I Married a Billionaire (8 page)

"I'll make sure to put it on my Christmas list," I said, leaning back in my seat.

The drive was a short one, taking us to a place downtown that I'd walked past many times, never even considering the possibility that I might eat there someday. It was sleek and elegant, more along the lines of what I had been expecting on our first date. While the Inn was lovely and comfortable, this looked more like the sort of place a high-powered businessman would propose to his supermodel wife.

Or me, as the case might be.

When we pulled up to the curb, Daniel jumped out of the car and quickly ran to my side, opening my door before I had a chance. He gave me his hand to help me out. As we walked arm-in-arm up the steps that led to the entrance, I could feel eyes on me.

I really should have gotten my hair done.

The host looked up and smiled when we walked in the door. "Mr. Thorne, we have your table right over here. Please follow me."

I had never felt more awkward in my life - and that was saying something. Walking between the booths and tables of the fanciest restaurant in the city, I tried to keep my eyes focused on the wall directly in front of me, but I knew people were watching me. Of course they were. Who wouldn't? I looked like a little girl playing dress up in Mommy's fancy clothes. It was absurd to think I could ever fit in an environment like this. No matter how much money Daniel spent on me, I'd always stand out as someone who was just pretending.

"Here you are, sir. Ma'am." The host handed us our menus. "Your server will be with you in a moment."

"Thank you, Tom." Daniel laid his menu down on the table, unopened. "Before you decide on anything, I recommend waiting to hear the specials. They're always seasonal and fresh as it gets."

"Thanks," I said. I didn't feel like looking at my menu anyway. I didn't feel like eating, for that matter.

The server came back shortly, prattling on about braised this and locally grown that. I ordered something I hardly understood, and he came back shortly with a bottle of white wine. As he poured us both a glass, I forced a smile at Daniel, acutely aware that we were being watched. Hopefully, if I looked strange, it would pass as the anxiety of a woman who was expecting to be proposed to, but was still unsure if it would really happen or not.

"Nice place, isn't it?" Daniel said, and I realized that I hadn't spoken in a long time.

"Yes," I said. "It's very…it's very classy."

"Not the sort of place you eat every day." Daniel poured himself a second glass of wine. "But, it's nice for special occasions."

"You 
could
 eat here every day," I said. "If you wanted to."

He looked down at his napkin, unfolding and spreading it over his lap with exaggerated slowness so he wouldn't have to meet my eyes. To anyone listening it would probably sound like an innocent comment, but he and I both knew it was calculated to annoy him.

He didn't speak again until our entrées came. I had some sort of fish that was perfectly done, sweet and flaky, with crisp young asparagus and risotto on the side. I ate as much of it as I could manage, even though it seemed to turn to sand in my mouth. My throat was very dry. I finished the last of the wine, and Daniel gestured for another bottle.

After our plates were cleared away and we ordered dessert, he finally seemed to have relaxed a bit. He started talking again as if we were really just a couple on a date.

"Do you really want to go to the moon?" His eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"I mean…yeah. I thought everybody did."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. But I really hope you can, someday."

"I always wanted to go to space camp when I was a kid, but it was always too expensive." I laid my fork down on my plate, leaving my tiramisu half-uneaten. It was inevitable that there would be an awkward silence every time the topic of money came up. I wasn’t sure which one of us was more to blame for it, but it was almost palpable every time. I shook my head and tried to think of an appropriate change of subject.

"Wasn't there something ridiculous you wanted to do as a kid?"

He pondered this for a moment. "Become a doctor?"

"That's not ridiculous."

"Well, neither is going to the moon, if you're cut out to become an astronaut. But for me, it was."

"Why?" I took a drink of my water. "I mean, seriously. What stopped you?"

"I got older, I suppose. I readjusted my expectations for myself."

The server came by with refills, and Daniel ordered a bottle of champagne. It was coming. I swallowed a rising lump in my throat.

"I don't see why you couldn't have done it," I said. "If you put your mind to it. You're obviously smart, so why not?"

He laughed, folding up his napkin carefully and returning it to the table. "Trust me, it's better this way."

I clenched my fists in my lap. I knew what was coming. I knew it, I'd known since the moment I signed the contract, yet I still wasn't ready. Far from it. I felt like I was going to laugh hysterically, throw up, and cry, all at once.

Daniel stood up.

His hand was in his jacket pocket.

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, he was down on one knee.

He opened the black velvet box, displaying a delicate gold ring with twin diamonds nested together diagonally, complementing the wave design of the band as it ran underneath them. It was striking and subtle at the same time - stunningly beautiful, yet very wearable. I wondered if Emma had helped him pick it out. It seemed like her style.

"Madeline, will you marry me?"

I nodded, numbly. I had to close my eyes again. Tears were gathering, and I didn't know if I could hold them. My back ached as I sat bolt upright in my chair, keeping my eyelids glued shut, willing the tears not to come and ruin my makeup. I felt him take my hand and slide the ring onto my finger. It was perfectly sized. Of course. Daniel took my hands and pulled me to my feet, and then he kissed me. His lips were soft and warm against mine.

There was a smattering of applause. Daniel let me go, and I sat back down mechanically. The server poured champagne. I drank my whole flute in one swallow and tried to dab at my face with the napkin enough to try it, without smearing my mascara.

Daniel was sitting down again, too. He leaned across the table and spoke to me in a low voice. "Did you want to go home?"

I forced a smile. My eyes, at least, had stopped watering. Mostly. "No," I said. "I'm fine. It's just…it's a lot, you know?"

He nodded like he knew what I was talking about, but I wasn't sure that he did. From his point of view, it was just a fake relationship, a fake marriage. He was willing to go through absolutely anything to get what he needed. But for me, it was different. I couldn't explain why I was crying, to him or to myself. The maelstrom of emotions inside of me was impossible to understand in any rational way. I just knew that I wanted to cry.

I looked down at the ring, sparkling on my finger. It really was perfect. It was exactly what I would have wanted my real fiancé to pick out, if I hadn't given up on that idea a long time ago. Wait - was
 that
 what was bothering me? Really? I'd come to peace with the idea of being single a long time ago. This was the worst possible time to realize that I really did want to find my happily-ever-after, someday.

I took a deep breath.

It's just one year. It's just one year. It's just one year.

After that, I could do whatever I wanted.

"I think we'd better go home," said Daniel finally, apparently understanding that my 
no
 really meant 
yes
.

We finished our champagne. My head was buzzing, and I was grateful for Daniel's arm to lean on as we made our way out to the curb.

John stared at me in the rear-view as we climbed in. "You feeling all right, ma'am?" he said. God, I must look like a complete mess.

"I'm fine," I sniffed. "Thank you."

"You ought to be congratulating us, John." Daniel took my left hand in his and raised it up, putting the ring on display for him.

"Oh my goodness!" John's face broke into a grin. "Congratulations, you two. That's so…it's such good news. I'm very happy for you."

"Thanks," said Daniel, draping his arm over my shoulders. John had come so very close to saying something about how quickly we were moving - I could tell - but it was his job to do nothing but nod and smile and validate all of his employer's choices. Just like everyone else in Daniel's life.

I knew Daniel was expecting me to spend the night at his apartment, and as much as I was dreading it, nothing else really made sense. We were a young couple, crazy in love, who'd just gotten engaged. We'd be expected to spend the rest of the night naked in each other's arms. We had to maintain the illusion.

When we arrived, I shed my shoes in the front entryway and walked straight into the main floor bathroom for a shower, not speaking to Daniel or even looking at him. When I got out, he was nowhere to be seen. I retired to the room I'd picked before, pulled two ibuprofens out of my purse and swallowed them dry, and climbed into bed.

I didn't cry. I felt completely empty and wrung-out, exhausted but unable to let myself drift off to sleep. I hadn't expected this to be so hard, so soon. Daniel was right. It was impossible to pretend we weren't human.

For the first time since I'd signed that contract, I truly regretted what I'd done. I felt caged. But even if I had the opportunity to back out now, would I? The carrot of two million dollars dangling in front of me was going to inspire me to keep moving forward, no matter how painful it was.

Well, the good news was it couldn't possibly get any worse than tonight.

Could it?

The next morning, after I groggily dragged myself out of bed, Daniel made me breakfast again. This time, he didn't need to ask me how I took my eggs. I ate mechanically and responded to him with one-syllable answers when he asked me how I was feeling, did I sleep well, did I have a good time last night? I could tell he wanted to ask much more prying questions, but he kept his mouth shut.

For a while.

Just as I was about to finish my second cup of coffee, he said:

"That was quite a performance you put on last night."

His eyes were searching my face. He knew it wasn't an act - he wanted me to admit it. He wanted to comfort me, just as if we were really a couple. Didn't he understand that was going to make it worse? We couldn't play at being in love in private. It was bad enough doing it in public, with everyone watching. At least then I could distract myself with the dubious thrill of deceiving people.

"Thank you," I said flatly, slamming my cup down on the counter so hard I was sure it would crack. It didn't, but Daniel jumped a little.

"I'm going to get dressed. Can you have John ready for me? I have to go home and take care of some things."

"Absolutely. Of course." I could feel him watching me as I walked down the hallway and disappeared into my room.

This was probably a bad time for me to sequester myself in my apartment and not speak to him or see him - it would look strange. But I had to appreciate that he wasn't pushing me. Maybe he did understand. Sort of. A little bit.

My apartment felt cold and strange when I got there. Oddly un-lived-in. I certainly hadn't ever gone on any sort of vacation or getaway since I'd moved in here, so it was an odd atmosphere. Until Daniel came along, I hadn't even spent the night at someone's place. I'd never felt comfortable doing it - it wasn't the intimacy of it so much as simply trying to sleep in a bed with another person. Of course the guys I usually picked had maybe a twin-sized bed if I was lucky, and getting a decent night's rest while tangled up with a sweaty, snoring, thrashing human being in close quarters was simply impossible. I didn't know how long-term couples did it. I needed my own space, a big, cool expanse of bed upon which I was free to sprawl as I pleased. I never felt lonely when I slept. Far from it.

Daytime was different, of course. Sometimes it was too quiet, a little too still, even for me. But that was the trade-off for independence.

It was going to be a rough adjustment to being a kept woman for a year.

Daniel didn't call me all weekend. My phone did ring once, but it was the mechanic, letting me know that my car was done and they'd send a courtesy shuttle to pick me up whenever I was ready.

It was funny; I didn't know they were open on Sundays.

The place was oddly deserted when the shuttle driver pulled in, and even when I craned my neck around the parking lot, my car was nowhere in sight.

The owner of the place came out to meet me.

"Here you are, Miss," he said, handing me an unfamiliar key.

I stared at it.

"This isn't mine," I said, even as the realization of what was happening grew in the back of my mind.

"With Mr. Thorne's compliments," the owner muttered, pointing to a car parked nearby. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

It 
was
 my car, technically, if my car were about ten years newer, and sleek black with silver trim.

"Same make and model, just a little bit of an upgrade," said the owner. "Mr. Thorne insisted. Said it was an engagement present."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

This wasn't happening. This could not be happening.

"He traded your car in for it," the owner went on, clearly trying to break the awkward silence. "Knocked a thousand bucks off the asking price."

"Thank you," I said, more loudly than I meant to. The owner stepped back, and I hit the automatic unlock button on the key fob. That was new.

Okay, to be fair, the whole car was new.

I slid into the leather seat and stuck the key into the ignition. It was such a familiar action, and yet so strange at the same time. It stank of new car. I rolled the windows down after I pulled out of the parking lot.

So it wasn't the most extravagant of gifts. To him, it was almost no money at all. But it was more car than I'd ever be able to afford. I'd bought the last one out of the classifieds for a pile of wrinkled cash. I hadn't ever tried to get financing for something at a dealership, but I had a feeling it would be a disheartening experience.