Fake Bride: A Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (Forbidden First Times Book 2)

by Summers, Sofia T

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” But he was so handsome and successful! Had there really been nobody?

  Laird shrugged. “I never really had time to think about it. I was focusing on starting up my own company. And I’m not very good at the whole talking to women thing, like I said. It was just easier to not worry about it. And it’s not like I’m—I’m not lonely.”

  “I am,” I admitted. “But not for—I need friends, you know? I hope that we can be friends, at the end of all of this.”

  Part of me wanted to be more than friends. This man was so sweet and enthusiastic, and friendly. It was like sitting next to a fire in a fireplace on a cold winter’s night. I felt cozy, warm, and safe. And I craved that. I craved Laird, in a way that I hadn’t in years.

  But that was dangerous. Friendship was what I should be focusing on. And I sure could use more friendships.

  “I hope so too,” Laird said, smiling at me. “You seem like a lovely person, Trudie.”

  Damn it. I loved how he said my name in that rolling Irish brogue of his.

  “So, our backstories. We should figure that out. How we met, and all that.”

  And that was when reality came crashing down.

  How in the hell were we going to convince people that one of the richest and most eligible bachelors in the city (yes, all right, I had looked him up) was dating a nobody barista who was new in town?

  How could anybody believe that?

  6

  Laird

  I saw Trudie’s face fall the moment that I said we should work on how we met. “What is it? What’s wrong?” I liked her a lot already—too much, probably, but it would’ve been rude to back out on her now that she was probably depending on the money.

  “Well… I mean, it’s just that…” Trudie blushed, looking down at her lap. Our food arrived, and we waited until we were alone again before she went on. “You’re one of the most eligible men in the city. I looked you up, I—I hope that’s okay. I wanted to be sure, you know, that you were on the up and up. I’ve dealt with… people who weren’t as nice, or as charming, as they seemed to be at first, so. I wanted to be sure.”

  “Needed to check that I wasn’t secretly a serial killer?” I asked, smiling. I didn’t mind that she’d looked me up. I was asking her to do something pretty unusual, it would’ve been weird for me to expect her to not have any problem with it whatsoever, to not check up and make sure.

  Trudie blushed even harder. “It’s not that I thought you were a serial killer, it’s just that… you have to be smart, right?”

  “No, of course. I’m not offended. And honestly I’m pretty easy to look up.” I sighed dramatically. “You wouldn’t believe the paparazzi I have to deal with.”

  Trudie laughed, looking more relaxed. “Well, the thing is… I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, it’s not that, it’s just that you are pretty rich. And popular. If you can even say popular once we graduate from high school.”

  “Y’know, I think we aren’t allowed. I think I need to report you to the society police.”

  Trudie laughed again. She sounded startled every time that she did it, like she wasn’t used to laughing, and that kind of broke my heart just a little bit. What kind of life had this woman been leading that she wasn’t used to humor and laughter? Why did it sound like she was re-learning how to do that, to have fun and relax?

  Whatever the reason she’d been so down in the dumps, I wanted to help her fix it. She was stunning when she looked happy, and I wanted to keep her happy. It made me feel a little like I’d seen a poor puppy by the side of the road and wanted to bring that puppy in but… I couldn’t stop the warm feeling in my chest when I saw her smile.

  “But the point stands,” Trudie said, once she stopped laughing. “I’m just a barista. I’m a nobody. I live in a co-op, of all things. And you’re… you’re insanely rich and you’re well-known, you’ve been on the cover of magazines. Sure, you’re not a movie star, but that doesn’t change the fact that—people aren’t going to understand how we met. Or why we’re dating. You could have anyone that you wanted, any… model or a successful entrepreneur like yourself. Why me? How could we even become a thing?”

  She had a good point, I had to admit that. Classism was still a bloody problem no matter how much people liked to pretend that it wasn’t and people were going to ask. Especially since I’d seen far too many poor baristas, waitresses, and the likes who’d been flirted with by customers and couldn’t tell the guy off because their job was to be polite. How could it be anything but awkward for a poor woman who couldn’t tell a guy to stop flirting with her because she’d lose her job otherwise?

  Still…

  “The people who know me will know that I don’t care about the difference in our situations,” I replied. “I work hard to stay humble and my friends, my family, know that. If someone else wants to believe otherwise, then that’s on them. I don’t care about their opinion and it’s not any of their business anyway. It’s my personal life.”

  “Okay, that’s fair,” Trudie said. She seemed to relax more upon my saying that, probably glad that I wasn’t one of those stuck-up old money types. “Um, but how did we meet? You’re never in the coffee shop.”

  “I’m in the coffee shop!”

  Trudie smiled. “Not for coffee. You never have coffee from us.”

  “Ah…” I knew I was probably blushing, and I ran a hand through my hair. “Right. I’m a bit of a coffee snob.”

  Trudie groaned in mock dismay. “Don’t tell me. What does it matter where the beans come from or how many times—or how slow—they’re roasted!?”

  “It matters a lot!” I protested. “I have my own special coffee maker up in my office with my special bags of coffee…”

  “Oh my God.” Trudie was laughing hard again. “You really are a snob.”

  “Until you’ve tried French press,” I warned her, “you haven’t lived.”

  “I think I’m going to survive,” Trudie said with surprising dryness. I snorted with laughter. “So our coffee isn’t cool and hipster enough for you?”

  “Oh, trust me, I like the atmosphere in Buzz a lot better than the atmosphere in a lot of more… hipster places. And you guys have good pastries now and again. It’s just that I don’t want the coffee.”

  “You just don’t want the coffee. From a coffee place.” Trudie smiled at me, looking fond, and I found my chest warming up. She sparked something soft in me and I didn’t know how to stop it, and I was already worried that it might turn dangerous.

  But in for a penny, in for a pound, and how could I say to her that we shouldn’t do this because I might be attracted to her? I’d never backed away from a deal before, risky or not, and I wasn’t about to do it now. I could get a handle on this. This was just because she was—she was new to me, it was the thrill of meeting a new person, that was all.

  “We all have our little quirks,” I replied. “I’m sure you’ve got some of your own.”

  Trudie looked down at her plate, fiddling with her fork. “I’m not sure. I’m pretty boring.”

  “You don’t seem boring to me.”

  She blushed. I liked that I could make her blush. As she seemed to be surprised by compliments and kindness, it made me want to ask what kind of bloody awful situation she’d been in that she wasn’t used to someone being kind to her.

  “You own the building though,” Trudie says, sounding like she’s trying to get the subject off of herself. I let her—if she’s not comfortable talking about herself, that’s fine. We can ease into that. We’ve still got time before the wedding, after all. We don’t have to learn everything about each other in this one sitting. “Why have a coffee shop in it if you’re never going to use it and don’t like the coffee?”

  “Because my employees want it. I can’t think just about myself. Coffee houses are places where people relax, get work done, they’re friendly, safe spaces. I want to provide that for my workers. And they can all get their sugar and c
affeine fixes.”

  “So you’re a coffee snob and you’re from Ireland.” Trudie grinned at me. “What else do I need to know about my husband?”

  “You’re really all in, then?”

  “I mean, after I have the FBI do a background check on you to make sure you’re not the next Hannibal Lector…”

  I laughed. Yeah, she was going to hold up just fine against my family—sweet, but with a sassy side, able to hold her own. She’d need that when dealing with the insanity that was my family all talking over each other and flinging good-natured insults back and forth.

  “How about we take the weekend and write down all the things that we think the other person should know about us?” I suggested. “That way we have time to really think about it and it’s all on paper so we can refer to it later on while… practicing.”

  “You make it sound like homework or studying for a test.” Trudie looked amused, though, rather than annoyed. She was so damn pretty like this, happy and curled up on her chair. I wanted to see her even more relaxed, like on my couch in a big oversized sweater, sipping tea.

  Fuck’s sake, I was already imagining her like that? Get it together, man.

  “Something tells me you were a straight ‘A’ student,” I replied.

  Trudie laughed. “You’d be right. Okay, um, let’s do that then. We’ll meet up on Monday?”

  “I can be there at the end of your shift.” I paused. That reminded me of something. “We can also talk about compensation for any time you miss off of work…”

  “Red said that he would fire me if I didn’t go on this trip, I think that my job’s pretty secure,” Trudie replied. “He was joking about firing me, by the way, so you don’t have to get upset at him.”

  I hadn’t realized that my hackles had started to raise. Metaphorically speaking. There was just… something about Trudie that was delicate. Not because she couldn’t take care of herself, but delicate the way that a new flower was delicate. It would grow and be strong, but right now, it needed some tender, loving care. And that made me want to protect her.

  Call me old-fashioned, I suppose.

  “Well, that’s good to know.” I asked for our check, and noted that Trudie looked down at the ground, her eyes wet, as I paid.

  She wants to insist on paying her share, I realized. But she can’t. She can’t afford it.

  My heart felt like it was stabbed. I knew what it was like to be proud, to want to contribute and hold your own. I had never been without money, unable to pay for something, and I couldn’t imagine how humiliating that must feel.

  “What’s the point of having wealth if I can’t use it to spoil the people around me?” I said, putting a hundred dollar bill in the check book as a tip and winking at Trudie. “You’re going to quickly find out I don’t let anyone else pay for a meal while I’m at the table.”

  Trudie relaxed a little, and I relaxed too, inwardly. Hopefully that salvaged her pride a bit. It was true, all that I said. I liked spoiling people, and I liked leaving large tips, helping those who had been less fortunate than I was. I just didn’t usually brag about it like that. But if it set Trudie at ease and helped her feel less upset about her not paying for her meal, then I’d do it.

  “Would you like—if you want, I can take you home.” I offered her my arm again as we stepped out into the cold.

  Trudie didn’t take it. “No,” she blurted out so quickly and with such alarm that I was taken aback. “I’m sorry. Um, thank you, it’s generous of you, but no, that’s all right. I can get home fine on my own.”

  Maybe it was that she didn’t want me knowing where she lived for safety reasons… but I suspected it was because she didn’t want me to know where she lived because she was ashamed of it, just like she’d been ashamed a moment ago with not offering to pay her share of the meal.

  “Are you sure?” It was cold and dark out. What if someone tried to attack her on her way home?

  Trudie smiled warmly at me, and it felt like my whole chest was lighting up inside. “You’re very sweet to offer, thank you. But I’m okay. I can take care of myself. I’ll see you on Monday?”

  “I’ll see you then. You have a good night. Text me when you’re home safe?”

  “I can manage that, I think.” Trudie teasing me lit me up inside too. I was so fucking screwed.

  I watched her walk away, wondering where she lived, wanting to get her a better place. Well, that was why I was paying her for this, wasn’t it? So that she could afford a nice place of her own, maybe a down payment on a house or somewhere permanent. She could start having the life she deserved, the life this bloody economy wouldn’t allow anyone to have unless they literally broke their backs over it and maybe not even then.

  However else this worked out… I was determined that Trudie would be looked after. What that said about me, I wasn’t sure. I just knew that I felt protective of her. I wanted to help her.

  …without getting in too over my head.

  7

  Trudie

  One of the nice things about my job was that I had Sundays off.

  The coffee shop was closed on Sundays, and I could have gone and gotten another job somewhere but… I was already working six days a week. I needed a day off to relax and center myself. As tempting as it was to find another job and get that extra money, was it really going to be worth it for my state of mind? My emotional health? I didn’t think so.

  Instead, on Sundays I got to sleep in a little and then go to church. I had been raised religious, although I’d sort of lost that with Pete. In our small town, going to church was more about being social than anything else and I hadn’t felt spiritual while I was there. It was just another place where Pete and I would go and he’d charm everyone, and I’d feel trapped, unable to be myself or seek help.

  I still wasn’t up to going to a sermon, but there was this beautiful old Catholic church that I liked to go to, St. Clement in Lincoln Park. The vaulted gold and blue ceilings were stunning, and made me feel like I was a part of something bigger, something more. It comforted me.

  After the morning sermon, I’d slip in and sit in the pews, and just admire the architecture. I’d light a candle, and sit, and just think my thoughts. Ask for some help. I wasn’t sure how the church or God would view my lying to all those nice people in Laird’s family, but it was ultimately a small lie that wouldn’t hurt anybody, right? And I needed this money. Surely God wouldn’t want me to keep living like this, scared and miserable, barely scraping by?

  Laird seemed like a good person. It couldn’t be bad of me to help him out of a jam.

  I wondered what he was up to, today. He was Irish, that meant he was probably Catholic, right? I hadn’t been raised as anything other than generally Christian, because that’s what you were in my town growing up, but I loved the Catholic architecture, the ceremonies, the… grandeur of it.

  He must have the day off too, right? I was planning on wandering the city, myself. I wanted to get to really know this place. Make it my home. I’d known every street corner and back alley in my old town and I missed that feeling. That sensation of just… knowing a place like the back of your hand. And, well, if Pete did somehow find me, I wanted to be on my home turf. I wanted to know this place better than anyone else so I could get away from him if I had to.

  Laird probably knows this city really well, my traitorous mind pointed out.

  I wasn’t going to reach out to him. I wasn’t going to impose.

  …but we did need to get to know each other. And I could use a friend. Laird seemed like a really good person. He was so sweet on Friday, and he seemed to really like me, and to really care about people. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing?

  Okay, it could be a very bad thing. Laird was handsome, handsome enough that I blushed just looking at him. And he was strong, and successful… and again, kind. I could see myself—I could already feel myself caring about him more than I should, looking forward to spending time with him more than I should. But I also wan
ted to keep spending time with someone who was kind and I had to find a way to get through this somehow. What if I just exposed myself to him as much as I could, and then I could get over this silly little crush sooner? Surely this would fade the more I got to know him.

  I did have his cell number. Before I lost my courage, I stopped inside a small bakery to escape the cold and I texted him. Are you up to anything today?

  While I waited, I bought a small coffee and a scone. Mmm, delicious. I was trying not to spend a lot of money, for obvious reasons, but I told myself a small little treat here and there wouldn’t hurt. Just to keep my spirits up.

  Nothing today. Just relaxing. What about you? I found myself reading that in his Irish accent, smiling down at my phone like an idiot. Ugh, just a couple of brief meetings with the guy and I was already blushing and smiling all the time like I was back in high school. I had to be careful. I had just gotten out of one relationship. I couldn’t let myself be so easily swayed.

  I texted him back, telling him that I found myself in need of a tour guide for the city since I was new, and would he be free to help a girl out? I loved that I could be sassy with him and that he seemed nothing short of delighted with it. It blew my mind. Pete would get furious if I even thought about being sassy towards him. He couldn’t stand it. He’d accuse me of talking back to him, like I was an unruly student and he was the teacher instead of my equal partner in a relationship. But Laird liked it. He said it was a good thing. So did Jack, actually.

  The response from Laird was almost instant. I’d love to.

  I told him where I was, my heart hammering, and impulsively ordered him a small coffee as well. He probably wouldn’t like it but what the hell, right? And I owed him for dinner on Friday. Even though he’d said that he always paid for dinner when he went out with people, I wanted—I wanted to show that I could hold my own. I wasn’t a charity case or someone to be pitied. I wanted him to respect me, not just feel bad for me like I was some kitten he took in from the cold.