that you’re a good liar. It would come out at some point.”

  That makes me angry. Sure, it might be true. I probably am a terrible liar, but how could he know that? And why does he have to keep putting me down?

  This is the same way I’ve always felt when people are wronging me. And normally, I squish the anger down.

  But, when I think about it, maybe I don’t have as much to lose in this situation as I’d previously thought. After all, he needs me to act as his fake wife. It’s too late to get anyone else. And he offered me double what he originally offered me because I’m perfect for the role. Maybe I have more leverage than I thought.

  “How do you know I’m not a good liar?”

  “It’s why you’re perfect for this. You’re wholesome.”

  “Is that so?”

  He just stares at me.

  “Look,” I say. “I’m doing this for the money. I’m going to need to set up sound boundaries, though. We need some ground rules.”

  “I’ve already made the rules for you.”

  “Rules for me to follow, not for you.”

  He’s silent.

  “You can’t just come into my room like this,” I say. “I’m going to invite my father and my friend, so that it’s realistic. I’m going to do everything I possibly can to make this wedding look as realistic as I possibly can. And I’m going to do my very best to make it seem like I’m madly in love with you. And when the divorce inevitably comes, I’ll do my very best to show that I hate you with all my guts.” I almost add “that won’t be too hard, though,” but I think better of it. “But I need my privacy. You need to respect that.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest as I say this. I never stick up for myself, and I certainly don’t do it to David Masters, the richest man in Philadelphia, the man whose mere presence is commanding.

  I don’t look at him for a moment, keeping my eyes averted and cast down. I’m absolutely sure that he’s going to be furious, completely enraged. I’m expecting his face to be on fire with pure fury that I dare stick up for myself.

  But when I finally look up, he’s grinning at me, his mouth wide and turned up at the corners.

  “Nice,” he says. “I like a little fire in my women.” He turns his back to me, about to leave the doorway. “I won’t bother you with any more unannounced visits. And the team will be here shortly. I’ll tell them to knock.”

  And he’s gone.

  I’m left sitting by myself, wondering what that all meant.

  But I’m not left long to contemplate. Less than a minute later, there’s a flurry of knocking on my door.

  I open it, expecting to see a couple people carrying a wedding dress.

  Instead, at least a dozen women rush past me into my room.

  “No,” says one, looking me up and down. “That won’t do at all.”

  I’m still wearing the t-shirt that I slept in, along with some baggy sweatpants I found in one of the drawers. After all, I don’t have but a few of my own articles of clothing with me.

  “It’s just…”

  “No,” she says, snapping her head back the way I’ve seen some people on TV do. “Not at all.”

  She’s wearing all white. In fact, all of them are wearing white.

  As I look between them, I realize I can barely even tell the difference between any of them. They all have similar facial features, similar body shapes (tall and very thin, without any curves), and metallic blonde hair that’s cut in an intense bob.

  They’re moving around the room rapidly, setting up mirrors and lighting.

  Another couple arrive, carrying huge trunks between them. They set them down on the floor with a thud.

  “So I understand there’s a wedding?” says one of them.

  “That’s right. I would have thought you’d know that…”

  “We just like to confirm. Once we thought we were doing a dog wedding and it tur
ned out to be a human funeral.”

  “Oh.”

  “This is a human wedding, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. Don’t I look like a human to you?”

  They’re all speaking at me, but almost as one person. I can’t keep track of who is who. It’s just a jumble of metallic looking hair.

  “One never can tell.”

  That’s the end of the conversation. They start working in a fury, rushing around, knocking things over, and basically attacking me with all manner of makeup brushes, lipstick tubes, and devices that I can’t even begin to identify.

  This is not what I was expecting. I was sure David Masters would hire only the best. These people… I don’t know what they are.

  As proud of myself (if that’s the right word) as I am for standing up, in my own way, to David Masters, I just back down with these people, and basically let them do whatever they want to me.

  David

  I chuckle to myself as I knock lightly on the door. I’m going to respect her wishes, and I’m going to knock… for now.

  “How’s it going in there?”

  “Come on! Please!”

  I open the door to find a completely chaotic mess of a dozen odd looking women attacking Olivia’s face with strange devices.

  “I thought you said these people were professionals?” she says, as one of them knocks over a stand of something. Don’t ask me what any of this makeup stuff is.

  “They’re very highly recommended,” I say. “They’re perhaps a little eccentric, though.”

  That gets me a look from one or two of them, but I’ve never been one to care what people think of me.

  “You’re going to get her into the dress too, right?”

  “Of course. Human wedding, right? Not a dog wedding?”

  “No,” I say. “A human wedding, not a dog wedding.”

  “I told you,” whispers Olivia, out of the side of her mouth. “Can you help me?”

  “Looks like they’re doing an excellent job,” I say, pretending to inspect her face.

  In reality, I can’t even see her. There’s a thick green goop covering her entire face, including her eyes, which are hopefully closed.

  “Well, looks like everything’s under control,” I say, checking my watch. “Meet me downstairs. You’ll take a separate car, of course.”

  “A separate car.”

  “We’re not supposed to show up together,” I say.

  I leave the room, and go over to Laura’s room.

  “How’s it going?” I ask, watching Nancy braid Laura’s hair.

  “I hate this,” says Laura, pouting.

  “Just a little bit longer, sweetie,” says Nancy, tugging on Laura’s hair hard.

  “Go easy on her,” I say.

  “It needs to look right.”

  “I don’t understand this, Dad,” says Laura, turning her head to Nancy’s annoyance and frustration. “Why are you getting married? You’ve already been married.”

  “Sometimes that’s the way things work,” I say. “We’re very much in love, so we want to get married. I’m sure you’ll like Olivia.”

  “I already don’t like her.”

  “You haven’t even met her, have you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I laugh. “I think you’d know,” I say. “She’s very pretty.”

  “You just met her, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right,” I say. “But sometimes these things happen fast. We’re adults, so we can make decisions like this.”

  Nancy gives me a pleading look, essentially begging me to leave so that she can finish Laura’s hair. Although, of course, she’d never feel comfortable actually expressing that idea to me verbally.

  Down at the bar, I pour myself a small whiskey on the rocks.

  As I take the first sip, the vague smile fades completely from my face.

  I really must be a horrible father. Who lies to their daughter like that? I just told her I was in love with someone that I’m not. I told her… yeah, I basically fed her a huge crock of shit.

  But it’s for her own good, right?

  Otherwise, she’s going to be living with Alicia under a bridge somewhere, begging for coins under some interstate overpass. That’s no life for a kid. That’s no life for anyone.

  About the time I’m finished my drink, Olivia comes down the stairs.

  The team of the strange women rush past her, clamoring down the stairs and out the door, leaving just the two of us here.

  “Holy shit,” is the only thing I can say. My mouth falls open.

  “Do I look all right?”

  “You look incredible,” I say.

  “Got to keep it realistic, right?”

  “No, really. You look… insanely beautiful.”

  She blushes, and I mean it. And I mean that I mean it.

  I’ve never seen someone as radiant as she is.

  They did a number on her, but it’s not like she’s unrecognizable. She’s still the same Olivia, but that team of strange women managed to enhance her natural features, really bringing out the beauty that was already there.

  I thought she was hot before, as in a hot piece of ass, but now she’s just… at a different level entirely.

  Seeing her like this sends a strange pang through me. It’s a pain of… I don’t know, longing? Maybe guilt? At putting an innocent girl through this whole charade.

  But the pang doesn’t last long, and it’s time for her to be rushed off into the car that’s waiting for her.

  Nancy arrives downstairs, with Laura in tow, and I pick up Laura and swing her around, despite her protesting, possibly because I’m feeling guilty about all this.

  Laura, Nancy, and I pile into the back of a car that takes us to the wedding.

  Most kids would be fascinated by being in the back of a chartered car, but Laura’s been through this kind of thing many times. Occasionally, there are business or social functions that children are allowed to attend, and I do always try to take her along, since I think it’s good for her education.

  “Who’s going to be at the wedding?” says Laura.

  “So it’s not so stupid now, is it? You want to know all about it?”

  Laura shrugs.

  “That’s good,” I say. “I’m glad you’re interested. I think you’ll have fun, and I’m sure you’ll like Olivia.”

  She shrugs and doesn’t say anything.

  Nancy is biting her lip for some reason.

  “What’s wrong, Nancy?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  It’s always like that with her. She’ll rarely tell me what she’s thinking.

  “Anyway,” I say. “It’s a smaller sort of wedding. Only about a hundred people or so.”

  “A hundred!”

  “Yup,” I say.

  “Who’s going to be there?”

  “Oh, you know, family friends. Business associates. Those sorts of people.”

  “Sounds boring. Will my mom be there?”

  I sigh.

  “I don’t think she’ll be able to make it.”

  “I miss her.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I close my eyes and don’t say anything.

  I’m a guy who can take on entire companies and dominate entire industries, but I suddenly feel overwhelmed by my current situation, the situation that I’ve created myself.

  Olivia

  “I thought he said it was going to be a small wedding?” I say to one of my bridesmaids, who I’ve never met before.

  We’re in a back room, ostensibly getting ready, but the team back at the house did such an… intense job on me that there’s really nothing more left to be done.

  “It is small. I think it’s only a hundred people.”

  I take a good look at her. She’s high-class, and completely unlike myself in every way. Even without her jewelry, her dress, and her thousand dollar shoes, her mere presence would scream refinement and sophistication. And yeah, snobbery, too. She has a way of looking at e
verything with her nose slightly pointed to the celling, and I get the feeling that I don’t like her very much.

  “How do you know David again?” I say.

  “We’re old friends,” she says, without offering any more by way of explanation.

  So these are the sorts of people he hangs out with?

  “It’s too bad you didn’t have any close friends,” she says, giving me an odd look. “But I’m glad David asked me, since I always do love being a bridesmaid.”

  “I do have friends,” I say, basically lying, unfortunately. “They just couldn’t make it. But my friend Sasha is going to be here. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “Sasha,” she says, rolling the word around in her mouth as if she doesn’t like the taste of it. “She’s your friend?”

  “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

  There I go, sticking up for myself again.

  The door opens, and Sasha enters, wearing jeans and a partially ripped t-shirt. She looks like she’s been up all night drinking.

  “This, um, person is your friend?” says the snooty woman, whose name I don’t even want to know, let alone remember.

  “Sasha!” I say.

  “Olivia, what the hell are you doing?”

  “You’re late,” I say. “But I think they can still get you into the dress. Did you bring any shoes?”

  “Never mind,” says the snooty woman, sounding pleased with herself. “I have some extras. I always do travel with extras.”

  “Great,” I say.

  “Olivia, you’re really getting married? To your boss? You’re going through with that crazy plan? I thought you said you’d never do it, not in a thousand years. And you told just recently that you’d considered it but turned it down. You lied to me?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Yup,” I say.

  “I thought the whole thing at the apartment with the movers was some kind of really elaborate practical joke.”

  I can’t answer. All I can do is shrug my shoulders. I hate lying to her.