The Millionaire’s Fake Wedding

Belle put her hand on his. “I’ll help you, Allen.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yes. And it’s not just the money.”

“Thank you, Belle. I won’t forget this.”

He had to draw back his hand then, because his phone beeped. Allen unlocked it, read the text, and then texted back, while Belle ruffled through the menu. The phone beeped again in a matter of seconds, and Allen typed.

After a minute of this, Belle asked: “What are these numbers here on the right?”

Allen looked up from the phone. “What numbers?”

“These, right here.” Belle showed him the menu.

“Oh. Hon, these are the prices.” He was smiling, looking at her playing a fool.

“Are you serious? We better get outta here right now!”

Allen laughed. His phone beeped, but this time he put it down and looked through the menu Belle had handed him.  They ordered the same things: a steak and baked potatoe with sour cream. The talked about this and that and nothing in particular, and with every moment Belle felt closer to him. After the food (which was a thing from heaven) they ordered desert. That was when Allen’s phone, instead of beeping, rang.

“Sorry, I have to take this.”

“Sure.”

He excused himself and stepped away, leaving Belle alone, once again. She was full, and used this opportunity to lean back and relax a bit. She asked the waiter for some wine, and got her own phone out. She turned cold when she saw two missing calls from her dad. Tunnel visioned, she stared at the screen. Busted. It was a struggle to keep the food down. Sh*t. How could she have been so silly? With the number of cameras at the game it was a given they had captures every second of the evening. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but the press conference must have been live-streamed on TV and online. In this day and age it was inevitable. News sites were likely breaking the scoop: Infamous basketball star to get married!  Or something even more intrusive. The press had a way of digging deep, too deep for comfort. Belle wanted to Google the sports news, but instead put the phone away. If she was busted and had explaining to do, she decided it would be okay to at least enjoy the rest of the evening in peace.

Alas, that would not be the case, because the first thing Allen said when he returned was: “I am awfully sorry, Belle, but I have to run!” He wasn’t even going to sit down.

“Where to?” Belle tried not to sound annoyed, reminding herself that it was, after all, a job.

“The boys are celebrating, and they’ve called me to join them. Belle, this is a tradition of ours. The team gets together and-”

“Hey, I get it. It’s not like we were in the middle of a date, right? Go do your thing.”

Out of the blue, he leaned in and kissed her. “Hey, we’ll continue this sometime, okay? You are, after all, my fiancé!” He winked and, before going, added: “I’ll pick up the check, don’t worry. See you.”

Now Belle really was alone, waiting for the desert and the wine, which she found to be tragic and hilarious at the same time. She uttered a short laugh and felt her eyes get wet. That made her smile again. What the fu*k was going on with her? The obvious answer to that would be ‘love’, but Belle rejected the idea. She’d known the guy for all of ten hours, if not less. Silly.

Still, she dug into the ice cream when it arrived, and it tasted fantastic, as did the wine the waiter brought along. Despite being alone, she felt excited, and even happy. Overlooking Tampa Bay at night seemed to be a suitable background for the fairy tale she had been transported into. Cinderella was the first thing that came to mind, but it was erroneous – Belle had never needed a prince to save her. If anything, she was the one doing the saving this time. And Prince Charming, she had to admit, was indeed that.

Once she was done with the wine (the desert had long been gone by then) she put on her coat and left the restaurant, ready to call a cab and go home to sleep. Luckily, when she was downstairs and outside, she saw the dusty Ford Fusion and the same driver beside it, smoking. The too security guys paid her no attention – they were too busy discussing their plans for the week, which included working out, a movie, and a game of baseball. How exciting!

“Evening, Ms. Jameson!” the driver said as soon as he saw her. “Mr. Rodgers told me to pick you up.”

“Good to see you, thanks.”

He opened the rear door for her, and she climbed in. The driver himself took a last drag and flicked the butt of the cigarette away. Belle saw it hit the ground in a cloud of sparkles and disappear in a rain drain.

“Take me home, all right? You remember where it is?” Belle said.

“Sorry, Ms. Arnolds instructed to take you back to Mr. Rodgers’ place.”

“Oh. Of course, I see. Let’s go there then.”

The car took off with a screech of tires, and they drove fast out of the central part of the city and back to Belle’s new, temporary home. She relaxed in the back seat.

The driver said nothing when he let Belle out, and then drove away, leaving only a cloud of dust behind. It was a chilly night, yet she was warm and careless. She walked through the front door and up the stairs. The house was clearly empty, with all the lights turned off and dead silence roaming the hallway. That was good. She had no desire to meet Natalie here; she just wanted to be alone.

It had been a great day! Everything had gone better than she could have expected. The new job was kind of amazing.

She got undressed and got under the shower. What a blessing this is, Belle thought, it’s almost too good to be true. And thinking that she jinxed it: her phone was ringing again.