A Wedding to Remember: Switched at Marriage Part 1 Read online

  "Absolutely."

  "Having them or not? Because I can adopt."

  I grinned. "I like childless men."

  He grinned back.

  I couldn't believe I was actually considering his strange arrangement. "The thing is—logistics," I said. "I told Mom I was sick over the weekend. I told my coworkers. I made a fabulous story out of it and got a lot of sympathy." I tried to smile. "I mean, a lot. Am I a pathological liar now? Why would I lie to them?"

  "Because you wanted to announce the wonderful news in person. And a case of food poisoning is the perfect cover for an elopement."

  I'd forgotten what a great sense of humor he had. I frowned. "Except…I threw up all over the plant manager's shoes at the distribution site for the company I sort of work at."

  "Nerves," he said. "Pre-wedding jitters. Happens all the time."

  I frowned. I had to remind him of one final slip-up, even though it could cost me a literal fortune. "There's a hitch—I called the credit card company. Remember?"

  "No problem. I'll have my people call them and tell them you were mistaken about the charges. I'll pay the bill in full." He paused. "How much do you owe?"

  "Now you ask?" I teased. "Pocket change to you. About three thousand."

  "Done." He looked relieved. "I'll get you signed up with one of those identity protection services. We don't want any problems with your impersonator."

  I was still wavering.

  "A fake marriage is serious stuff," he said. "If you need time to think it over, I'll understand. But think of it this way, Kay, it could be a grand adventure."

  I looked into his eyes. He was dead serious. And he'd been thinking what I had. When would I get the chance to be a billionaire's wife again?

  "I work a lot. I won't be home much. You can do pretty much anything you want, as long as you keep our secret and don't publicly embarrass me…with other men." He stared down at our clasped hands and rubbed mine with his thumb. "For my part, I promise to put the toilet seat down and pick up my socks. Well, the maid picks up my socks. But same deal, right?"

  "Are you saying we're not going to have an open marriage of convenience?" I shook my head. "Crap, that sounds old-fashioned."

  "You believe in open marriages?" He looked surprised.

  "I meant the marriage of convenience thing—who does that?"

  He laughed. It was a heartwarming, melodious sound.

  "What about you?" I said. "I don't want to be embarrassed, either. Are you giving up a girlfriend?"

  He looked startled by the question. "I work too much to have a girlfriend."

  "But a wife is no problem?"

  His grin deepened. "A wife of convenience. They're much more understanding. Girlfriends expect too much."

  I smiled back at him. My life was pretty much in the toilet. What did I have to lose? Still, it was a huge deal to rush into marriage, even a highly convenient one. "Can I sleep on it?"

  He nodded. "Harry's drawing up a contract. Take it with you. Read it over. Get a lawyer to look at it for you."

  "I need a lawyer now, too?" I said.

  "It's your standard post-nup," he said in an amused voice. "But yeah. Always have a lawyer look over the fine print."

  "Post-nup?" I laughed at the absurdity.

  His expression became serious, all business suddenly. "It guarantees you ten million dollars, flat rate, if you keep your end of the bargain, and an amicable divorce for both of us at the end of a year."

  I studied him. His bushy beard needed a trim. Actually, it needed to either be cut off entirely or cut very close. His hair was a mess. On impulse, I reached up and smoothed down a piece of his hair that was sticking up at an odd angle. He was not my type. So why was my heart racing? The money? The sense of adventure? I didn't trust my motives. Maybe I was a moneygrubbing bitch.

  He looked startled by my touch.

  I dropped my hand as if I'd committed a sin and cleared my throat. "I'll text you my answer in the morning."

  Chapter Four

  Justin

  Despite my total screw-up, everything was falling into place. I almost had a hot wife. I would have her. I needed her.

  Harry returned to the conference room and handed Kayla a sheaf of legal documents.

  Kayla took them, stuffed them into her tote, and stood to leave. "It was good to see you again, Justin. Nice to meet you, Harry." She slipped her tote over her shoulder. "See you around. You'll have my answer in the morning." She turned her back to me and walked out the door before I could respond.

  I watched her go, hoping I'd done the right thing.

  Harry whistled when she was out of sight. "That girl is a stunner."

  "Shut up. That's my wife you're ogling."

  "Not yet."

  "Isn't she?" I stared at him. "I have the license and the witnesses to prove it."

  "You're counting your chickens."

  "She won't leave me," I said. "There's no way in hell I'm letting her go. There's too much at stake."

  * * *

  Kayla

  By the time I left the law offices, it was almost noon and my stomach was growling. The day was gorgeous and sunny blue. It was true. The bluest skies were in Seattle. Or maybe they only looked that way in contrast to two hundred drab, gray days a year. Maybe the skies were just as blue in California. But not nearly as appreciated. And maybe my life had just taken a blue-sky-day turn for the better. It had certainly gotten a whole lot more interesting.

  I walked to Pike Place Market as a gentle breeze blew in off Puget Sound, catching my skirt and blowing it up nearly around my waist. A breeze always blew downtown. I laughed and clamped my skirt down around my thighs as I walked.

  I could be rich. A simple flick of the pen and I wouldn't have to worry about money for the rest of my life. Independence, here I come! No one will tell me what to do. The next year, however, was a different story. How much was a year of pretending worth?

  Could I really live with Justin? For a whole year? I'd never had much luck with roommates. Or living with guys. Then again, as far as guys went, I'd only ever lived with Eric. Maybe he wasn't the best example.

  What would I tell my parents? My friends? How would I explain things? How would I explain the marriage and the divorce when I finally met a guy I really wanted to marry? What if I never met that guy? What if I met him during the year of playing Justin's wife?

  The whole situation felt unreal.

  On the other hand, if I turned down the money, would I always regret it? More than the money, was this the adventure I'd always dreamed of? A way out of a life of ordering moisture-wicking boxer briefs for a living?

  No matter what happened, I felt rich already. But for today my luxuries were simple—a bouquet from the Market and a cup of rich, delicious Beecher's mac and cheese for lunch. My mouth watered at the thought.

  The Market hummed with its usual active buzz and busy tourist traffic. The fish throwers were tossing salmons with their usual flair. Guys in white aprons and tats were hot. Even hotter with bulging, flexing muscles as they joked, laughed, and threw twenty-pound salmons around as if they were as light as sardines.

  I made my way to the flower stalls and picked out a twenty-five-dollar floral bunch in deep pinks and purples. The five-dollar bunches were decent. The ten-dollar ones nice. And the twenty-five-dollar bouquets were just show-offy and obscene. Like being a billionaire's wife?

  I paid with the reserve cash I had in my wallet, leaving just enough for my mac and cheese. In my real life, I had to skimp. These things were luxuries. Did I want to continue to live like this? Or did I want the high life?

  I felt like I was living that old story I'd had to read in school. Lady? Or the tiger? Which would I choose? And why? Write a thousand-word essay outlining your reasons for deciding to choose the billionaire. Where had that come from? Was I choosing the billionaire? And was he the equivalent of the lady or the tiger?

  As I waited in line at Beecher's, being jostled and bumped by the crowds, I
regretted buying flowers first. I finally got my mac and cheese and balanced it and my flowers as I made my way downstairs. The Market was always crowded. There were usually no places to sit and eat. I knew of a spot in the basement that hardly anyone bothered to find. There were generally plenty of tables there.

  Sure enough, I was right. I found a table for two, set my flowers in the seat opposite me as if they were my date, and took a bite of heavenly mac and cheese. So much better than instant mac. Why did I ever bother with the pale imitation?

  My phone buzzed in my purse. I ignored it. Whoever was calling could wait. A woman walked by and gawked at me as if she was trying to place me. I didn't know her, so I shrugged it off. She was probably just admiring my flowers. Then two biker dudes in full leathers and tats strolled by. It would have been a nice boost to my self-esteem to think they were checking me out. But they wore the same Hey, don't I know her? expression as the woman had. Weird.

  I was sitting in a low-traffic part of the Market, but the curious stares started coming faster. As the stares turned to whispers and pointing, I grew more and more uncomfortable. I wolfed downed the rest of my lunch and headed out onto the street to get my cheesecake on a stick from a walk-up window. Cheese seemed to be the food theme of my day.

  As I waited in line, my phone buzzed again. And again. The more I ignored it, the crazier it went. It buzzed constantly, like an electric massager was going wild for my lipstick.

  My turn finally came up. I ordered a piece of Irish cream cheesecake dipped in chocolate on a stick. I was out of cash, so I crossed my fingers and handed over my credit card to the girl behind the counter.

  In the back of the shop, a TV mounted on the wall played the local noon news. The girl looked at me funny. Then glanced at my credit card and read my name before she ran it. Crap! I was in trouble now. She was going to refuse my card and I was down to my last dollar twenty in cash. It sucked being poor.

  The newly insidious little thought came: You don't have to ever be poor again.

  My phone continued buzzing. Other people were giving me strange looks. They were probably thinking, Why doesn't she answer her stupid phone!

  Did ignoring my phone make me a crazy person? From the looks I was getting, you would think so.

  The girl handed me my credit card along with my cheesecake in a white paper bag. "Kayla Lucas?" She squinted at me.

  I nodded, worried that I was on their banned credit card list and I'd have to bum some change off the strangers in line around me. Move over, crazy Seattle panhandlers. Here I came.

  "I thought I recognized you! You've been on the noon news." She pointed to the screen behind her, which was currently showing the weather and, therefore, not much help in making her point. It was supposed to stay sunny for the next few days, though. So, good news there. June is not the sunniest month in Seattle.

  "The noon news? What?" My mouth went dry. "Why?"

  My credit wasn't that bad. I freaked. What if the girl supposedly pretending to be me had gotten herself arrested in Reno? Didn't Johnny Cash shoot a man in Reno just to see him die? Right, that was just a song.

  The girl behind the counter laughed like I was joking with her. "Congratulations on marrying Justin Green! I can't believe you snagged the city's most eligible billionaire nerd. He's not much to look at. But who cares? With all that money, he's hot. Everyone wants to be you right now. I know what I'd do if I'd just married a billionaire—call in rich!"

  Crap, crap, crap! Behind me in line, the curious buzz escalated toward a celebrity-sighting fever pitch. My phone buzzed like it was about to stage a jailbreak from my purse.

  "You haven't seen Justin lately. He's totally gorgeous now." I don't know why I got defensive and protected his honor. Or maybe I was protecting mine. I chided myself for being vain and shallow. Like men who forever have insisted on having beautiful girls on their arms. Did I have to have a beautiful man on mine? Was that why I was hesitating about accepting Justin's proposal?

  I stuffed my dollar twenty in her tip jar on the counter, grabbed my cheesecake and credit card from her, and ran.

  I didn't stop until I reached Waterfront Park and lost myself in the crowd. The marauding gulls were circling, eyeing my cheesecake. I tucked the bag under my arm. The gulls were as bad as the news media.

  With trembling fingers, I pulled my phone out of my purse. I had texts and missed calls from friends, coworkers, and, most ominously, my mom.

  I scanned the texts. Someone had posted my "good news" to Facebook. My page was filled with best wishes and congrats. And a few snarky comments about marrying for money. People wanted to see the ring and wedding pictures. Someone else had hashtagged and tweeted it. My mom had resorted to sending me a furious text full of threatening exclamation points, demanding I call her now and explain myself. Was this true? Had I married that nerdy friend of Dex's? Had he been in on it and been at the wedding? How I could I elope and not tell her? Was my secret wedding Pinterest board just subterfuge?

  How did Mom know about my board?

  I ignored all the messages and punched Justin's number with a trembling finger, trying to dial him between incoming texts, emails, and calls. When I finally got through, I crossed my fingers.

  Pick up, pick up, pick up!

  "Kayla?" He sounded confused, and yes, almost ridiculously pleased, that I was calling so soon.

  I hated to dash his hopes.

  "How can you be so calm?" I rushed my words, tripping over them as I tried to talk. "Haven't you seen the news or checked your social media accounts in the last half-hour? We're all over it! I haven't even agreed to stay married to you yet and everyone knows about our 'marriage.' Everyone."

  "Slow down." He sounded genuinely surprised.

  My mouth had gone completely dry, and my hands shook so badly I had trouble hanging on to the phone. I took a deep breath. "Our secret lasted, like, thirty seconds. Someone just announced our marriage. Everywhere."

  "What?" He sounded as stunned as I felt.

  "Yeah." Where had he been? A cave? I took another deep breath, trying not to hyperventilate. It was too easy to breath shallowly and quickly when I was upset. "Even my mom knows. And she's ready to kill me."

  "What did you tell her?" Justin sounded worried now, too.

  "Nothing. I've been ignoring her, but I can't hold her off forever. We need to talk before I call her."

  "No shit," Justin said. "Where are you now? I hear gulls."

  "Waterfront Park."

  He swore beneath his breath. "Hang on. Stay there. I'll send a car for you. Can you meet it by Pier 59?"

  "A car? No way," I said. "I'll catch the bus home and call you from there."

  He cleared his throat. "Not a good idea, Kayla. People will recognize you." He paused. "And you can't go home. We need to talk first. In person. And make some decisions."

  He was absolutely right. But I hesitated.

  "Do you also want to be ambushed by a news crew? They'll be waiting for you, trust me." I heard him moving around. "Shit, I have to get out of here, too. I just looked out the window. There's a news crew setting up in the parking lot. Let me send the driver. I'll meet you at my place."

  "Fine. Where are you now?"

  "Work." He swore some more. "The board is going to be furious with me. Look, I'll have the car there as soon as I can." He paused. "Kayla?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Put on some sunglasses or a hat or something while you wait." Unbelievably, there was suddenly a smile in his voice.

  "You want me to wear a disguise?" I shook my head. "Very funny."

  "Why not? A fake mustache would be even better."

  "Good idea. I'll get a pink one on a stick." I looked around like I might be spotted, and spoke so softly it was almost a whisper into the phone. "So this is what it's going to be like as your wife—a life of disguise and subterfuge? I should have just joined the CIA." I held my skirt down against the wind and clutched my flowers to me with the arm holding my phone.

  "Are
you going to be my wife?"

  "I don't have much choice now, do I?" In a weird way, it was a relief to have the decision made for me. "How would we explain the real situation? Neither of us know what really happened."

  "I'll take that as a yes. Not the most romantic marriage proposal acceptance in the world, but whatever," he said. He sounded happy and almost amused, damn him.

  "Tell your driver to look for a girl with a huge bunch of flowers." I looked around furtively. I was not cut out to be a spy.

  "All the tourists buy flowers at the market. That describes half the girls down there." Justin paused. "I'll tell him to look for the girl on the news, only with sunglasses and a pink mustache."

  "Tell him my sunglasses are pink, too, and totally cute."

  * * *

  Fifteen excruciating minutes later, a black limo pulled up and a guy with a hand-lettered sign that said Kayla jumped out. I ran to him. He held the door open for me.

  "Where are we going?" I climbed in and laid my flowers on the seat next to me. My phone had stopped buzzing, but only because I'd turned it off.

  "Mr. Green's."

  I stared at him, realizing I'd phrased the question wrong. "But where is that?"

  He looked puzzled as he stared back at me, and I realized I'd made my first mistake. A new bride should probably know where her husband lived. In fact, she should probably be living there with him already. That was traditional, anyway.

  There was an awkward moment of silence until the driver broke down and spoke. "Bellevue."

  Bellevue was a big place. I stopped myself from asking for specifics and nodded as he closed the door.

  We took 520 across the lake as I tried to imagine what kind of a place Justin lived in. House on the water? In a neighborhood? Half an hour later, we cruised into downtown Bellevue and pulled up in front of one of its finest skyscrapers. A news crew was camped outside.

  I was hit with a wave of panic—I had no idea even which floor Justin lived on.

  The driver mistook my worried expression for fear of the news crew. "Don't worry, miss. We'll get you safely to the penthouse. Stay here. I'll phone for help." He texted someone.