From This Day Foward: Switched at Marriage Part 4

  From This Day Foward

  Switched at Marriage Part 4

  Gina Robinson

  Copyright © 2015 by Gina Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Gina Robinson

  http://www.ginarobinson.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  From This Day Forward, Switched at Marriage Part 4,/Gina Robinson. — 1st ed.

  Created with Vellum

  GinaRobinson.com

  Visit ginarobinson.com to sign up for my VIP New Releases List. You’ll get exclusive access to new release notifications, series announcements, and more! Get the Gina Robinson Starter Library Free for signing up!

  The Switched at Marriage Series

  Part 1—A Wedding to Remember

  Part 2—The Virgin Billionaire

  Part 3—To Have and To Hold

  Part 4—From This Day Forward

  Part 5—For Richer, For Richest Coming Soon!

  Gina Robinson’s Contemporary New Adult Romance Series

  The Rushed Series

  These standalone romances can be read in any order. But it’s more fun to read them all!

  Book 1—Rushed, Zach and Alexis’ story

  Book 2—Crushed, Dakota and Morgan’s story

  Book 3—Hushed, Seth and Maddie’s story

  The Reckless Series

  Ellie and Logan’s love story begins one hot August night. This series should be read in order.

  Book 1—Reckless Longing—FREE!

  Book 2—Reckless Secrets

  Book 3—Reckless Together

  Chapter One

  Kayla

  When facing one of life's universal dilemmas—whether to open Pandora's box or calmly go on with life as if nothing extraordinary has happened—you should always listen to the tiny voice of reason in your head. Your conscience will be your guide—

  Right. That's something my mom would say. I wanted her out of my head. Now.

  The envelope I'd found in Justin's coat pocket shook in my hand as I studied his neat, engineering block printing.

  To my Wife Kayla, to be read the day before our divorce.

  I plopped down on the padded black bench in Justin's rather ordinary closet and set the coat beside me. His closet should have been fabulous. I mean, it was a billionaire's closet. Or pretending to be, anyway. In a penthouse. And huge. At least half the size of my entire apartment. But sparse. Definitely thin on shelves. Racks for shoes? Nearly nonexistent. He had a shelf for shoes. Yes, one tiny shelf. Who had so few shoes that one shelf would hold them?

  Even before being a billionaire's wife, I'd fantasized about a closet with wall-to-wall shoes, neatly laid out in custom shoe shelf after custom shelf. Filled with fabulous designer shoes. As a nearly starving college grad I had more shoes than would fit on that shelf. If I had it entirely to myself.

  He also had shelves for his jeans. Which might have been a practical storage solution if he'd owned hundreds of pairs, not a mere half dozen. Neatly folded and sitting side by side. The man needed more clothes. As in way, way more! How was he going to compete with Lazer with this shoddy wardrobe?

  From the look of his closet layout, he wasn't planning on buying many more. Good thing I was riding to his fashion rescue. If I was going to leave him as the smokingly hottest divorced billionaire in the city in less than a year, I had no time to lose. Not even one of his precious computing nanoseconds. How small was a nanosecond, anyway?

  Either Jus had cheaped out on closet design. Or he'd hired a minimalist to design it. It was like his old college clothes were lounging in the luxury of empty space. That was what all the money in the world meant to Jus, more space for the meager wardrobe he already had. A closet this big should have had plenty of room for me to move into. But it needed a California Closet makeover, like, immediately. I was going to talk to Jus about it. The next woman in his life would thank me. Why did the thought of handing all my hard work over to another girl give me a prickle of jealousy?

  I shrugged it off as nothing more than wanting to get credit for a job well done. Which brought me back to the matter at hand.

  Hmmmm…the day before our divorce? What was so special about immediately before the dissolution of our marriage?

  I turned the envelope over, caressing the fine quality paper as if I could seduce it into giving up the secrets within. What could Jus possibly have to say to me that had to wait until the day before our scheduled divorce? The possibilities certainly piqued my imagination.

  My vanity reveled in the idea that he was madly in love with me and was going to beg me to stay. Yes, I was a wicked woman that way, wanting male adoration forever. But weren't we all to some degree? And the thought, while sweet and romantic, was preposterous. College crushes didn't last forever. And he'd made no move to give me any indication his feelings were as they had been. Which had been immature and naïve at best, anyway.

  However, if he were going to beg me to stay, he would have to at least promise me a major closet overhaul. With plenty of shelves for shoes and drawers for fine lingerie. And at least a tiny bit of femininity in the décor. Enough of this black, red, and gray.

  Or…

  He was handing down sage investing advice. Maybe the name of a trusted financial advisor, and in the card was a brilliant letter of introduction. Because this financial advisor was so exclusive and hard to get I would need a referral. I had no experience managing real money. And Jus was sweet enough to take care of me even when I was no longer "his responsibility." I laughed at that thought. But he wouldn't want me blowing that hard-earned ten million he was forking over.

  Or…

  The card contained a letter of recommendation to the next billionaire, or maybe even only multimillionaire, who needed a decoy wife. Yes, a reference like you'd give a nanny when her charges had outgrown the need for her services. Is fiercely loyal and discreet. Can be trusted not to blow your cover. Sometimes gets carried away and flirts with other men. But will treat your mother with respect and can be reminded of her duty to be in love with you. At least in public.

  And, hey, maybe after a year, when I earned my gold digger's green card, I would be in the mood to make a career out of decoy wifery. I might even prove to have a real aptitude for it.

  Or…

  The card contained a press release announcing our divorce and the "reasons" for it. The official party line, so to speak. And a reminder that either I took this secret to my grave, or Jus would destroy me with his superior mind and computer hacking skills.

  Or…

  He was giving me instructions on where to leave my keys to his many homes, all the credit cards in our names, and any other logistical details of parting ways. Wait. Couldn't Handsome Harry handle all that?

  Sigh. I could go on and on. The possibilities were endless.

  But why should I when I could simply open the envelope? Read what he had to say. Toss the card in the trash in the lobby. And donate the coat as planned. He would never know the difference. So easy, really.

  I grinned. Child's play. I was about to slip my finger beneath the envelope's flap when the chime of the alarm sys
tem sounded. Not the ear-splitting siren of the alarm actually going off. The alarm wasn't armed. The pleasant warning bing-bong that alerted me that a door had opened. Either Magda, or the part-time maid, was working on Saturday. Or…

  "Kay! I'm home. Where are you?"

  Crappity, crap, crap! Justin was home. Early. Such unfortunate timing.

  I sat with my back to the closet entrance. I was looking around for a place to stash the letter—

  "There you are!"

  I jumped. Nearly out of my skin, as they say. And now I knew why.

  "Caught you red-handed!" His footsteps came toward me.

  My mouth went cotton dry as I tried to think like a spy. How could he have caught me? Did he have cameras in the closet?

  I didn't have time to eat the evidence. And no saliva to swallow it if I had. I almost gave up and simply handed the letter over to him. But I wasn't a quitter.

  "What are you doing in here?" His voice grew louder as he grew closer.

  So maybe he didn't mean he'd caught me with his card. Cool as Mata Hari, I slipped the envelope back into the jacket pocket to retrieve later and fixed a welcoming, totally innocent smile on my lips. "Conquering your horrendous closet. And making room to infiltrate your life. What else would I be doing in here?"

  So innocent and flippant! I sounded completely normal despite my wildly racing heart.

  He rested his hands on my shoulders and leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Do you have a flag?"

  "What?" I laughed. He was ridiculous sometimes. And obscure.

  "You can't claim new territory without a flag. No flag, no closet."

  I scooped a pair of panties off the floor and waved them for effect. "How's this?"

  "Like waving a red flag in front of a bull."

  I glanced up at him. His comment caught me off guard. Was he really interested in sex? He'd been so damned gentlemanly. I wasn't used to men who kept it in their pockets.

  "More like bullshit," I said. "Since when have you been a raging bull?" I laughed.

  A quick look of hurt flashed across his face so quickly I almost missed it. I'd hurt his masculine pride, I suppose. He was too complex for me to figure out sometimes.

  I cleared my throat and tried to appear apologetic. "Besides, they're black."

  "Flying the black flag? Even worse." He rubbed my shoulders, back to sounding friendly and uninterested.

  I hoped he didn't feel how tense and knotted I was. His hands were working magic. "You plagiarized that joke. You stole it from an old comedy routine you played for me in college. Don't think I don't know your MO."

  He shook his head. "I modified it to suit the situation. That's not plagiarism. That's putting a fresh spin on old material." His hands stilled. With one quick movement, he pulled his jacket out of my hand before I could protest. "Great! You found my jacket. I went off without it this morning."

  "You can't take that!" I wanted it. And most importantly, I wanted that tantalizing letter back.

  "I just did."

  "Toss it over there," I said, as casually as I could. As if I wasn't dying to get it back. "In the donation pile. I'll have Magda take all that stuff to the Goodwill on Monday."

  "No way, baby," he whispered in my ear. "This is my favorite. You're giving my good stuff away?"

  "I'm giving your crap stuff away. To make room for a few of my clothes. Like enough to last a year. So I don't look like a temporary visitor. Or a slob who keeps her clothes on a chair because she's too lazy to put them away." I patted the seat next to me. "Has anyone ever told you this closet is just an excuse to waste space? Where are all the fabulous shelves and drawers like a billionaire should have? I need shelves and drawers for my things."

  "So order some," he said in a tone of totally not caring about either the money or the details of a closet as he took the seat I offered. "I've only been a billionaire about a month. What with Flash going public, becoming a billionaire, and taking a wife, I'm not up on how billionaires' closets should look yet. Is there some standard? An international code of billionaires' closets I should be following? Or is this another one of those social conventions I'm blind to?"

  I laughed. He was sweet. And funny. And honest.

  "Codes? Not that I'm aware of. Social conventions, probably. Leave it to me. I'll take care of it and get you up to code and social convention standards. Straight away." I glanced around the closet and pursed my mouth. "I really don't know why this master suite doesn't have his and hers closets, anyway."

  "This penthouse was billed as a bachelor pad." He sounded amused. "That was its appeal in the first place. I wasn't thinking of getting married when I bought it. I don't plan to live here forever."

  I turned and rolled my eyes at him. "Oh, baby, you really blew the bachelor bit."

  He nodded. "What can I say? I have no defense."

  I patted his hand and smiled into his eyes. "One of these days I'm going to have to check 'our' other homes and see if one is more suited for family life."

  "Don't get your hopes up. The other homes are nice, but I like this place." He grinned devilishly.

  My heart did the tiniest flop as he did. He had an intense way of looking at me, maybe at any girl, really, like he was interested and really saw me.

  "So only your needs matter in this marriage?" I grinned back, teasing him. It was so easy and natural. "I could always move into one of them. We could live separate lives like so many jet-setting couples."

  Talking had put him off guard.

  I saw a chance and made a sudden move to take back his jacket. "Give me that ratty thing! I'm on a mission to give it away to someone who's desperate enough to actually need to wear it."

  He dodged my attempt to gain control of the jacket, laughing. "Nice try. As long as I'm paying for your services as my wife, you stay with me. And so does this jacket."

  I rolled my eyes. "You're impossible! And although I fear I've set feminism back a hundred years with this marriage of convenience and fakery, I never promised to obey you." I sighed for dramatic emphasis, obviously still teasing him.

  "You signed a contract. With the terms spelled out. That's even better." He laughed again. "Speaking of our marriage, how am I supposed to act at this party tonight? Cool and aloof? Like an arrogant, cocky douchebag billionaire snob? So when we split in a year your friends will side with you. I don't want to get this wrong again and end up in the doghouse. It's damn tight in there and my allergies act up."

  His tone was light and joking. But comedy usually hides darkness and hurt. I had the feeling he still stung from my—and I will say it—seemingly irrational reaction to how much my parents liked him. It was odd. They've never particularly liked any of my previous boyfriends. Although by previous, that pretty much meant Eric, for the most part. So maybe that's why I was upset. They didn't like the guys I picked and loved the one I didn't.

  "I blew it with your parents. I don't want to get in trouble again. So? Do you want me to hide my natural charm?" Jus gave me a sweet smile, seductive in its earnestness.

  When had Eric cared about my feelings? The thought came out of nowhere. I realized I hadn't thought much about Eric at all during the first week of my marriage. And my heart was feeling considerably less bruised. It hardly hurt at all.

  "Just so you know," Jus continued, "I have not sent flowers ahead this time."

  My turn to raise an eyebrow at him. "Champagne?"

  "Nope."

  "A fruit basket?"

  He rolled his eyes.

  "Chocolate-covered strawberries?"

  "No way."

  "Excellent!" I hugged him and looked deep into his eyes, touched by how much he wanted to please me. "How sweet and unthoughtful you are."

  "Yeah, I'm now that kind of guy. The kind who doesn't do thoughtful shit. So?"

  His point hit home. Crap, I was being that confusing kind of girl guys hated. That I hated, too, come to think of it. I wasn't intentionally jerking him around on my string. This whole situation confused and confound
ed me, too.

  On the surface, I may have looked like the socially savvy one. But being in a marriage of convenience was way more complicated than I ever could have imagined. Like so many things in life, you don't know what you're getting into until you dive in. If I didn't know what I wanted, how could he? Even mind reading wouldn't have helped him in this situation, sad to say. Not that I'm in favor of mind reading. I didn't like the thought of someone knowing my thoughts.

  "I'm sorry." I flashed him a genuinely contrite and apologetic smile. "Who knew fake wives could be such absolute bitches and pains in the ass, right?"

  He laughed. "Kay—"

  I shook my head. "No, it's okay. It's true. I never thought I'd be a bitchy, confusing, controlling, demanding wife. I always pictured myself as a mature, sensible, loving kind of partner." I took a breath. "I'm feeling my way through this. It's uncharted territory for me." I shook my head and laughed softly. "For anybody, I suppose. How many marriages like ours are there?"

  "Statistically speaking?" His eyes were full of humor. "Disregarding all the standard marriages of convenience, you know, where they actually get married." His grin was adorable.

  I couldn't help smiling. It surprised me, really, how easily he made me smile. He had an infectious good humor and sweetness. Had Eric done that for me? Certainly not in the last year, maybe longer. In the beginning, yes. Due to sheer infatuation and the happy hormones involved in falling in love. But how long had that lasted until the betrayal and the fighting and the off-and-on started?

  "And all green card marriages, arranged marriages, and out-and-out scam marriages," Jus said, continuing with the theme, "I'd say we're at least one in a million."

  "I'd say that's generous." I smiled at him, feeling lighter. "I was thinking one in a billion."

  "It's all right, Kay. I don't mind if you’re a bitch from time to time. There's no road map for what we're going through." He took a deep breath, like he was bracing for something. "Look. You hung by me in college when everyone else ostracized and made fun of me. You treated me like a normal guy. Not a joke. Not a scrawny kid who didn't belong anywhere. I can certainly put up with a little confusion on your part in a crazy situation like this one that I dragged you into." He winked. "Even if I am paying you to play the part. I give all my employees a trial time to learn the job. A wise boss doesn't expect perfection from the start."