Doctor Scandalous : A Fake Engagement Romance (Boston's Billionaire Bachelors Book 1)

by J. Saman

  And now I’m crying. I can’t speak because if I do, I’ll sob for sure. I’m definitely trembling against her.

  I clear my throat. “He did the same thing with me. I was going through the motions, day in and day out until Oliver came along.”

  “That’s what happens when it’s right. Suddenly you have no idea how you lived before them because it was all colorless and flat.”

  “Exactly. That’s exactly how it’s been.”

  I can’t stop my tears. Thinking about what she just said. About how my heart soars with it. But my tears are also the tears of a woman on the edge of uncertainty. We have only one more month of this deal, and then what?

  We haven’t talked about it.

  And I don’t know what to say.

  How do you maintain a relationship when its foundation is a mountain of lies? How do you build a future when you’re already pretending at one? How do you tell yourself everything will be okay when it never has been before?

  She pulls back, wiping at her own emotion, but managing to smile through it when I’m incapable.

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know,” she tells me. “For my children to find love and happiness. My own marriage was arranged as I know you know, and while I wouldn’t trade any of it, I love Dr. Fritz very much. It could have very easily gone in a different direction.”

  “Like your parents?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Precisely that way. I never want that for my children. Neither does Dr. Fritz. It was the start of what drew us together. Seeing our children settled in love is my greatest wish. And watching Oliver, my baby boy, with you, being engaged to you has been my greatest joy.”

  And now I think I’m going to throw up.

  Another tear hits my cheek, one I’m miserable to stop, and I turn instantly, locking on Oliver who I felt watching us, his eyes boring into me. He’s dripping in concern, staring as more tears helplessly fall.

  “You okay?” he mouths and I don’t have it in me to answer him.

  Am I okay? No. Not exactly. I want to stay lost in this. I want to pretend just a while longer. I want to laugh and smile and be with Oliver.

  With my eyes on his, I say to Octavia, “I would never do anything to intentionally hurt him or any of you.”

  It’s my simplest truth. And maybe it sounds bad. In fact, I know it does.

  But suddenly, perpetuating this lie doesn’t sit well with me.

  Her greatest joy is a lie.

  I should end this. I should end everything. Because inevitably, someone will get hurt. Eventually, if Oliver and I continue, we will have to come clean about our lie. And then what? His mother will be devastated. His father will hate me for it—more than he already does.

  There will be no path forward after that.

  A frown slices my features in two, the weight of my thoughts crushing me from the inside out.

  No matter what, this ends. One way or another, when the fake engagement ends, so do Oliver and me.

  28

  AMELIA

  “Pedal, pedal, pedal!” Oliver yells as he runs beside Layla’s bike, one of his hands on the bottom of the seat, the other holding one of the handlebars.

  “I am!” she screams back, but the laugh in her voice and the smile on her face tells me she thinks this is hysterical. I do too. I haven’t stopped laughing once.

  “You’re not pedaling fast enough.”

  “Come on, Oliver,” I call out, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Run faster. You’re not a very good teacher.”

  His eyes shoot over to mine, narrowed like he wants to spank my ass for that comment, and I laugh harder. He’s trying to teach Layla how to ride a bike so we can go into town that way to the ice cream shop Layla has been desperate to try. Poor, deprived city kid that she is, doesn’t even know how to ride a bike. The last thing she rode had training wheels, and that was when my parents were still alive.

  “Balance your weight,” he tells her, practically gritting his teeth as Layla swivels and sways around the huge driveway of the Fritz’s Martha’s Vineyard home.

  “Can’t we just take the Jeep?” I ask because whether she learns how to ride it or not, I don’t exactly feel safe with her riding into town.

  “That’s giving up,” he says.

  “No, it’s smart,” Layla retorts. “I’m done. I don’t feel like getting hit by a car.”

  And with that, she hops off the bike, practically while the damn thing is still moving, and Oliver is still running. The bike falls to the ground and Oliver huffs out a tired breath, his hand on his hips, sweat slicking his forehead.

  “Aw, Sprite. I’d never let a car hit you,” he promises. She folds her arms defiantly over her chest. I do the same, and he growls in defeat. “Fine. No bikes. We’ll take the Jeep.”

  “You can teach me how to drive,” Layla offers. “Amelia has no car, so I’m SOL there.”

  “SOL?” he questions.

  “Shit out of luck.”

  “Hey, mouth.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “That’s why I said SOL.” She turns back to Oliver. “What do you say?”

  “You’re only fourteen.”

  She smiles at him, batting her eyelashes. “Please,” she begs, holding her hands up in supplication. “Pretty, pretty please. With a cherry on top? This might be my one and only chance.”

  He fights a grin, trying for stern and failing. Oliver, I don’t think knows how to say no to Layla. All the girl has to do is smile at him. I’m thinking that’s going to be a chronic problem for him.

  “What say you, big sister?”

  I shrug. “I don’t see the harm as long as it’s just the driveway.”

  “Yes!” Layla squeals, jumping up and down and then hauling me in for a hug before abandoning me just as quickly and doing the same with Oliver. “You’re the best. Let’s do this!”

  Layla runs toward the massive garage off to the side and Oliver strolls over to me, tossing his arm around my shoulder and kissing my temple. “I never thought I’d be twenty-eight and teaching a teenager how to drive.”

  “But now you’re her hero.”

  “I like being her hero. It’s fun getting to do big brother-type stuff with her.”

  I wrap my arms around his midsection, pressing my cheek into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His lips fall onto the top of my head, breathing me in and out. This man… God, he really is something else. Something so incredible. Something I never want to let go of. Ever.

  “Come on, you two,” Layla yells. “You can hug and kiss later. Daylights burning and ice cream waits for no one.”

  I laugh, pulling back to peek up at Oliver. “You ready to teach her how to drive, hero?”

  “No. But let’s do it.”

  A few minutes later, Layla is sitting in the driver’s seat and my heart is already pounding. Oliver might not be ready to teach a teenager how to drive, but that goes for me too. Layla, while very much a teenager, is still young. And I’m, well, yeah, the years have gone by a little quick.

  “Alright. First thing is, you adjust your mirrors,” Oliver says, his voice calm but firm. He’s way better at this than I would be. I’d be a nervous wreck. Oh wait, I already am. My heart is beating like a damn jackrabbit and we’re only in the driveway.

  “Done,” Layla says as she finishes with the side mirrors. “Next?”

  “Next is you make sure you’re in a good position. You look around. You take in your surroundings. Then, when you feel comfortable, press your foot onto the brake, and put the car in drive.”

  The car is already on since Oliver had to back it out of the garage—something he would not allow Layla to even attempt.

  “Okay. Here we go. Eeeek!” Layla shifts the Jeep into drive and then, naturally, hits the gas way too hard and we go flying only for her to freak out and slam on the brakes with a scream. “Crap. Oh my god. What did I do wrong?”

  Oliver glances over his shoulder at me, a harried look on his face.
/>   “Does this thing come with a harness back here? I don’t feel like this seat belt is enough.”

  “Amelia,” Layla yells. “Don’t tease me.”

  I hold my hands up. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But next time, maybe ease onto the gas instead of pressing down with all your weight.”

  “Oh. Okay. Good call. Can I plug in your phone so I can set up my music?”

  “No music, Sprite. You have to concentrate.”

  “But I need my tunes. How am I supposed to get my head on straight if I’m not rocking out.”

  Oliver rubs at his lips, his hand reaching back and squeezing my knee. I think Oliver has officially bitten off more than he can chew. “Sorry, no music. Come on, you can do this. Just as Amelia said, ease onto the gas at an even weight, hands on the wheel and focus on where you’re going.”

  Layla throws him a dubious look.

  “You’ve got it,” he encourages. “I know you do. That was your first time. That happens with everyone.”

  “Does it?” she turns and asks me, gnawing on her lip.

  “Definitely. Dad sprung his first gray hairs the first time he took me driving, and I was a lot worse. I nearly hit a telephone pole. This is all driveway and grass. Just don’t hit the house.”

  Layla groans at my teasing tone, but she’s smile, more relaxed. “Okay.” She wiggles her ass on the leather seats and starts off again, this time much slower on the gas. Almost too slow, but that’s fine.

  “Good,” Oliver praises. “That’s it. A little more. Perfect. Now that you feel that point on the gas, focus on your steering. I want you to go down the driveway in a straight line, then we’ll turn around and head back for the circle.”

  Layla takes us down the long driveway at a snail’s pace, her posture more rigid than I’ve ever seen.

  “The first time my dad took me driving, he brought me out in his old Porsche.”

  “Like yours?” Layla asks.

  “Like mine. A stick shift. That’s much harder to learn on, but an important skill to have all the same. When you’re older, a little more experienced, I’ll take you out and we can try that.”

  “In your Porsche?” Layla practically squeals, incredulous.

  “Does that mean I get to drive it then?” I quip. “I have my license.”

  “Can you handle a stick?”

  He quirks his head over his shoulder, his dirty eyes filled with mischief.

  “Oh, I’m sure I can manage. Especially with the right teacher.”

  “You wanna drive my Porsche, baby?”

  I can’t fight my smile. “Absolutely. Any chance I can get.”

  “Why does it sound like you’re talking in code?”

  Oliver and I both start cracking up, the car jerking forward only to speed up one second and nearly stop the next. At this rate, we’ll all have whiplash and need urgent care instead of ice cream.

  “This is the end of the driveway. Do you want to try turning around?”

  “Um, yeah. Did you see how awesome I was? Totally drove straight. I’ve got this. I don’t know why you have to wait until you’re sixteen. I’m a natural.”

  “And modest too.”

  “No backseat drivers, Amelia. My fake brother-in-law is teaching me, not you.”

  She points a stern finger at me in the rearview mirror and I make a motion to zip my lips.

  “Now you’re going to want to turn the wheel and before you get to the edge, you’ll want to brake and then go in reverse, turning the wheel in the opposite direction. Does that make sense?”

  “Um. I think so.” She glances at Oliver, turning the wheel around and around. “Like this?”

  “Yes. Now slow on the gas. Good. Good. Now stop, foot all the way down on the brake before you put it into reverse and—”

  “Ah!!” Layla and I scream at the same time as the Jeep goes flying at top speed, hurdling over the side of the driveway and down into the thick grass. We’re thrown back into our seats, wind whipping all around us as it comes in through the open top.

  “Brake, Layla,” Oliver barks urgently, trying to stay calm. “Hit the brake.”

  “I’m trying!” she screams, panicking. “It’s not working.”

  “You’re hitting the gas! That’s the gas. Shit, turn the wheel or we’re going to hit that tree.”

  The Jeep lurches and swerves back and forth as Layla frantically starts spinning the wheel this way and that, all the while we’re still barreling toward the tree. My hands white knuckle the seat, my mouth open on a silent scream because I’m worried if I do scream—the way I’m freaking desperate to—I’ll scare Layla more.

  “Lift your foot off the gas. Now. Do it now as you turn the wheel to your left only. Slower. Don’t jerk it, or we’ll spin out. Good. That’s good. Now press your foot on the other pedal. The one on the left.”

  The Jeep comes to a screeching halt, all of us flying forward with the momentum of the car, narrowly missing the tree.

  “Oh my god,” Layla cries as we all pant for our lives. “We almost died. I almost killed us.”

  That’s when she breaks down. Her face hits her hand as she’s consumed with sobs. Oliver throws the car into park, unbuckles his seat belt, and crawls over the console to hug Layla. His arms capture her small body, and he pulls her to him, unbuckling her seat belt and practically dragging her into his chest. She grips his shoulders fiercely, holding on for dear life as she absolutely loses it on him.

  “Shhh. It’s okay, Layla. It’s okay. We’re fine. No one got hurt. Shhh. Don’t cry, Sprite. I’ve got you.”

  “But… but… I could have. I could have hurt all of us.”

  My hand finds her hair, stroking the blonde strands as she sobs uncontrollably into Oliver’s shirt, likely soaking it through though he doesn’t seem to care.

  “Layla,” I whisper. “This car has airbags.”

  “What?” she sniffles, unwilling to release Oliver.

  “The Jeep. It has airbags. Mom and Dad’s car didn’t. It was very old, and it didn’t have airbags. That’s why they died. If their car had been newer and had airbags, they very likely would have lived.”

  She starts to pull away from Oliver’s chest, her face absolutely soaked in tears and snot. Oliver goes to the glove box and grabs some tissues, wiping under her eyes. “It’s just a car, Layla,” he tells her, smiling warmly at her. “If you had crashed it, we would have gotten it fixed. Plus, this is a Jeep. A big Jeep. We would have been fine.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks, her chin trembling, her eyes still watery. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. I meant to hit the brake, and I pushed harder on the gas instead and then I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You listened to me when it really mattered,” he explains. “You did exactly what I told you to do, and we didn’t hit the tree.”

  She swallows hard, bobbing her head up and down before twisting to find me. “Is that really why they died?”

  I unbuckle myself now that my heart rate has slowed, and I once again have control over my basic motor function. Because holy Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life. It’s a wonder I didn’t pee myself.

  Scooting up, I cup her face in my hands. “Yes,” I tell her, staring into her blue eyes. “It was a bad accident, and they likely would have been hurt either way, but part of the reason it was so bad was the car. Any car you drive now, you’ll be much safer in. And honestly, today you just learned a valuable lesson.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The importance of trying not to panic, even in a scary situation and treating driving with the respect it requires. Because unfortunately, we did learn the hard way that it’s not all fun and games. But Oliver is right, you listened, and you were able to stop the Jeep.”

  “You alright, Sprite?”

  She turns back to Oliver and gives him a wan smile. “I think so. I’m so sorry about the grass.”

  Oliver waves her away. “It’ll grow back. How about I drive us to get some ice cream
now. I think we could all use it.”

  “And a shot of tequila,” I tease, winking at Layla who giggles lightly, hopping down from the Jeep to switch places with Oliver. They meet at the front end of the Jeep, the two of them exchanging something that I can’t hear before a smile lights up Layla’s face. She gives him another hug and my heart explodes in my chest.

  I knew they had gotten close. It was easy as day to see.

  But the way he held her just now in the car and the way he talks to her…

  I want that for her. I want that so badly I can hardly breathe. I want her to have an Oliver in her life. A big brother who will always have her back and take care of her when she needs him most. I just hope I can keep him with us. Forever.

  29

  OLIVER

  From the moment my mother finished her conversation with Amelia on the boat on the way out here, I knew shit had gone down. I also knew Amelia would be a mess about it. I was right. She was quiet for the entire rest of that day, hardly eating any of her food, and then that night, she laid silently awake while she thought I was asleep.

  It took a lot of specially designed torture to get her to talk. A lot of tickling and licking and sucking—in the precise spot designed for optimum pleasure without delivering the big O until she promised to spill all. Only once she did, did I let her see stars.

  She told me what my mother had said, and I very nearly replied with, I could have told you that. My mother has never been coy about telling each and every one of us what her greatest wish is for us. To find love and be happy. Truth, I think that’s likely top on most parents’ wish list for their kids, so it isn’t exactly like any of us gave it a lot of thought until this whole fake engagement thing got started.

  But Amelia doesn’t have parents to tell her that stuff. That they want her to be happy and in love. I think that’s why Amelia is struggling so hard with the lie. She loved her mom. She misses her mom. And not just does she hate lying on principle, but I know deep down she’s worried that by lying to my mom, she’ll lose her before she ever has a chance to truly win her.