The Billionaire’s Marriage Of Deception

The master bedroom was as big as Amanda’s, with two walk-in closets and an en suite bathroom with two sinks and a Jacuzzi in addition to the dual-head shower. Not to mention the king-sized bed, covered in a tasteful palm tree print spread and draped in netting that Amanda hoped was only there for show, not to keep away actual mosquitoes. She dropped her luggage on the floor and rolled back her shoulders. Twelve hours of travel grime was going to take a while to wash off.
The shower was one of the most goddamn awesome experiences Amanda had ever had in her life that didn’t involve a di*k. There was hot water beating down on her from both directions, plus a pulsating shower head that worked at the knots in her shoulders almost as well as a skilled pair of hands could do. Maybe she would stay in here for the rest of the week. It was certainly relaxing.

Unfortunately, after she’d scrubbed down with the Aloe scrub she’d bought special for her honeymoon, soaped off and rinsed, the water temperature was starting to turn towards cold. Amanda reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out, drying herself with a towel that had probably taken an acre of cotton plants to produce, given how huge and luxurious it felt. There was a bathrobe of the same material hanging on the back of the door, and it briefly occurred to her to wonder why there was only one before slipping it on.

She unpacked her bags and put away her clothing, hung up her wigs and combed her hair out. It was pretty long seeing as she hadn’t cut it since she was twelve and because of her West Indian heritage; it reached halfway down her back in a black curly cascade; however on a daily basis she tended to cover it up with one of her weaves or wigs. It wasn’t just easier to style; it was also good business. You couldn’t sell stuff you didn’t use yourself – not in her business anyway where she was the face of her brand. Supplying weaves to the sisterhood had made her a billionaire; it behooved her to prove that she was one of them. 

The balcony overlooking the tropical forest behind the villa had a table and chairs bigger than any Amanda had previously vacationed at, like the occupants of the Honeymoon Villa were going to invite the rest of the Royal View Resort over to their balcony.

Finally, she wandered downstairs into the main room. A wall of windows wrapped around the corner, the longest wall overlooking the water. Amanda walked up to the glass. The villa went right up to the cliff’s edge here, the view dropping away to the jagged rocks below. Remarkably, the glass was thick enough that she couldn’t even hear the waves. Well, at least it wouldn’t be too noisy to sleep.

The kitchen was disproportionately small, but Amanda supposed that guests here didn’t usually spend much time cooking. The refrigerator was stocked with champagne and strawberries, bottled water, and not much else. The cupboards held tea, coffee, and chocolate body paint.

Amanda snorted. She supposed she could eat the chocolate with the strawberries, but that would be missing the point. Instead, she grabbed the menu on the counter and called in an order of grilled tilapia with mango salsa and haricot verts. The cheerful server tried to get her to add in a piece of raspberry cheesecake or flour-less chocolate cake, but Amanda resisted. She’d forgotten to ask where the gym was, and she wasn’t going to come home an ounce heavier than when she’d left. She did not need that on top of everything else. Besides, she had that hair convention directly after this debacle that she had to get to.

She needed to come up with an explanation why she would turn up alone. Sick husband? Recovering from the honeymoon? Busy with work? She needed a good reason.

She flipped channels on the huge flat screen TV until the food arrived, and continued to surf as she ate. Twice as many channels as at home, and there was still nothing worth watching. How Calvin could spend so many hours watching TV, she had no idea.

“But it’s none of your business now,” Amanda reminded herself.

She stacked the dishes in the sink and wandered back to the window. It was dark, but the lights from the main part of the resort cast a faint glow over the sea. There was a slight hum from the air conditioner, but other than that, Amanda couldn’t hear a thing. Standing there, arms folded over her small bust and the soft cotton of the bathrobe brushing her skin all over, spreading wide over her ample hips, she felt herself start to relax.

Huh. Maybe this was all she had needed. A little time by herself without well-meaning but intrusive friends or family, some time in a quiet place where she could hear her own thoughts and start to put herself back together. Not that she was in millions of shattered pieces, mind you, just—fractured.

“Fractured,” Amanda said out loud, enjoying the shape of the word in her mouth. She’d have to share it with her therapist when they Skyped for her usual Wednesday appointment. She’d like that. It would show she was thinking about things, not too much, but moving towards the self-actualization she was always talking about. Yes, that would be good.

The sudden shattering of glass was so loud that Amanda almost screamed.
Except she couldn’t draw breath to do so, because something was hitting her hard, driving her to the ground and forcing the air out of her lungs. Amanda landed hard despite the plush carpet, her head narrowly missing the glass coffee table as her face was mashed into the carpet. She dimly heard the tinkle of falling glass, but most of her attention was focused on the heavy weight on top of her, pinning her to the floor.

Had something fallen on her? Oh God, it was an earthquake and the building was going to collapse, or a freak hurricane had swept up out of nowhere and was demolishing the island. The one time she decided to leave the continental United States this happened? This is why black people didn’t travel-

“Stay down,” came a low voice, coupled with a hand on the back of her head, and Amanda jerked in surprise. That was a person on top of her? Here she’d thought a tree had fallen through the window.

“What—” she tried, but there was a popping noise from outside, and then another window shattered. “Is that—”

“Stay down!”

It wasn’t like Amanda had much choice, not with what felt like a couple of hundred pounds on her back, but she thought that maybe the tree on top of her meant, “Shut up!” rather than “Stay down!” So she closed her mouth and didn’t move, not even to put her hands over her ears like she wanted to as the popping and shattering sounds continued and prayed that the man was after money and not to rape her.

Eventually, the tinkling sound of falling glass stopped. The heavy breathing that was practically in Amanda’s ear slowed, and the hand that felt like it was covering the entire back of her head lifted. “Are you all right?” that same voice asked.

“Get off!” Amanda demanded, trying to push herself up and getting absolutely nowhere.

“Just a minute,” came the response. There was a click, and then, “The package is secure and unharmed.”

A voice underlain with crackling static responded, “Roger that. Team Beta is in pursuit of the shooter. The immediate vicinity is clear.”

“Understood.” The weight on Amanda shifted, and she felt long, muscular legs settle on either side of her. Lawd please, please don’t let this be a kidnapping. Enough sh*t has happened to me this year.

She heard a muffled, “Ow. Fu*k. Um, that is, there’s a lot of glass. Be careful.”
Amanda lifted her head and saw tiny shards embedded in the carpet all around her.

She tried to see her attacker but he was on top of her, “How the hell am I supposed to get up? And who the hell are you, and what the fu*k is going on?”