Bride: The Deceit Duet Book One Read online

  I’m a hot mess, but this could work to my advantage, because Gabriel needs to see what he’s getting. I’m not a socialite who walks around in expensive clothes and heels all day. The faded hoodie and shorts I’m wearing are my mom couture, and the only parties I host are tea parties with miniature plastic cups and a singing teapot. Not at all what will be expected of me, I’m sure.

  I take a deep breath and tighten the haphazard bun piled on top of my head before leaving my temporary sanctuary.

  When I return, Gabriel lords over my living room, eyeing the framed photos on the bookshelf. I hate to say it, but the back of him is just as impressive as the front. He looks so out of place here in his trim black slacks and pale-blue fitted shirt that were probably tailored to fit his body. An aura of wealth surrounds him, and my average furnishings only amplify the difference in our social status—my polyester to his cashmere.

  “So, what did you want?” I ask, moving into the room.

  He picks up a lavender scented candle, giving it a sniff, before setting the glass jar back on the shelf. “Where is his father?”

  “Gone.”

  Smooth and collected he turns to face me. I can’t believe this is actually happening. The attorney’s letter I received two days before Joseph’s death, forewarning me of what was to come, should be proof enough, that yes, this is really happening.

  I know my words are futile, but I make the attempt anyway, “Listen, can’t you make this go away?”

  “No,” is his disappointing and very solid answer. He’s not going to budge. It’s written in the unwavering look in his eyes and the concrete set of his masculine jaw. Talking him out of this will be like trying to lift Tennyson from the floor in the middle of a tantrum—impossible.

  I drop down onto the couch. “We don’t even know each other,” I reason, rubbing my forehead to ease the tension in my head.

  “We don’t need to. Marriages are arranged all the time.”

  I look up at him. “I don’t come with a dowry.”

  “I don’t need one.”

  Feeling at a disadvantage from my lower position on the sofa, I stand, trying to take back some of the power I don’t have. My head pounds from all the reasons I can’t say no to this marriage, but I won’t throw Tennyson into this mess without an introduction. “I need some time.”

  “You have one week and then our engagement will be announced.” His brown eyes drift down my body, finalizing the deal. “I’ll contact you to meet with me and sign the paperwork.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “Don’t be naive, Clementine.” He moves closer. “Everything will be laid out in a contract of what’s expected.”

  “I’ll see if I can pencil you in.”

  “You still have the same smart mouth, I see,” he says, with a wry grin.

  “Yes, well you’re still demanding,” I retort, remembering the tall boy who flew his high-tech airplane into my hair and then tried to free it while I waited for my father to finish his business with Joseph Prince.

  “Asking you to stop squirming isn’t being demanding.” His eyes sweep over my bun and I can vividly remember his hands working through the tangle, trying to remove the contraption. “Your hair was so thick.”

  The fact he remembers the details of our childhood meeting unsettles me a bit. I wouldn’t have guessed he’d remember the incident, given the amount of people in and out of his charmed life.

  “You nearly beheaded me. Thank goodness for Ronin.”

  Like someone slamming all the windows closed, his face shutters, and the slight smile is replaced with a dangerously thin line. “I’ll see you next week.” He stalks across the living room. “And don’t try to run away,” he throws over his broad shoulder, “I’ll find you.”

  I have no doubt he would. Let’s just hope he doesn’t find what’s right in front of his face.

  Four

  Gabriel

  * * *

  After battling it out with the lawyers for the past week, the terms have come together for my marriage with Clementine—ten million dollars given after the wedding date, and a fund for more money to be deposited over the course of a year.

  Our marriage only has to last a year, a loophole my lawyers found. I’m sure grandfather would have liked for the two of us to remain married indefinitely as his cruel parting joke.

  I never understood my grandfather’s eccentric ways, and I don’t care to study the man after his death. I just want to make sure nothing happens to my company. To my kingdom. I have big projects on the horizon and an expansion to occupy my time.

  So, I’ll marry Clementine for a year, and not a day longer, and then I no longer have to worry about a thing.

  Easy.

  There’s a few stipulations as with any marriage, and once Clementine arrives, I can go over the details of the arrangement with her.

  “Your one o’clock is here, sir,” Kurt, my assistant, informs me through the intercom in the study.

  “Send her in,” I tell him.

  A few seconds later, the hand-carved wooden doors open, allowing Clementine to enter the study with me.

  Her eyes take everything in, from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, to the stained-glass window in the center of the far wall, to me, standing in front of my oak desk.

  “It’s a great room, isn’t it?” I watch her as she runs a finger over the bookshelf closest to the door.

  “It is.” Her eyes light up. “Oh wow, you have Jane Austen. I didn’t think men like the Princes would read her.”

  I cross the hardwoods to stand by her. “They’re first editions.”

  She turns to stare at me. “I’m impressed.”

  “Do books impress you, Clementine?”

  “Well, I do like to read.”

  “Then let me show you around. I can show you the library.”

  She crosses her arms. “No, that’s ok. Let’s just get this over with.”

  I lean against the bookshelf. “You don’t want to see where we’ll be living?”

  “We’ll be staying here?”

  “Yes, I don’t have a home here for your job and Tennyson’s school.” I give her a small smile. “Unless, you’d like to commute in a private jet.”

  “Why don’t you live wherever and I’ll live in my own home?”

  “Funny.” I push off the shelf and lead her out of the study. “Believe me, if we could do that, I would.”

  She follows behind me without a sound.

  “This is the library,” I say, opening another set of doors further down the tiled hallway, and ushering her into the room.

  “Holy crap.” She makes a complete three-sixty degree turn in the room, gazing at all the books with wide eyes. “I think I’ll be spending most of my free time here.”

  An unexpected sense of pride bursts through my chest that I’m able to give my future wife something she’ll enjoy. And the fact it’s warming up my entire body leaves me dumbfounded. I’ve never cared before about making anyone happy.

  Except, my mother, before she died.

  “This was my mother’s favorite room too,” I say, remembering her.

  Clementine turns to face me with sadness in her eyes. “I never knew her. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Bad things happen to good people all the time.”

  “Well, I wish bad things only happened to bad people.”

  “Ah, I’m marrying a dreamer.” I step out of the room, leading Clementine further down the hallway to show her more of the downstairs living space. “Tell me what else you dream about?”

  “I dream I don’t have to do this.”

  “You should be thanking your lucky stars you get to marry me.”

  The glint of awe and wonder from the house in Clementine’s eyes is replaced with anger. “Is that so? And why should I be thankful I get to marry someone I don’t love?”

  I stop and glance around at the luxurious furnishings, the famous artwork, the pristine upkeep of the house. “Is this not to your liking?
Poor little Clementine has to live in a huge ass estate.”

  “But, I didn’t choose to live in it. I don’t like having my choices taken from me.”

  I turn back around, heading to the staircase, continuing my tour, whether she’s following me or not. I don’t care anymore. I didn’t get a choice either.

  And I always get a choice.

  She’s quiet as we ascend the wide stairs up to the third floor.

  “This will be Tennyson’s room,” I say, entering a large loft-style room. A canopy bed sits in the middle of the room, with a slide from the loft leading down onto the floor beside it. “The stairs to the loft are over this way.” I move to the corner to show her the staircase.

  “This room is amazing.”

  I lean against the banister to the staircase. “It was my room growing up.”

  “Really?” Clementine spins around. “I can’t imagine you as a child. I didn’t meet you until you were almost fourteen.”

  “Yeah.” I rub the bottom of my chin as I watch her walk around my childhood bedroom.

  She takes it all in, slowly touching my old science trophies on the shelf. “Hopefully, we can build a shelf with Tennyson’s trophies.”

  I don’t say anything. The child is four, and we have a long way to go before he’s winning science awards.

  I see the moment Clementine realizes she’s made plans for a future where we will no longer be together. “Well, you know what I mean,” she corrects herself. “We can fill it with his colorful artwork from preschool.”

  “Would you like to see our room?”

  Her eyes widen to the size of a silver dollar. “Our room?” She steps back. “We won’t be sharing a room, will we?”

  There’s ten bedrooms on this property. Over half of them are never used. Clementine will very well be having her own bedroom, but I like seeing the heated red travel over her cheeks.

  Knowing it’s anger, but wishing it was a blush instead, I continue to toy with her, because I can. “Why wouldn’t we share a room? You’ll be my wife.”

  “Let’s just sign the papers and get this over with. I can see the room on our wedding night.”

  She leaves before I can tell her she will indeed have her own, and I follow behind her, enjoying the sway of her hips, and the slight bounce of her tight ass as she walks. Her hair is long, past her shoulder blades, and I imagine wrapping it through my fingers.

  I think back to when she came over as a teenager. Her father, the head groundskeeper, was working late for my grandfather. Clementine entered into the foyer, giggling at something Ronin was saying. She had tiny freckles on her nose.

  She doesn’t have them anymore.

  We head back downstairs to the study in silence.

  “Take a seat,” I say, moving to my chair behind my desk.

  She crosses the floor to sit in a lavender wing-back chair. “I talked to a lawyer.”

  “That’s cute.”

  She fiddles with her hands in her lap. “Well, I’d like for someone to be here when I sign the papers.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s a marriage, Clementine. You’re acting like you’re signing your life away.”

  Her eyes slam into mine with a fiery intensity. “Well, I practically am.”

  I push off my desk, taking the few steps to end up right in front of her. I lean over, placing both hands on the armrests of her chair, our noses almost touching. “You couldn’t ask for a better life than with me.”

  “Someone’s cocky.”

  “Not cocky—confident.” She should be down on her knees.

  Images of Clementine on her knees in front of me, my hands wrapping into her soft curls as her pretty mouth takes my cock deep down her throat, slam into my mind as I stare at her uneasiness.

  I step back, trying my best to stay on topic.

  She shifts in her chair. “Also, I want to ease Tennyson into this. I don’t want him to become attached.”

  For the first time, I feel guilt. “That I can understand.”

  She nods, but doesn’t say a word. I’m not as big a monster as she thinks I am.

  “When do we...you know...do it?” Her eyes are bright and wide.

  The thoughts of her before me on her knees slam back into my brain. “Do it? Like sex?”

  She stands in a rush from her chair. “No, not sex. I meant when do we get married? I will never have sex with you.”

  I smirk. “Never say never.”

  She folds her arms against her chest with a menacing scowl. “Never.”

  I have to laugh to myself at her boldness, and unwavering resolve. She’s feisty, and it pumps my blood south to my dick.

  “To answer your previous question, we’ll be married as soon as you sign the papers.”

  “Like I said, I want to ease Tenny into this.”

  “As you wish.” I hold a pen out to her.

  She takes the Montblanc from me. “I’m going to take these home and read over them,” she places the pen on the desk and gathers the contract. “I’d be a fool not to.”

  “You have twenty-four hours to sign them.”

  She looks up at me with cold eyes, and without a word, crosses to the door and leaves. This must be why my grandfather chose her, she’s stubborn. Just like me.

  Five

  Clementine

  * * *

  I could do a lot with ten million dollars. Tennyson would be set for life. And only a year? Is this some kind of trap? My twenty-four hours have come and gone. I didn’t return the papers before arriving at work, and I’m not sure if I even will.

  “Oh, that looks pretty,” my co-worker, and best friend, Erin, tells me as I finish the rose petals on a wedding cake. “You’re so talented. Someday, you need to open your own cake business.”

  Well, technically, I can now. I could open a whole chain. This money is really messing with my head. The fact he said ‘everyone has a price’ hasn’t left my mind. I meant it when I said I couldn’t be bought, but maybe I can be rented.

  “Someday.” I lay down the piping bag full of frosting and wipe my hands on my apron. The three-tiered buttercream and raspberry cake I created doesn’t give me the same amount of satisfaction it normally would, because all I can see is my own cake, if I marry Gabriel.

  “What’s wrong?” Erin asks. “You’re so quiet today.”

  I’ve known Erin for two years—we both started at Let Them Eat Cake on the same day—and in that time, she’s become like a sister to me. She was there to help me when my own sister was taken from me all too soon. She also has a son the same age as Tenny, so that helps a ton. But more than anything, she’s my person, the only one I trust, and her hazel eyes have just the right amount of concern to have me lifting part of this burden off my shoulders. “I might be getting married.”

  Her mouth falls open. “To who?”

  Even though the bakery is empty, I whisper, “Gabriel Prince.”

  She gasps. “Clem, the Gabriel Prince?” Her shoulders droop, and the hurt on her face is unmistakable. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating him?”

  “Well,” I stare at the blonde braid draped over her shoulder, because I can’t look her in the eye, “it’s all very sudden.”

  “I’ll say,” she says, crossing her arms. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Not long.”

  Poor Erin. Her mouth hangs open so far, I could toss one of the raspberries from the cake in it.

  “Listen,” she finally says, “I know I’ve been telling you that you needed to date, that you’re a hermit, but this is pretty drastic.” She looks at me like I’ve got an extra head. “Has Tennyson met him?”

  The rest of the story falls out of my mouth at a rapid pace, and she remains silent until I finish.

  “Ten million dollars?” she exclaims. “I’ll marry him.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I lament.

  “Do it,” she encourages, with no qualms, “that’s what you do. I think we need to sit down.” S
he takes my arm and leads me over to one of the empty tables in the front of the store. “It’s one year, Clementine. That’s only three-hundred and sixty-five days.”

  She sits, and I plop down across from her. “Keep going,” I tell her, wanting to be convinced I’m not selling out.

  “He’s gorgeous,” she starts counting off on her fingers. And she’s right, he certainly is. With all the turmoil of what’s been going on, his sex appeal was the last thing on my mind. But yeah, damn him. “Wait,” she says, “will you be having sex?”

  “Nooo,” I draw out, feeling my face warm, remembering his question in his office.

  She lifts a brow. “Why not?”

  “It just won’t be happening,” is the only assurance I can give her.

  “Mhm,” she says. “Ok, moving on. He’s a busy man, so you probably won’t even see him that much.” She leans in. “Ten million dollars, Clementine. A year is a small investment for the return you’re going to get. You can’t say no.”

  “What about Tennyson, though?”

  “It’ll be over before you know it.” She sighs. “A lifetime of security for him is worth one year he won’t even remember when he’s older. Be the user, for once.”

  Well that’s certainly something I’ve never done, and maybe it’s time I did. Just because I marry Gabriel doesn’t mean he gets a complacent wife.

  “Maybe you’re right.” I stand with a smile and a new outlook. “I need to finish that order.”

  The rest of the day, I imagine every cake I design is my own—without the happily ever attached to it. And definitely no sex. A man who looks like him has plenty of options besides his wife, anyway.

  As I drive home later in the evening, I decide the reward is greater than the risk. That night, I write out my own contract, with my own stipulations.

  The next morning, after I drop Tennyson off at preschool, I drive to the formidable estate and request to see Gabriel.

  My belly is a seesaw as I’m led down a marble floored hallway that seems to go on for a mile, and through a seating area to french doors.