The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

  And all that, after he’d professed his love. Hell! I clutch my hands around the simple silver purse that dangles from my hand.

  Why did he have to go and do that?

  Almost as if he’d known that it was his last chance to tell me his true feelings. And he’d meant it. I squeeze my eyes shut. Deny it as much as you want…but there had been a hint of desperation in his tone, a dangerous glint in his eyes. And the way he’d fucked me...as if it was our last time.

  He is no fool… He knows something is going to happen… So he’d played his last card. He’d…hit me where it hurts—hoping it would hold me back from what I have to do.

  If he thinks his declaration is going to stop me… Well, he has misjudged me. He isn’t the only one who plays with people’s feelings, who can set their eyes on a goal and use anything and everything...and anyone, to get to it.

  Sweat beads my palm; I wipe it on the silky fabric of my dress. My knees knock together and my throat dries.

  "Victoria, honey, are you okay?"

  Amelie grips my shoulder.

  "Why don’t you sit down?" She leads me to an armchair pushed up into an alcove of the hallway a few feet away.

  I sink into it. She keeps her hand on mine, and takes the seat next to me.

  I draw in a breath, then another.

  She grabs a bottle of water from the antique table in front of us, unscrews the cap, and hands it to me. I take a grateful sip.

  "Better?"

  I nod, then lower the bottle. "Is my make-up okay?"

  She surveys my face, "You’re always perfect, V."

  I shake my head. If she only knew.

  I reach over, place the bottle on the table.

  She squeezes my hand, "Now, tell me why you were having that panic attack."

  "I wasn’t."

  She stares at me. "Is this to do with Saint?"

  A giggle bubbles up, "What in my life isn’t to do with him right now?"

  "It’s normal for newly-weds to feel overwhelmed."

  Not like this, it’s not. I squeeze my fingers together around the bag in my lap.

  "When are you guys going on your honeymoon?"

  "There’s not going to be any honeymoon."

  She frowns. "Of course, there is. Saint asked Meredith to book tickets to—" she snaps her mouth shut. "Ugh, sorry. Did I give away a secret?"

  I toss my head, "Doesn’t matter. Saint’s good at putting on a show.”

  She peers up at me from under her eyelashes. "You know that’s not true… I mean, all the Seven are consummate actors and jerks—"

  "And a-holes of the first order."

  She nods, "But you saw how hard Sin fell for Summer and see how devoted Jace is to Sienna. When they fall, they fall hard. They don't stop until they've swept their women off their feet."

  I shift in my seat. "It’s really, really not like that. All this…" I wave a hand in the air, "is an act.’

  "Saint said you’d say that," she nods.

  "When did you talk to him?" I stare at her.

  "Umm." She changes position, "I wasn’t going to tell you, but—"

  "But?"

  "—seeing as how much of a tizzy you’ve got yourself into, you should know—"

  "What?" Don’t tell me, don’t. Please. "What is it?" I scowl.

  "Remember when I ran into you outside the 7A offices that night?"

  "Yeah…" my voice trails off. Shit. I don’t want to hear this, I don’t. I grip the arm of my chair.

  "What do you think I was doing there at that time of the evening?"

  "I thought that…" my voice trails off, "...that you’d come to meet Weston?"

  ”That ridiculous, selfish, no-good reprobate?"

  Uh, oh. "Strike that." I wave my hand in the air.

  "Why would you even think I’d arrived for a rendezvous with Weston?” she grumbles.

  Nice, one. I’ve put my foot in my mouth now, haven’t I? "Forget it," I mumble.

  She glares at me.

  "Honestly, Amelie," I lean forward, take her hand in mine, “I didn’t mean to piss you off, but there’s chemistry between you two…" And that's putting it mildly.

  "I’ve barely had a single conversation with the man, and anyway," she sniffs, "this isn’t about me and Weston."

  "Right," I snatch up another bottle of water and hand it to her.

  She uncaps it, drinks from it, then sighs, "So, as I was saying... I was there that night because Saint called me and asked me to come by. He thought you could do with some company."

  "Hold on…" I reach for my bottle of water, press it to my aching temples. "He asked you run into me?"

  She twists her mouth, "He told me to pretend it was a chance meeting."

  After he’d told me he didn’t want me and allowed me to assume that he wasn’t accepting my proposition... My head spins. I squint at her, "You’re not making any sense."

  "You’re telling me?" She chugs down more water. "He swore me to secrecy."

  "And you agreed?"

  She reddens, "Hey, I thought it was romantic. Besides, he told me that he’d—" she chews on her lower lip.

  "What?" I peruse her features. "He made you a deal?"

  "He said," her gaze flicks away, then back to my face, "that I’d get to make the wedding cake, and take credit for it. He said he’d ensure all the media would cover the event and my name would be mentioned."

  "But the wedding ceremony was impromptu…"

  "Not the one that's about to take place.”

  "Oh?" I frown, then stiffen, "Oh."

  She nods and her features scrunch up, "He's been...uh... planning this for a few weeks. He—ah!—" She shuffles her feet. "He wanted to surprise you with a society wedding that'd get a lot of attention."

  "Oh, he did, did he?" I growl. The nerve of the man. How dare he take me for granted? There’s a bitterness to my voice that I can’t disguise when I ask her, "Did he also pay you to friend me?"

  "Of course, not." She sits up straight. "Look V, I swear, he only wanted to make it special for you."

  I snort.

  "Besides," she wriggles around trying to find a more comfortable position. "I could hardly turn him down."

  "Of course, not," I echo her.

  She stiffens, "It's not easy, trying to make it on your own."

  "You bet, it isn't."

  She scowls, "It's cut-throat out there." She waves her hand in the air, "Think of what this kind of exposure could do for my business."

  I stare at her, "I'm thinking a lot of things, all right."

  She reddens. "Please try to understand, V. I mean, if you guys were going to get married, then why not keep the catering for the wedding in the family, huh?"

  "I suppose Isla's doing the wedding planning?" I ask.

  She glances away, then back at me.

  "Of course, she is," I scowl.

  I suppose that makes sense too. I mean why look outside when the talent is in your circle of friends? So why does it feel like a bloody betrayal? I place the cap on the bottle, screw it back in place with deliberate precision. "So, the time when Meredith met me outside Selfridges…" I glance up at her, "She brought me here to meet all of you. Did Saint put her up to that as well?"

  "You’ll have to ask Meredith about that." She swipes the hair back from her face.

  "Did he ask you to round up all the women so you all could keep an eye on me?"

  "It…it wasn’t like that." She leans forward to take my arm.

  I shake it off, "All this time, I thought, perhaps, I had a support circle here, that perhaps I had a chance of finding a place where I belonged… I should have known that asshole would set me up. It was all about making sure that he was informed of my movements."

  "He wanted to keep you safe."

  "Bullshit," my voice echoes around the space.

  A couple speaking at the far end of the corridor looks our way. Like I care? I glare at Amelie, "It was a way of controlling me, making sure he could monitor everything
I did. He wanted to see if I’d give myself away."

  "Give yourself away?" She frowns, "What are you talking about? Saint wanted to ensure that you didn’t feel lonely, that’s all."

  "You believe that?"

  She holds my gaze, "I do, Victoria. Saint’s madly in love with you. I’ve never seen a man more besotted. Sure, he may be unorthodox in the way he shows it, but you have to admit, it’s romantic that he’s been so… Forceful."

  I throw back my head and laugh.

  The couple glances at me again, then move away, putting more distance between us. Good.

  Too bad, Saint hadn’t gotten the memo as well.

  "Keep kidding yourself that way, girlfriend— Oh, I forgot, you’re not really my friend, are you?" I rise to my feet.

  "Please, V, don’t be like that."

  I turn to leave.

  "I admit Saint prompted us to befriend you. Our friendship may have started out that way, but we've all grown to like you... Hell, you've become my BFF so damn quickly..."

  I pause, then turn to glance at her, "BFF?" I chew on my lower lip.

  "I swear." She holds up her hand.

  "I want to believe you; I do." I shift my weight from foot to foot. "But imagine if you were in my place and you found that your... Uh... The man you're interested in goes behind your back and gets to the women you think are your friends. What would you think of it?"

  "I..." she blinks rapidly, "I'd think he cares for me... A lot."

  I scoff, "Wait until it’s your turn and one of those alphaholes sets his sights on you. I’ll be sure to ask you then, how it feels... Then again, I probably won’t be around."

  "Oh, pfft," she waves a hand in the air. "Of course, you’ll be around. And I’m not the settling type. I intend to focus on myself. I’ve planned a retreat to rediscover myself," she beams.

  I squint at her, "What do you mean?"

  "I am going to take a few weeks off over Christmas. I'm going away to an isolated cabin in the countryside. It’s owned by the Seven, and it’s one of the things Saint promised me in return for…"

  I throw up my hands, "Jesus, I can't believe you agreed to that."

  "I knew I shouldn't have taken him up on that offer." She blinks, "I'll refuse him; I won't go to the cabin. In fact, I'll tell him I don’t want any credit on the cakes and desserts I provided for the wedding party."

  I scan her features.

  She wrings her fingers together, "Shit, I’m sorry, V… I really didn't think it would upset you this much."

  Maybe it's me. Maybe I am overreacting. Everything is running away from me, this entire sequence of events moving too fast for me. I hunch my shoulders. I feel so alone—so damn on my own. Nina has always been there for me. And she isn’t here... and I have to go through with this sham of a fake wedding. It is the only way to keep on track, and complete what I came here to do. She'd be free and it would all have been worth. It would, right?

  "V," Isla approaches me. "I'm sorry."

  I draw in a breath.

  "Please tell me that you're not angry with us."

  I sigh.

  "Please... p-l-eee-ase," Amelie singsongs.

  This woman! I may not have known her long, but her happy-go-lucky nature is a thing of beauty. She wears her heart on her sleeve, hadn't blinked an eye before inviting me into her home. If there is one thing I know, it’s that when I need her most, Amelia will be there to help me, just like Nina had been.

  "Fine," I mutter.

  She whoops and throws her arms around me. "OMG! Thank you, V. Thank you. Everything is going to work out now. I promise you. Saint loves you. He really does."

  Hell, he's fooled all of them; but I can see through him.

  I pat her back, then straighten my shoulders. "Guess I'd better get this over with, huh?"

  40

  Saint

  * * *

  She had to do it, huh? She had to take the goddamn USB. I'd checked the drawer after she'd fallen asleep, when I’d gone to grab her purse, and it was gone. Then because, apparently, I have a hidden masochistic side, I had checked her purse...and spotted the fucking thing. Fuck. So this is how it feels to have your life go tits up.

  I toss back the whiskey, then place the empty glass back on the bar counter. The bartender tops it off. I lift the glass to my lips, take a healthy sip.

  "Living the dream, I see?" Weston slaps me on the back.

  I chug down the rest of the amber liquid, slap the glass back on the bar.

  "Easy, ol' chap." Weston leans his hip against the bar, watches as I reach across and grab the bottle from the bartender. I tilt the bottle of Macallan’s Single Malt to my mouth, swig from it.

  "As classy as your shoes," he clicks his tongue.

  "What’s fucking wrong with my shoes?"

  "A bit worn out for the rest of your suit… How much did that set you back by? £10,000?"

  "£20,000," I toss back more of the whiskey. It burns a path down my gullet, and sets off a burn in my stomach, "but who’s counting?"

  "Trouble in paradise, I take it?"

  "Fuck off," I growl.

  "It’s only your goddamn wedding we’re here to celebrate," he smirks.

  "Fake wedding, douchebag."

  "This is exactly how Sinner started out... Now look at him," he jerks his chin.

  I follow his gaze to where the wanker stands in a corner, arms around Summer. The two are engaged in intense eye-fucking… The kind I indulged in with Gigi. No, that was real fucking… Fuck that… It was some intense shit. The harder I took her, the more she gave me. The more I pushed her, the deeper her resistance grew. Hell, I’d intended to punish her…maybe myself, when I’d taken her against the wall. Couldn’t stop myself from tearing the dress off of her—the beautiful dress I’d imagined her in when I’d bought it.

  I should have blown off this entire fucking party and simply stayed in my suite with her. Hell, she deserves more than this impersonal hotel space. She deserves a home… A real one, with furniture and curtains that she’s picked out, and all that shit that women seem to thrive on. Not that Gigi is like other females. She is fucking stronger than she seems. A sultry seductress whose call I can’t resist. One glance at her and I lose myself. She only has to be in my vicinity for my dick to take notice…and other parts of me…especially that offending feeling in my chest that has assailed me since the first time I’d kissed her, "Fuck."

  I raise the bottle to my lips and glug down some more of the liquid.

  "That’s the economy of a third world country you’re drinking down, by the way."

  I wipe the back of my hand over my lips, "I am not going to apologize for being born into wealth." I slap the bottle back on the corner, "Not that it helped when we were kidnapped."

  "Money’s overrated," he rubs the back of his neck.

  "But it’s a necessary evil," I counter.

  "Sometimes I do wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed with Doctors without Borders… Would I have been less of a douche then?"

  "No," I shake my head.

  "Touché." He frowns, "And your glowering Romeo mood is catching."

  "Not glowering," I growl, "not a Romeo." The hair at the nape of my neck rises; electricity flickers across my nerves. She’s here.

  "Here comes your Juliet," Weston confirms.

  I brace my shoulders. Since when have I needed Dutch courage to face a woman? Since when have I made a habit of drinking enough to layer on a veneer of indifference before facing a room full of people? Since that bloody beautiful, dark-haired witch had gotten under my skin.

  "She still in mourning?" Weston frowns.

  "What? Of course, not," I shake my head. "That piece of shit husband of hers was one only in name."

  "Sure doesn’t look that way, given what she’s wearing."

  "She didn’t..." I pivot, take in her slender figure poised at the entrance. She’s draped in black. The dress clings to her curves, covers every inch of her torso, and ends above her knees. It is f
ar from the seductive gown she’d worn earlier… Just the opposite.

  The high collar grazes the tip of her chin—not a sliver of skin on show. The full-length sleeves drape over her wrists to cover her palms, leaving only her fingertips exposed. She’s wearing high, over-the-knee boots that come to mid-thigh.

  The six—or is that eight?—inch heels boost her legs so they seemed to go on and on. Slender yet muscled, perfect to coil around my waist. She takes a step forward and a slim band of skin peeks out between her dress and boots. I’m instantly hard—Okay, harder. By any standards, her dress is more than demure… And that’s the issue, because the flash of skin is almost obscene, given every other inch of her is covered in black. She raises a hand to flip down the veil attached to the jaunty hair accessory attached to her sleek hair. The thick strands are caught up and tied at the nape of her neck in a demure bun—that screams for a man’s hands to rip out the pins and drape the waterfall of dark desire about her shoulders. The slash of red across her lips highlights her full, pouty lips. The overall effect is part widow-part slut.

  "Fuck," I squeeze my fingers into fists.

  Next to me, Weston grimaces, "She’s doing it on purpose, to get a response out of you."

  "No shit," I growl.

  "She wants you to lose your shit in front of all of the guests," he warns.

  "The fuck I care?"

  "She’s baiting you, Saint."

  "She fucking succeeded." I take a step toward her.

  "You don’t want to do this," he grips my shoulder.

  I shake him off, "Oh, but I do." I pause, shoot him a sideways glance, "Can you ensure that all the paparazzi have their cameras on us?"

  He frowns, "You sure about this?"

  "A hundred fucking percent." I stalk toward her.

  A guest steps in my path. "Fuck off," I growl at the man clad in an ill-fitted suit.