The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 3 (The Billionaire Saga 3)
“If I’d known…I would have gone out looking for it a long time ago.”
It was one of those mental images I knew I’d remember forever. How Marcus looked, leaning down over me in the soft light. The exact expression on his face. The soft, tender smile. The way his eyes glowed and sparkled in the light. It was one of those moments that came along just a few times in a person’s life. Blink, and you might miss it.
But hold on tight, and you could carry it with you forever…
* * *
The laws of weddings be damned—Marcus slept with me that night. He slipped out just as the sun was coming up over the hill. I felt his lips as he kissed me softly on the forehead, before I slipped back off into the sweetest of dreams. I woke an hour or so later feeling usually steady. My alarm had yet to go off, and I flipped it to Silent as I tried figure out what had changed.
“Oh my gosh…” I said aloud.
I didn’t have morning sickness! The first morning yet! It had to be a sign!
Between the new ring on my finger and the calm in my belly, I was feeling about as blissed out as possible as I kicked off the covers and closed my eyes. Golden sunlight leaked in from the cracks in my curtains, and I smiled as it warmed the tops of my cheeks.
You’re getting married today, Bex. Take a breath—enjoy it. Today is your big day.
The shrill ring from a second, hidden alarm shook me out of my reverie, and I jumped up to find it as it blasted away.
“What the hell?” I panted, throwing aside clothes and shoes as I searched for the damn thing. I finally found it, buried between a hat and a watch box. “What’s going on?”
“Good morning you little bride you!”
Amanda bounced into my room, followed closely by my mother (who I could see was already clutching a tissue to her watery eyes). “The clock is mine. I thought you might disregard the first, and I didn’t want you to fall behind this morning. You know,” she tapped her temple knowingly, “just part of my duties as your—”
“—maid of honor. Yes, we’ve all heard the speech.” I laughed and chucked the mini-clock at her. “That thing’s annoying as hell.”
“It’s programmed to be.”
There was a loud sob followed by a sudden pause in the conversation as both Amanda and I turned as one to my mother. Sharon Wood may be a survivor—two kids, nasty divorce, breast cancer, and a Pomeranian who refused to potty train—but she was an emotional disaster when it came to weddings. Always had been. I could only imagine what today was going to do to her already quivering control.
“Hey, Mom,” I said carefully, coming in for a gentle hug, “you doing okay?”
She allowed herself to be held for a moment before pulling away. “It’s just…you have a little girl, raise her up as best you can, turn her loose in the world…and you adjust, you know? You take up gardening, tai chi—whatever you want. And you think you’re doing fine. ‘Cause deep down, you always think she’ll be coming right back. And then…”
She dissolved into another ear-splitting wail. I spotted Billings coming in over her shoulder, but he took one look and speed-walked the other direction.
“And then they g-go off and get m-married!”
Amanda and I threw each other a quick look then surrounded her in a monster hug, a hug intended both to comfort and subdue.
“Mom, it’s not like I’m never coming home,” I tried to calm her. “The only difference is that now when you want to visit, you’ll sleep in an ornate guest room instead of on the couch with Deevus.”
Amanda nodded helpfully. “And when Becca comes to visit, she’ll bring along a hot man who can carry out the trash, and take Mugsy on walks, and cook dinner and stuff.”
My mother sniffed and ruffled my hair like I was still five years old. “I’m so happy for you, baby,” she whispered. “I couldn’t be any happier.”
My eyes filled with tears as well. I wrapped my arms around her in a gigantic bear hug. After a minute, there was a tap on my shoulder, and I reluctantly released her.
“Hate to spoil the moment,” Amanda interjected hesitantly, “but it’s already ten after.”
My mother jumped to attention, and all at once, the sensitive, vulnerable Sharon was gone. The wedding dictator was back—and she wasn’t taking any prisoners.
“Why didn’t you say so!” she demanded. “Amanda—grab the dresses from my closet and make sure you remember the shoes. Bex—get into the shower and wash your hair.” She whipped out her phone. “I’m going to get the hair and makeup people in here…along with some coffee.”
“Don’t forget the mimosas!” Amanda called as she ran down the hall.
With an oversized grin, I skipped into the shower and lathered on my favorite plumeria scent—letting the suds and hot water soak into my skin before rinsing it all off. For the last ten days, I’d been using a leave-in deep-c