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

by Imani King

  We’d gotten to my penthouse in the late afternoon. And then we’d made love all night. After the way things went with my mother, this was definitely not what I was expecting.

  Not that I had any complaints.

  For at least a little while I was free of worries, free of all my cares as the warm glow from the embers of our lovemaking washed over me. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d stuck around after sex—the same could be said for many of my previous partners. But lying there with Gigi felt… right. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt his good about something—anything.

  Maybe there’s something more here, I thought, a soft smile finding its way to my lips as I watched her turn over in bed with nothing more than a soft whimper. I brushed the tip of my finger along the line of her arm, turning her whimper into a soft coo of delight. My heart warmed as I turned her worries to happiness. Maybe I can make this work.

  I knew how crazy it sounded the moment that the thought floated through my head. How could the two of us hope to be happy? She wasn’t like any woman I’d ever been with before. I always went for the college co-ed looking to explore their wild side, the horny sorority girl, or even my own fellow bored dilettantes, eager for a good way to spend their money—especially if it involved sex.

  Gigi was nothing like any of those people. She was determined, intelligent, strong-willed, and most of all, didn’t take any of my crap for a second—and I think that was why I liked her so much. I felt challenged around her… challenged to be a better person. Didn’t everyone want to be a better person?

  When I was with her I thought about the future, about what I was going to do with my life. I even thought about going back to college, getting my degree in business and taking control of my father’s company. I wasn’t sure what she was doing to me, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. It felt good to care about something and not just let my life pass from one alcohol-hazed party to another. I felt more alive next to her than I had on any drug I’d ever experimented with.

  I ran my fingers gently through her dark hair, feeling them slide through like butter. I caressed her cheek, marveling at just how much the night enhanced her beauty, making her all the more stunning than she was in the light of day.

  This could actually work, I thought again, the contrary chorus of other thoughts that had been so adamant in denying it significantly less noisy. Why wouldn’t it work? She and I had wonderful chemistry together, and the longer I actually spent time with her the more I liked her.

  Even if it didn’t turn into something more, we still had the agreement, and no matter what, the two of us would have what we both wanted in the end.

  I felt a twinge in my chest the moment that I even let such a thought cross through my mind. It only made me ask myself, But what do you want, Dorian?

  Once again, my eyes turned toward Gigi’s gorgeous, illuminated face. A warmth grew in my chest, like someone had lit a fireplace right in my heart and the heat radiated out from my ribs all the way to the tips of my fingers.

  The corners of her lips twitched upwards in a smile, a soft, contented sound escaping her lips as she pressed just a little closer, her skin brushing against mine.

  What do I want?

  Whenever I asked the question, the only thing that I could do was look at Gigi and think about how wonderful I felt being with her—even when I felt like crap. I felt an honest-to-God connection to her, a bond that I’d never shared before with anyone, especially not the slew of one-night-stands and shallow supermodel “girlfriends” I’d dated in the past. When she spoke, I listened, and I felt as though she did the same for me. We both knew how it felt to lose the parent we loved the most.

  This can work, I thought again, looking out the enormous windows of my bedroom, taking in the glowing skyline of the city outside. Down on the streets the headlights of a thousand cars floated along their pitch-black highways like fireflies dancing in the night sky. Everything seemed more beautiful tonight—or had it always been this beautiful, and I’d only just now stopped looking for the next thrill to stop and notice?

  I want to make her happy.

  Gigi deserved more out of life than she’d been given, more than picking up my family’s legal trash and more than being some lackey at Ollie’s father’s law firm. She was smart, witty, and incredibly beautiful to top it all off. She could have used those looks to get herself ahead a long time ago, but I knew she wasn’t that kind of person. Until I met her, she had her nose firmly planted against the grindstone, working herself to the bone to prove to the people above her that she was the kind of employee they wanted in the upper rungs of the legal ladder.

  She deserves to be happy. No, she deserves the time of her life.

  And that was exactly what I was going to give her.

  I brushed the backs of my fingers along her forehead, lifting a stray strand of hair from her face. The more I touched her, worried over her, the more I realize that I would give anything to see her smiling, laughing, getting the most out of what little time we all had on the Earth.

  I let myself imagine what I hoped life would be like for us. Once I’d inherited my majority stake in my father’s company I’d take a more involved role, undoing all of the awful decisions my mother had made. Gigi could continue her work as a lawyer if she wanted, even start her own firm—she’d have all of the money she’d ever need for it. Our children would have the best of everything, and no matter what, I’d make sure they always had their time with us. I wanted to be a good parent, a good husband.

  I want her to be happy, and I want her to stay, I thought, laying my hand gently over hers. If we really did this—had a child together—then I knew that I’d always want to be a part of its life, boy or girl, no matter what happened. But more than that, I wanted to give our kid the childhood I never had, with parents who actually gave a damn about one another, who didn’t constantly stab one another in the back for the sheer vindictive pleasure of it. No child deserves to grow up in a home like that.

  I knew I could be a good parent, an attentive parent, if I only had the child. And the more the idea loomed over me, the thought of a divorce only brought my fears of being unable to care for them the way I’d wanted closer to home. It didn’t feel right, leaving Gigi while she mothered my child, cared for it, and loved it the way I only hope a mother could.

  But what if she doesn’t love it? my mother’s voice whispered in my thoughts. What if she uses all that money you give her to just push your baby off on some nanny? Most rich women do it, especially with their unwanted children.

  A knot tied itself neatly in the pit of my stomach, tugging at my insides and making me feel slightly nauseous. I knew exactly how I felt, how much I cared for Gigi and for our future child. Their future—our future—meant so much to me.

  But what if Gigi didn’t feel the same way?

  I couldn’t help but wonder what her thoughts were, what she saw for herself after our requisite time together was over. Would she take the first opportunity to take the money and pack her bags or would she actually be willing to give this—give us—a chance?

  She’s just in this for the money, Dorian, my mother’s voice hissed in my mind again. She’ll just betray you, like I betrayed your father so many times.

  I didn’t want to believe that. I tried so hard to shut out the black, malignant thoughts creeping into my mind.

  Would Gigi really betray me? I just didn’t see it in her…

  I knew that was what my mother would be hoping for, that I’d come crawling back to her in shame. I once again realized that my mother had never once cared about my happiness, only in being right, being the one who everyone had to turn to and say “we should have listened to you.” She loved the power.

  Every fiber of my being felt drawn to Gigi, and I was never a man to deny what my gut told me. When something felt right, then I knew I had to go for it. But every time I thought about it, the fear was still there, just under the surface.

 
No… This wouldn’t end in flames and bloodshed like my parents marriage had.

  I was determined to make everything work with me and Gigi, no matter what. I wanted a life with someone, and I knew that Gigi Devereaux would be the only person that I’d met that could ever give me that.

  “I’m going to make this work,” I whispered to the darkness, looking down into my wife’s contented expression before closing my eyes and drifting off beside her.

  I draped an arm across her warm body, pulling her close against me as I buried my face against her hair, breathing her in. I’d never felt more content as I did next to her, her skin against mine and our hearts beating together.

  “I love you, Gigi…” I whispered.

  I’d been married to Dorian for a few weeks, and the only thing casting a dark cloud over our honeymoon period was my father.

  He wasn’t doing anything directly, and the problem was the same one I’d been dealing with for a while now. Dad was a drunk, a barely-functioning alcoholic, and leaving him to his own devices was never good. Especially not for weeks on end.

  Dad was asking questions. Totally reasonable ones, but for which I still had no good answers. Like, “When’re you comin’ home, baby?” and “Where you spendin’ all your time, these days?” Questions any father would ask.

  I couldn’t tell him I was married. He’d be devastated. After all, he hadn’t exactly been invited. And I think part of me knew that, even though he was sauced half the time, he’d still find a way to see right through me. He’d know the marriage was a bit… Non-traditional. I couldn’t take the disappointment in my daddy’s eyes, not even after he’d disappointed me so many times.

  I couldn’t lie to him forever, either. And I couldn’t just leave him alone. Last time I’d done that, he’d almost burned the place down when he fell asleep while cooking up a midnight snack—of course, he’d just stumbled home drunk.

  The only option that I really had was the one I didn’t want to actually consider—a seniors’ facility. I’d seen too many lawsuits filed against facility after facility for negligence, abuse, and in the case of more than a few women, rape. A curling feeling of nausea wriggled around in the pit of my stomach as I recalled pictures of unmaintained rooms, clogged toilets, bedsores, and disgusting food. I couldn’t send my father to a place like that, not ever.

  With my student loans taken care of, I still had some money left—quite a good bit of money—but not enough to afford the kind of care that my father really needed. For that, I’d need more money than I could manage without Dorian finding out.

  I glanced up from my laptop toward the bedroom door, hoping that I hadn’t just heard him coming home. Dorian had no idea about my father, and I wasn’t in any mood to tell him, either. His mother’s words still echoed through my head whenever the thought of asking him for money came up. She’d called me an embarrassment, something to be ashamed of, or worse, someone who would ruin Dorian’s family name—and I didn’t want her to be right.

  Shit, my own brother had abandoned us because Dad was such a disappointment to him. What would a man like Dorian think if he found out about the drunken head of our family tree?

  But would Dorian actually help if I told him about my dad? Would he be upset that I hadn’t told him sooner? Or worse, what if he said no to lending me the money? I felt my stomach twisting into knots the more I thought about it.

  But how long would I be able to lie to him? An alcoholic father wasn’t something I’d be able to hide forever, especially when Dorian eventually wanted to meet my family and our child’s grandfather after it was born. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration. How was I going to make this work?

  I turned my attention back to my screen, scrolling through the listings for the top-rated assisted living facilities. If my father had to be put somewhere, then it had better be the best place money could buy. He deserved the best care. He was a vet. He’d served our country, served us. He’d protected our freedoms. This was the very least anyone could do for him.

  “Not enough supervision, too small, too many lawsuits,” I sighed, crossing one care facility after another off the list of possible options. One of them caught my eye, however.

  Summer Harbor Care Center was one of the few care facilities on the list with nothing but good reviews and not a single black mark on its record in terms of legal trouble. Curious, I clicked the link and found myself on the nicest-looking webpage of any other senior center.

  I clicked through gorgeous, professional pictures of spacious, one-room apartments with their own kitchens for the more able-bodied seniors. There were others of expansive exercise areas and an enormous pool. A note underneath the pictures mentioned weekly water aerobics and a lap pool for more serious swimmers. My father didn’t swim, but it made me feel more confident about the place.

  The problem, once again, was money. I had none. Not yet. So if wanted to give my father the care that he needed then I’d have to ask Dorian for the money.

  I don’t want him to be disappointed, I thought, nervously twisting the sheets up in my hand. How was he supposed to react to finding out that I had a drunk for a father? And what if he found out that I’d lied about it? Maybe not directly, but a lie of omission was still a lie.

  I want him to be proud of me, I thought.

  I blinked, a frown forming on my face. When had I started to care so much what Dorian thought of me? I mean, I liked Dorian, and after these last couple of weeks he actually proved himself to not be the total asshole I’d been expecting him to be—in fact, he was quite the gentleman despite a few snarky remarks. But was this actually working?

  The sex certainly was incredible, and while I’d never admit it to anyone, I was enjoying just how frequent it had become. We were working hard at making a baby, and I couldn’t deny I was loving the effort on his part—and he never made it boring. Dorian was the most thoughtful, generous, and considerate lover I’d ever had. In the past two weeks, I don’t think I’d ever climaxed as much in my life as I did in that short span of time. I was practically delirious after every one of our sessions, and more times than not, I ended up passed out with my arms wrapped around him.

  There was an intimacy there between us, one I hadn’t expected, one that ran even deeper than sex. Dorian listened to me. He wanted my opinions. He valued what I had to say, both in and out of the bedroom. And he took me pretty much everywhere, like he was proud to have me hanging off his arm.

  The thought of our most recent round of lovemaking made my bite down on my lip a bit, my heart fluttering. In truth, it only made those feelings more conflicting.

  I was starting to wonder how much of a good idea this agreement was, especially if this turned into some kind of actual romantic relationship. Would Dorian jump at the chance to be free of me, knowing that once our marriage was over he could go back to his life of partying and drinking? The thought of it made my heart ache. And what about our child? I knew he would support it financially, but having it—or them—grow up without a consistent father in their lives didn’t sound appealing in the slightest.

  I rubbed my face, my emotions clouding over my thoughts as Dorian’s face floated before my mind’s eye. I hated to admit it, but I’d find myself watching him, a smile creeping onto my face when he wasn’t looking. I’d actually started to feel happy around him, and that made me all the more frightened of what would happen when this all fell apart.

  I didn’t want that to happen.

  I’ll get the money myself, I thought, brushing a strand of hair from in front of my eyes. He doesn’t need to know how bad of a mess my life is. It’s not his problem.

  “Gigi?” came Dorian’s voice from the other side of the door.

  I looked up just in time to see Dorian opening the door and stepping inside, a warm smile on his face and two cups of Starbucks in his hand.

  My heart raced as I tried my best not to slam the screen of my laptop down to cover up what I was doing. I’d been i
n incognito mode so in case he ever used it—or God forbid, went searching through my browser history—nothing concerning my father would show up.

  “Thought you’d like a little something to wake you up,” he said, sitting down beside me and handing me a cup of coffee.

  “You went out for coffee? Don’t you have an espresso machine?”

  “I do, but I never learned to use it,” he confessed, taking a sip from his cup, “Not my smartest purchase, but I don’t make smart purchases often.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pulling the laptop off of my lap and setting it on the floor. I could almost feel him wondering what I had been looking at. Was I giving something away? Could he tell that I was keeping something from him? I swallowed thickly as my pulse began to beat against my skull.

  “Doing some work on your laptop?” he asked, watching as I slid it underneath the bed. He was smiling, but there was something else there. I knew I’d been distant, but all I could think of was my father, knowing that in a few days they would repossess his house.