His Fake Fiancee: BBW Romance (Fake it For Me)

“Eight o’clock.” He chuckles when my eyes go wide in surprise. “I felt since I was to blame for your exhaustion, I owed you a lie-in. However, I have left the lawyer waiting once already. It is in poor taste to do so again.”

I can’t believe it. I think I’m in shock. Ivan doesn’t deviate from his schedule. When I asked Tim if the schedule was set in stone, Tim said Ivan had only broken the pattern twice in the seven years he had worked for him.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out as I struggle to sit up. Holy crap, every bit of me aches. I gasp at the way I would swear, if I didn’t see Ivan sitting on the edge of the bed, that he was inside me.

“Still sore?”

I nod, too embarrassed at how wet I am just thinking about yesterday.

“I have a bath waiting for you. Not too long though. You have a half hour to get ready. Breakfast will be waiting. I will be in my office. It is down the hall. Come in when you are done.” He trails his thumb over my bottom lip, then he’s gone.

Watching him walk away, I’m glad he can’t see the goofy grin on my face.

I don’t take as long as I want in the bath but it was worth it. I feel much better when I get out of it. I don’t have time to do anything with my hair, so I brush it out and do a messy bun instead of the slick, tight one Ivan doesn’t like.

In his bedroom I look for my suitcase but don’t see it. I open the door to his walk-in closet—wow. There are not one but two islands in the middle that I know are for accessories. I can’t imagine having enough to fill them. There are two walls of Ivan’s clothes. One wall is filled with so many gorgeous suits, in an array of blacks, grays, and dark blues, I lose count. Another wall is full of casual clothes. And a third wall has my clothes Ivan packed last night. I can’t believe he was able to get as many as he did. It’s weird seeing my clothes here with his.

A sigh escapes me; I can’t stay here. I let Ivan bring me here because I was in too much pain to argue with anyone last night. But I am going home tonight. I’m not going to beg or plead for Abuelo to understand or even approve of whatever the hell me and Ivan are, but I sure as fuck am not going to apologize or feel guilty for it.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to please him, to be a good girl who never causes a problem, never asks for more than he or Abuela could give me. There was no skipping classes, no smoking of anything. I didn’t have my first kiss until I was eighteen years old. The only reason I dated Brandon was because he liked a challenge. I was twenty-two years old when we first had sex, and it was basically because of the permission Abuela gave me to do it.

Abuelo said no tight-fitting clothes, I didn’t wear them. Abuelo said no makeup, I didn’t wear it until I was in my twenties. Abuelo said women should have long hair, and the time I cut it short when I was fifteen he kept saying I looked like a boy so I never cut it again, except for trimming it. I hate my fucking hair, it gives me headaches and takes forever to take care of. Yet I don’t cut it to make him happy.

I love him but fuck this. I’m thirty years old. It’s long past time to do what I want to do because I want to do it. The longer I think of it, the more humiliating it is for me to have been such a child in an effort to please him.

Enough, I need to get moving, I’m starving. As I look through my clothes wondering what to wear, I go still. I was trying to figure out which dress Ivan would like most. What the fuck? Am I trading the need to please one man for another?

The shake of my head is instant. I don’t even have to think about it. No, there is a difference. Ivan didn’t withhold his approval to get me to do anything. He wanted me to be happy. The clothes were for me, not him. He didn’t like me wearing makeup because I didn’t need it, not because he thought it meant I was a whore.

Abuelo had actually called me a whore the first time I came home wearing makeup. Abuelo was about control for the sake of control. Ivan was controlling to take care of me—and, no doubt about it, to keep his life the way he liked it—yet even then when it came to what I wanted or needed, he loosened his reins.

I cared about making Ivan happy because it made me happy too. I loved Abuelo, but I wanted to make him happy not just because it made me happy but because it also made life easier. Abuelo could be so hard to deal with when he wasn’t happy.

Heat hits me in a wave, and I turn to find Ivan staring at me.

“Christina, please get dressed.” Ivan groans as his hands clench at his side. This his eyes widen, and he comes closer. “Fuck, I had no idea. You’re all bruised up. Fucking hell, I’m sorry.”

Gently, he traces the bruises on my hips and over my breasts. Regret is clear on his face. This time knowing he’s lost that ice cool of his doesn’t make me feel good. I grab his hand and bring it up to my face.

“Hey, I just spent almost ten minutes in the bath feeling smug and wet—not from the water, but as I found all the bruises you gave me. I love every single one of them. Even the ones on my throat I can’t hide.”

His eyes darken as he wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me up to him. “The point of the marks on your neck is not to hide them. I want everyone looking at you to know you are mine. The same way I spent all day inside you so that you would feel me there with every step you take.”

I sway into him, and he catches me around my waist. The silk suit he’s wearing is cool against my heated skin. “Mission accomplished, I’m feeling much better now.”

He laughs. “No, you are not. I d

etest tardiness. Get dressed. What do you want for breakfast?”

It’s hard not to pout. “A couple of scrambled eggs and some toast is fine. Coffee, white and sweet.”

“It will be ready in a few minutes. I like your hair like that. Please no makeup on your beautiful skin.”

I nod.

He lets go of me. “Get dressed.”

Cranky, I let him go, then the bastard smacks my ass. Ouch, damn, that hurt. I want to yell at him but he’s already gone.