The Convenient Wife (A BWWM Steamy Marriage of Convenience Romance)

by Imani King

  I glanced over at Gigi to see a smile blossoming on her face as the two of us stepped made our way toward the arch, Mr. Holloway closing the door behind us.

  “The flowers are lovely,” Gigi said, gently brushing her fingers over the petals.

  “Oh, I’m glad you think so. I don’t work often, but when I come in, I try to have a fresh arrangement here for the ceremonies. Everyone deserves to have flowers at their wedding, don’t you think?”

  Now it was my turn to smile. I wasn’t sure I ever met a nicer old man before in my life. Deep down, I even wished my grandfather was like him.

  “Shall we begin, then?” he asked, his smile as wide as ever.

  “Yes, please,” Gigi said, taking my hand as the notary took his place in front of the arch, Gigi and I standing on either side in front of him.

  I could feel the lump in my throat again as we took our positions, the fluttering in my stomach returning in full force. God, I couldn’t believe my own fake marriage was giving me the jitters.

  “Well, then,” the notary said with a smile, “We are gathered here today to bind two people in the loving bond of matrimony. A bond forged with compassion and understanding—a partnership.”

  I swallowed hard, looking into Gigi’s eyes as the notary gave his speech. I felt a crackle of electricity spark as she met my gaze. Something felt strange.

  “Do the two of you have any words to say before we continue? Vows you wish to share?”

  “J-Just the usual,” I managed to stammer out, drawing an amused quirk of Gigi’s eyebrow.

  Mr. Holloway chuckled. “Very well, then. Do you, Georgia Lynn Deveraux, take Dorian Eugene Lambert to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold in sickness and in health?”

  “Isn’t there supposed to be a line about death in there?” I asked.

  “Normally, but I found it a little morbid—and with divorce rates these days, I thought it best to start leaving it out.”

  I nodded, trying to avoid Gigi’s glare as she returned her focus to Mr. Holloway. “How romantic,” I muttered, and winced as she kicked me.

  “I do,” she said through her teeth.

  “And do you, Mr. Lambert, agree to everything I just asked Ms. Deveraux?” the notary asked, his smile still as sweet as ever.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I do.” And when Mr. Holloway wasn’t looking, I stuck my tongue out at her for good measure.

  “Then by the power vested in me by the State, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Mr. Holloway said. He beamed. “You may now kiss the bride.”

  I caught Gigi’s gaze, licking my lips nervously as I turned toward her. Oh, God, I thought, color rushing to my cheeks. I forgot about this part.

  I leaned forward, suddenly forgetting the practiced methods I’d used on countless women over my entire adult life. It was like the sudden fact that this kiss was supposed to mean something turned the act into something too arcane to even decipher.

  Our lips met, stiffly at first, but as a second passed, they softened into one another’s touch. I felt her warmth washing over my mouth and tentatively placed my hand at her side, squeezing her waist and bringing her closer. My stomach tingled when she gasped through her nose.

  I closed my eyes, and without realizing what was happening, I kissed her more deeply, more passionately, a simple touch turned into a tight embrace that seemed to last for an eternity and an instant all at once. It might have lasted longer, but the sound of a camera going off pulled both of us back to reality.

  “I though you might want to remember the moment,” Mr. Holloway said, smiling and tapping the camera. “Leave me an e-mail address and I’ll send it to you.”

  As we broke apart, I nearly stumbled back, blown away by what I’d just experienced.

  I stared into Gigi’s honey-colored eyes, my pulse hammering in my throat. Of all the women I’d ever kissed, I had never felt anything quite like that in my life. But a question bounced around in my head the longer I looked into her eyes… Was it possible that Gigi felt it too?

  “Let’s get you something to celebrate,” Dorian said as the two of us stood outside of the courthouse as man and wife for the first time.

  It felt odd being married, though possibly even more odd had been the ceremony itself and how it felt at least a little romantic, despite the rush we had put on it.

  And that kiss… holy hell. What was that about?

  Before the butterflies in my belly could claim me again, I focused on the here and now. “What do you mean? Like, go shopping? Now?”

  “Were you planning on being somewhere?” he asked, smiling. “Let’s call it a wedding present from me to you—my treat.”

  It still felt so strange, the idea of being bought things—things that I’d never have been able to afford without Dorian’s money. I felt like I was being spoiled, or set up for some big joke. I swallowed thickly, putting my anxiety aside for just a moment and letting myself be spoiled for once in my life.

  “That sounds fun,” I said. “I haven’t been shopping in a long time.”

  “We can hammer out a few details while we’re there and you can try on something sexy for me.” He winked.

  “Dorian!” I cried, smacking his arm, which only elicited a giggle.

  “I was joking,” he claimed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. But then that grin came back full-steam and I had to stop my knees from turning to Jell-O as he added, “Mostly.”

  It was a short walk down the street to Monica’s, one of the city’s priciest boutiques—and the one that Dorian insisted that we go into. I’d tried my best to suggest cheaper options, but he wouldn’t be persuaded.

  “No,” he insisted, “you’re going to buy something really expensive. Something that’s way more expensive than you’d ever consider buying in your wildest dreams… and then you’re going to walk out of the store in it.”

  I balked. “Dorian, this is—”

  “Your life now,” he interrupted. “You’re officially rich, Gigi, so you’re going to learn to act like it—at least a little.”

  I sighed and finally relented, letting him take me by the hand and drag me into the shop.

  I’d never even thought of stepping foot in Monica’s before that moment, even just to dream of all the things that I could buy if I ever had the money. The fact that I did have the money now only made the moment more awkward—none of this stuff looked like anything I’d ever wear.

  For the past couple of years I’d worn slacks, a blouse, and a jacket every day to work—heck, I owned two dresses including the one I was wearing, and I don’t think I owned even one skirt. I wasn’t a tomboy by any stretch of the imagination, but wearing anything overly flirty or feminine always seemed to draw the compliments I desperately wanted to avoid. And then there was the way that clothes like that always brought the eye right to my figure.

  A figure I wasn’t proud of.

  I wasn’t bad. Not really. But I wasn’t a model, either, and I definitely had some “junk in the trunk,” to put it crassly. I’d never been the beanpole all the guys were drooling over, and I’d never felt… Special… With all these fancy clothes surrounding me, I felt like I didn’t belong.

  “I’m not really sure about this, Dorian. I’m not really a dress kind of girl.”

  Dorian eyed me. “Is that because you don’t like them, or you just don’t think you look good in them?”

  “I…” I began, but the argument died in my throat. Did I really have a reason not to? “Okay. I’ll try on one or two things.”

  “That’s the spirit!” he cheered, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he led me deeper into the store. “Pick anything you want to try on. The sky’s the limit.” Jesus, he was more excited about this than I was.

  I licked my lips, taking a few slow steps into the forest of racks containing some of the most gorgeous clothes I’d ever seen. These were the kinds of things I’d imagined runway models wearing on the catwalk in Paris or Milan. Inside of me, a long-forgotten little
girl was jumping up and down in sheer delight.

  There were so many beautiful things, but the more I looked, the fewer of them really seemed to call to me the way I’d imagined they would. Regardless, I picked a few outfits off of the rack, thinking that maybe I’d feel a bit differently once I’d tried them on.

  That’s when I saw it. The dress that made my heart stop.

  It was a sheath silhouette and made entirely from brocade in differentiating patterns along the bodice and skirt. There was a cute, keyhole neckline flanked by short sleeves in a light shade of beige, a black floral design embroidered into them. Below that, on the bodice proper, were shiny peonies in silver etched onto a copper background. A panel right on the breast curved in neutral shades, almost like a corset, and was cinched with a leather belt.

  I looked on the inside. Shapewear lining? Holy shit. This dress had it all.

  “Ready to try some of it on?” Dorian asked, his sudden appearance making me jump out of shock. I’d become so caught up in the dress that I’d lost track of everything else around me.

  “I—yes. I’m ready,” I stammered, looking around for the dressing rooms.

  “This way,” Dorian said, a smile on his face as he guided me over toward an out-of-the-way sitting area in front of a recessed archway.

  I gave Dorian a nervous smile and stepped into one of the rather lavish changing areas just beyond. I heaved a sigh of relief as the door clicked shut, finally able to let the smile drop off of my face.

  “So,” I said, calling from behind the slatted door of my stall. “What’d you want to ‘hammer out’ while we were here?”

  “Just some of the more… physical details of our relationship,” Dorian said, his voice distant.

  “Such as?”

  “Conception was my biggest concern,” he said, walking closer to the door so as not to shout out business to the entire store. “Since we don’t get a red cent unless I’m actively trying to conceive an heir.”

  “Right,” I said, my stomach starting to flop. “Almost forgot about that.”

  “We have to act fast on this. I figured you’d be more comfortable if we didn’t… y’know. In vitro fertilization is all the rage these days, and after all, we barely know one another.”

  “Has that stopped you before?” I asked turning my attention back to the dress. I peeled off my clothes until I was wearing nothing but my bra and panties.

  “I—well, I mean…”

  “I Googled you before we signed the pre-nup. I know all about you, Dorian Eugene Lambert.”

  Dorian huffed. “I just didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

  “You’re cute when you’re embarassed,” I said, smiling as I began to put on the dress I’d been so enamored with out on the sales floor.

  “Now that you bring it up, actually,” I said, pausing for a moment to consider the idea, “I don’t know how much I like the idea of doing this whole thing via in vitro.” I bit my lip. I knew how it sounded, but I couldn’t help it. The whole thing just seemed so far removed from what my ideas of conceiving a child had been.

  “No?” Dorian sounded surprised, but not opposed. “I figured you didn’t want this to get too… well, personal.”

  “I can have sex without getting too personal Dorian, and I know damn well you can too. Until we get to know each other better, we can be friends… With benefits… I don’t know. I guess doing it artificially just strikes me as way too clinical. Like, there’s no care in actually bringing life into the world—and I figure there are better ways of pulling this off.”

  “So,” Dorian said slowly, his tone tentative. “You’re suggesting the ‘old-fashioned’ way of doing things?”

  Oh, shit. What the hell was I saying? Was I really being so casual about sex? I’d thought about it, sure. Dorian had been the subject of a few late night shower sessions, but was opening that door this early really a good idea?

  I slipped into the dress easier than I had hoped, dreading that I’d feel the fabric stretch uncomfortably over my hips and backside. But as I wiggled my hips into place, I felt a feeling sigh of relief as everything fit just right.

  “Maybe,” I murmured as I turned to look at myself in the mirror, my heart skipping a beat as I saw myself for the first time in something this nice other than my “court-room” clothes for the first time in months. “I’m going to make you work for it, though.”

  My heart soared for a moment, a smile creeping onto my face as I ran my hand over the fabric and along my waist. I looked good, and for the first time in a long time I actually started to feel the same way.

  “Well?” Dorian called from the other side of the dressing-room door. “Do I get to see it or not?”

  I bit my lip, my heart skipping a beat as I pushed open the door and took my first step outside. Dorian was standing just inside the archway, leaning on the wall and staring out idly toward the sales floor. The way the light hit him almost brought out a certain aura about him, an inner glow I hadn’t noticed before.

  He almost didn’t see me at first, his eyes cast toward the sea of clothes beyond the arch. As the door latched, Dorian turning his eyes in my direction as his body followed suit. I saw him catch sight of me, his eyes going wide, his face changing from his standard of amused boredom to one of shock.

  “Gigi,” he said, his voice soft at first, almost a whisper.

  “What’s wrong?” I froze in place, looking myself over. “Is something the matter?”

  He shook his head emphatically, like a dog shaking themselves dry. “No, of course not. I mean… you’re gorgeous.”

  My heart stopped beating for just a moment, a pit opening up in my stomach and everything inside dropping into an endless void. My heart began to thud faster and I could feel a familiar nervousness rising in my throat.

  “That’s not funny, Dorian,” I said, my voice strangling itself in my throat. “And you don’t have to lie.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be a joke. Or a lie,” he added with a frown. “I mean it. You look incredible in that outfit.”

  “I told you before, I don’t like being made fun of—”

  Another voice joined the conversation, one devastatingly familiar and not at all welcome. “My son has a habit of dishonesty when it comes to women… even his own mother, apparently.”

  Dorian and I both turned, my insides freezing. Mrs. Lambert stood behind Dorian, her arms crossed and her face screwed up in a scowl. My heart began to beat in my throat and I knew right then that both of us were totally screwed.

  Aliments was my mother’s favorite place in the entire world. It was the only restaurant in the city that she could do her two favorite things all at the same time: eat expensive food and feel grossly superior to the people walking by on the streets. The atmosphere was modeled after the fine French restaurants of Paris, itself and the clientele were the city’s utmost elite.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the owners were from the Bronx and that Aliments literally translated to “food.” I’d let her have at least some joy in her life.

  Even if she was currently trying to snuff all the joy out of mine.

  “So, Mother, aren’t you going to congratulate us on our nuptials?”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? I suppose you expected to spring this little farce on me when it was too late to stop it? There will be absolutely no congratulations of any kind, Dorian,” my mother said “In fact, you are going to stop this foolishness and have this travesty annulled forthwith.”

  I raised my brow and mouthed forthwith to Gigi across the table. She didn’t look amused. “We’re going to do nothing of the sort. Georgia and I are going to remain happily married for some time, aren’t we, darling?”

  Gigi squirmed. “Dorian, I…”

  “Don’t you get involved. This isn’t about you in the slightest!” my mother snapped, her upper lip trembling with rage. I had to admit it was one of my favorite expressions to bring out on her Botoxed face.

  “You
don’t get to talk to her like that,” I purred. “She’s your daughter-in-law now.”

  “She is nothing of the sort,” my mother hissed, lowering her voice as the waiter set down her first glass of wine. Once the young man made his escape, she returned her tone to normal volume—which for Mother, was somewhere between wailing and screeching. “This ‘marriage’ is nothing but a sham! An utter mockery of the bonds of holy matrimony. And I will not have it stain our family’s good name.”

  “What good name would that be, Mother? The name that all too recently was connected with a child labor scandal in the Philippines? Or the name that has its many assets being shut down for fraudulent business practices?”