Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Callie. Why would you need to get lawyers involved?”

  She took another deep breath. “I’m doing this wrong. I don’t want to do this on your wedding day. I promise. Just tell me when I can meet you again, and I’ll leave.”

  But I knew it in my gut, the way she was acting. I felt an innate sense of psychic dread. The kind that made my skin prickle and the air hum.

  “I think you need to tell me what you have to say because I’m getting married today, Callie.” I said her name like it was a weapon. The only one I had.

  She paused a moment. Then dug into her purse and pulled out a photograph and handed it to me.

  My hand was shaking as I took it from her, because I already knew what I would see. Blue eyes, deep dimples, hair darker than mine, but the features could’ve been a twin for any picture in my baby book.

  My voice was scratchy when I spoke, my eyes never looking away from the little boy in the image. “What’s his name?”

  “Sebastian,” she said, equally choked up.

  And then it hit me, full force, like a basketball thrown while I wasn’t looking and landing squarely in my gut—I had a son.

  I staggered back to the armchair and sat down, one hand over my mouth as I studied the toddler, memorizing every detail of him. His smile, his chubby cheeks, his squishy hands. The adorable overalls he wore. The shoes on his feet that looked too small to be real.

  I had a son.

  I already knew he was mine—it was evident just from looking at him. Anyone would be able to see it. There wouldn’t need to be a paternity test with the proof he wore on his little face. And Callie had money—as much as I did, if not more—so her reasons for being here weren’t likely monetary.

  There was no reason to doubt her, but plenty of reason to ask, “Why are you just telling me about him now?”

  “I made a bad decision. I should’ve told you sooner.”

  I tore my eyes from the picture and looked at her, anger quickly filling me. This—this tiny person had been brought into the world without any thought at all of me, and she’d summed it up in the same words she might use to describe ordering a second dessert.

  “You made a bad decision? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She took a step closer. “Look. I really didn’t want to talk about this today. There’s not enough time to go through everything—“

  “Try,” I demanded.

  She searched the room as if searching for her answers, then resolutely sunk into the chair opposite me. “I didn’t know if I wanted to tell you. That’s the honest truth, and it’s terrible. Go ahead and hate me for it, but I didn’t know you. I didn’t know what kind of a father you would be. We only spent five days together.”

  “You didn’t know me so you decided that I didn’t get a chance to prove myself? That’s not the way that paternity works. That’s not fair. That’s not even legal.” My voice was too loud, and I knew it.

  “I know. Don’t you think I know that? But you have a reputation of being a ladies’ man and that’s not the kind of person who usually wants to be a father.”

  “I didn’t even get a chance to decide that.” A bit quieter now but still just as intense. Just as pissed off.

  “You didn’t. I made a bad decision. I said that. But I was trying to do what was best for our son.”

  The phrase our son froze me, and I couldn’t speak for several moments because I couldn’t deny that I didn’t know what kind of decisions I would make if I was making them for our son.

  “This is probably more information than you want to know,” she continued, “but my dad was never really around. He was a full-time senator—a career politician, and we don’t get along. I thought that maybe instead of a sometimes father, Sebastian would be happier without one at all. That it would be less disappointing for him than the way I felt, always watching my father leave. Recently I’ve reconsidered and decided I should have given you the chance to be a different dad than my dad was to me. Because I haven’t changed my mind about that, Weston. I can’t have an unreliable father in his life. I can’t let him be hurt like that. I won’t let you do that to him.”

  I tilted my chin up, ready to argue because of her tone, but how could I argue with those words?

  She knew I couldn’t, and she went on. “I screwed up by not telling you about him before now but—here he is. He turned two in October. He’s never had a dad. Here’s your chance. If you want to be a father and actually be in his life, I welcome you.”

  The same sort of deep and long emotions I felt for Elizabeth stirred in me at Callie’s words. Her invitation was long overdue, and I was pissed and hurt, and both were emotions I didn’t have time to deal with at the moment—she was right about that.

  On top of that there was recognition in her words. I understood what she meant about not wanting a sometimes dad. My father had probably been in my life more than hers, and I already knew, having never really thought about what kind of parent I wanted to be, that I wanted to be a better dad than him.

  “I have to get married,” I said to Callie, not trying to dismiss her, but cognizant of the other woman—the one who was waiting for me to say ‘I do.’

  Her birthright was the one I was here for.

  “I know,” Callie said. “That’s why I’d wanted to wait. Please, let’s talk more. Be angry at me. Be pissed. But, please, don’t make any rash decisions about this. Let’s talk first before you decide whether or not you’re going to claim Sebastian. Because if you can’t really be there, really commit to being in his life, then I don’t think you should be there at all.”

  She didn’t have a legal right to make that plea. Though, with the strings her father could pull in his office, it wasn’t a battle I would ever want to take up.

  And she was right, if I did want to be this little boy’s dad—Sebastian’s dad—my little boy’s dad, it had to be all or nothing.

  If I made this decision, it wouldn’t be for sometimes. It would be forever.

  I thought as quickly as I could with my head buzzing like it was. “I don’t leave for my honeymoon until Monday. Can I see you tomorrow?”

  We exchanged information, made a plan to meet, and then I escorted the woman who had changed my entire life out the door.

  When I was alone again I only had five minutes left before I was due to line up for the ceremony. Five minutes to get my thoughts together after this bombshell that Callie had laid on me. It wasn’t enough time.

  And yet I already knew what I wanted to do.

  I felt it in my bones. In the way my heart sang at the memory of those tiny dimples, perfect replicas of my own. In the way this was finally something of my own, something I could do right—of course I would be there for Sebastian. Even if it changed everything. Even if I wasn’t ready to be a father. I was ready to try.

  I wanted to try.

  And he wasn’t the only one I wanted to try with. If I was making long plans now, laying out a future, I couldn’t pretend anymore that this day-to-day shit was gonna work. I had to set anchors, had to plant roots. And maybe Elizabeth really didn’t want to be mine, but before I let her walk away, I had to try one more time to fight for her for real, fight like it mattered, starting today.

  Because if I was going to give my child a home, I wanted it to be perfect. And for me, perfect was the home I already had.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I tilted my face up as Marie put the finishing touches of gloss along my lips.

  “And Nana is already seated?” I asked my mother, who was fussing with the bow at my back.

  “Yes,” she said, losing patience with me. “I already told you Nana is seated. Along with Aunt Becky. And Grandmama already called and wished you a happy day.”

  “What about Weston’s parents?”

  “You know this would be easier if you would stop talking.” Marie gave me a stern look.

  I let my expression deliver my apology and parted my lip
s exactly the way she’d asked so she could finish her application. “All done,” she said after a minute. She dropped the gloss into her makeup bag and stood back, wiping her hands on a paper towel.

  “Oh, Elizabeth, you look gorgeous,” Melissa, my maid of honor exclaimed. She looked beautiful herself, in a midnight blue gown, simple and classic, exactly the style I preferred. Mirabelle had been a genius at finding the particular details she’d noticed I liked.

  And all for a wedding that didn’t even count.

  My mother came around from behind me and stepped back with Marie and Melissa to take me in. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Baby, you are stunning. Absolutely stunning.” She took my hand and pulled me over to the mirror so I could see for myself.

  My breath caught when I saw myself in the high-necked ivory Vera Wang gown. It was simple, with a halter bodice and an elongated silhouette. I’d elected for no train and no veil, the one unique detail the T-strap razor-back which I turned to admire now.

  I really did look stunning. Like a bride. Like a queen. A lump gathered at the back of my throat, and I had to swallow hard past it.

  “It’s too bad…” I trailed off remembering that Melissa didn’t know the truth and just squeezed my mother’s hand instead.

  “Yes,” my mother said, before Melissa could ask. “It’s too bad your father couldn’t have been here. He would’ve been really proud of you.”

  My mother’s cover-up only made the knot in my stomach tighten more, but I appreciated her effort.

  There was a knock on the door, and Melissa opened it to find LeeAnn Gregori. “Places,” she said. “It’s almost showtime.”

  Funny how she’d chosen exactly the right word—showtime.

  I hugged Marie and my mother, and they went off to take their seats. Then Melissa embraced me and slipped into the hall to line up, not as worried about being seen since she wasn’t the bride. I stayed behind the door, waiting and wishing for something impossible.

  The next knock, I assumed, was my cue, but when I opened it, Donovan was standing there.

  “Just came to check in.”

  I sighed, not really interested in seeing him. After he’d warned me off at the tux shop, Donovan had ended up going to France himself to work on halting the sale of Dyson Media’s advertising subsidiary and prepare for the upcoming merger with Reach. I hadn’t seen him since then, and I was grateful for what he’d done, apparently having slowed Darrell’s plans down. But it didn’t override my irritation that he’d said the things he’d said to me before he’d left.

  “I’m good,” I said. “It’s about time for me to go, so...”

  “I know. I just caught you. There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he added, as though he was unsure how to say it.

  I looked up, my curiosity piqued. “Yes?”

  “I came here today with Sabrina.”

  My eyes rolled, and if I didn’t need it I would have thrown my bouquet at him. “More entertaining for a friend?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m keeping her for myself.”

  Keeping her for himself? As though she were property. As though she were an object passed between friends.

  But nevermind that chauvinistic choice of words that Donovan had used—did that mean Sabrina wasn’t Weston’s?

  I didn’t have to speak the question out loud, it was written all over my face, and Donovan answered it unprompted.

  “I led you to believe that Weston was planning to end up with Sabrina,” he said, seeming uncomfortable with his admission. “And that may have been more of what my plans had been than his. I thought you should know that.”

  “Oh,” I said digesting this information. That was quite a lot to take in and I only had a couple of minutes now until I was set to meet my groom face to face and exchange wedding vows. “It would’ve been nice to have known this, I don’t know, before today.”

  Before I’d written off any possibility of exploring the feelings Weston had sparked in me.

  “I’m sure it would have been. The main message isn’t any different, Elizabeth. I would still give the same warning, if you’d like to hear it. Weston has never settled down with a woman for more than two weeks. I appreciate that you’ve felt a connection between the two of you, but I don’t recommend you put any faith in that lasting. If you do, it’ll only get messy. There’s already a pool set up on how soon the divorce will go through. That’s advice given as a business partner who doesn’t like messes. But it’s also given as a friend.”

  “A friend?” I scoffed. “A friend would have told me the whole truth sooner and let me decide how to think and feel for myself. You just assumed you knew what was best for me.” Just like my father, I mentally added.

  I took a slow breath through gritted teeth and let it out before speaking again. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me and Dyson Media, Donovan. But if you don’t mind, I think maybe you aren’t qualified to step in as Weston’s protector anymore.” I stepped closer and put my hand on his arm. “That’s my advice, as a friend.”

  For a moment he looked like he might argue, but then he simply said, “Advice taken.”

  LeeAnn peeked in then and gave the signal.

  “Walk me out?” I asked Donovan, and with a nod, he led me to the foyer outside the Onyx Ball where the opening strains of “Appalachia Waltz” could be heard, my chosen processional just beginning to play. He left me standing behind my maid of honor where she waited, still hidden from view. And after she took her trip down the aisle, it was my turn.

  No going back now, even if I wanted to. My future was waiting.

  With my shoulders thrown back and my head held high, I stepped into the doorway of the ballroom, and the entire audience stood to face me.

  It was nerve-racking, and threw me for a moment to see an entire room standing at my presence, to have so many people looking toward me. It was a feeling I had intended to embrace, as I wanted to be the officer of a company that was so much larger than this simple ballroom could hold.

  It was more intimidating than I had counted on.

  But even with all eyes on me and the wave of anxiety that produced, the thing that made my knees buckle and the breath stutter from me so that I had to try to catch it in large gulps was the sight of Weston standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for me.

  And everyone else in the room disappeared.

  What had felt like an overwhelming number of footsteps between us became simple and easy, like crossing a well-worn path, one I could travel blindfolded. I set him as an anchor and he reeled me in, and there was no way I was imagining the look on his face as I neared him. As though he’d never seen anyone more beautiful, as though he’d never wanted to look at anyone but me.

  As if I were his queen.

  When I finally slipped into place next to him he took my hand in his, and I could feel that he was trembling, or maybe it was me. I was glad that it wasn’t a time for us to speak, because there weren’t words that I could say in that moment. Nothing seemed to sum up the feeling in my chest. And whatever wisdom there was in remembering that all of this was a performance, that every bit of this was going to have an end, I couldn’t listen to any of that right now.

  There was just this. Now. Our hands joined together.

  Whatever happened after didn’t matter.

  The officiant welcomed everyone, the words he said already a blur even as they came out of his mouth, my head whirring too much to focus on any one particular phrase or sentiment. He did a reading, something we’d chosen early in the planning process, and then his speech began where he talked about the definition of marriage, where he imagined the life that we were creating together, and the future that we could bring to the earth as Mr. and Mrs. King.

  I let his speech go by, background noise to the pressure of Weston’s palm against mine. The way the warmth from his body traveled into mine was biology, I supposed, but right then it was mysterious and magical.

  For the rest of my life, if this was all I had t
o hold onto, just this, this moment and this connection—this connection that Donovan said not to make too much of—it would be enough. This magical, fascinating spark that ebbed and flowed and never broke. I couldn’t buy that anywhere. I couldn’t barter it from anyone else. How lucky that I’d managed to discover it and grow it with this man whom I never would have met if it weren’t for my father and his old-fashioned notions.

  Maybe there was something wondrous about that too. How things came around. How karma turned the tables.

  Then it was time for us to speak, for us to say our vows.

  The officiant instructed us to turn to each other and Weston took both of my hands in his, and I realized I’d been wrong about needing something special and original because even hearing the traditional vows I’d settled for come from Weston’s lips today, spoken while he looked at me the way he was looking at me, was going to be incredible.

  Even if he didn’t mean them, there was enough to build a fantasy around.

  But when he started speaking, I didn’t recognize the words that came from his lips.

  “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I met you, Elizabeth,” he said, and my heart started hammering so hard against my rib cage that I was sure that he and every person in the room could hear it. “I had no idea that my house would be cleaner or that I would be late to every event that we attended together. I certainly didn’t have any idea that you would change me so much. Not just me but the world that I live in, the world around me. How I think, how I feel, how I breathe. You’re in my heart, now. You’re my home.”

  His voice caught, and he had to pause. “You’re my home, and for as much of your life that you let me, it would be my honor to be that for you.”

  And then it was my turn, which wasn’t fair, because I was tearing up, and if he’d done this, if he’d made up these vows on the spot just to get a reaction from me, then it worked. Everyone in the room would be fooled—including me.

  But if he really meant them…

  God, I hoped he meant them.