The Millionaire’s Fake Wedding

Chapter 6

It struck her then: Da! It had completely slipped her mind to call him back!  She turned the water off and wrapped a towel around her body – to stay warm rather than to get dry – and ran to the wherever the phone was making its impatient noise, which turned out to be the bed. She was right: dad’s kind face was on the screen, and below it – his name and number. Belle waited several seconds, doing her best to rehearse the impending conversation, hoping it would not be an argument. Even though it’d be naïve to assume it would be anything but that.

The ringing stopped. She’d won some time. She would call back in ten minutes, say she was in the shower… For the past three hours? No, that wouldn’t fly. It was already too thick of a mess to even attempt trying to fix it. Just as she was about to darken the screen, Da’s face reappeared on it. There was no use putting it off. Time to face the music. She swiped a finger to reply.

“Dad?”

After a moment of silence, setting the tone, he said: “Hey, little girl.” Da didn’t sound angry. He sounded hurt, disappointed. He sounded old.

“Hey, how’s your night?” Belle said, and immediately regretted it.

Dad sighed audibly. “Not too well, little girl.”

After another uncomfortable pose, Belle said: “I know. I’m sorry, Da.”

“Yeah. That’s very nice of you. Why didn’t you…? ” He didn’t finish the question. Instead he said: “You know, I don’t even care, Belle. Talk to me when you really understand what it is you’ve done.”

He hung up, and when she tried to redial he didn’t pick up. She texted him, saying she was sorry and asking for a chance to explain. The message was sent and delivered, but not read. None of the six messages she sent were. Belle tried to call Ma then, but got the same lack of response, which was unusual. Perhaps, she was already asleep.

Belle tossed the phone aside on the bed, almost sending it flying to the floor, and crashed on the bed herself, her face in the pillow. She cried like she hadn’t cried since high school, when she failed her Science exam. She knew the subject perfectly, better than anyone in her class, but one little mistake had screwed up one of the final answers, rendering her total point count three short of an A. How she cried that night! And that was how she cried now, wetting the pillow with her tears. What a horrible idea this whole business was! Terrible, terrible, evil idea!

The first thing she did once her eyes were dry enough for her to see, was call Natalie. It wasn’t too late to back out, was it? Belle started dressing up while the call was getting through. She was determined to leave just as soon as she had her bag packed and Natalie notified. But there was no answer on the other end. Long rings sounded loud in the room even when Belle threw the phone on the bed to put on a shirt.

You know what? she thought. Screw it. I’m outta here.

She grabbed her suitcase by the handle and struggled to pull out of the room and down the second-floor hallway, past the dull paintings on one side and the darkness behind the glass wall on the other. She was too bummed out to notice, but she felt bad leaving the house after just staying there for a day. Guilt was creeping into her head, pushing her to stop, to stay and figure things out. Don’t quit, Belle. That would’ve been Da’s advice.

She got to the bottom of the stairs, the suitcase banging on every step like a gunshot, and stopped. A car arrived outside. Belle didn’t know much about cars, but the engine was loud and low, exactly like that of the Bentley they had driven earlier in the day. Allen was home. Belle stopped in the wide downstairs hallway. The engine died outside, and then there were steps – fast, confident. The door opened, and Allen came in, and stopped in the doors.

“Belle?”

She stood without moving, handbag in one hand, suitcase in the other, unsure what to say. She was torn: storm out right past him or let him calm her down? If he even cared to do so. She took one hesitant step towards the door, feeling her lower lip start to shake, and helplessly fighting it.

“What’s wrong?” Allen started towards her without bothering to close the front door. “Why are you crying?”

She was really crying, without being aware of the fact. Her vision was blurry, but she felt his hands on her shoulders, big and warm.

“Look at me! What’s wrong?” He wiped the tears off her cheek with his thumb. “Belle?”

“It’s my dad,” she said, registering how it sounded. She then told him what had happened: how her mom asked not to tell dad about her new job, and how dad watched TV that day and saw them kissing and hugging, and how he wasn’t returning her calls. Once it was out, she sat down, almost fell down, on the stairs, and Allen sat beside her. There was awkward silence for a moment, but then he put his hand around her.

“There-there. It’ll be fine, Belle.”

“No, it won’t. I’ve messed up bad. I shouldn’t have…”

He tightened his grip on her. “We’ll take care of it, I promise.”

“We?”

“What, you were going to just leave? I can’t let that happen. You’re in this mess because of me, so I’ll help you get out of it.” His other hand went to her face, caressing it gently.

“You will do that for me?”

“I said I would. Don’t worry. Calm down, crying is no use.”

Like magic, her eyes were dry. She felt it like electricity, running between his fingers and her cheek. Allen’s lips were inches away from hers, but he wouldn’t move closer. So she did. The kiss was long and hot; a lot more intimate, unlike the one after the game, and a lot more real. Allen was reluctant at first, perhaps out of surprise, but gave in eagerly. He held her face and she held his. It was hard to tell how much time they spent like that, sitting on the stairs and kissing like two teenagers, but when it ended, Belle had to catch her breath.

“You know what?” Allen said. “We’ll go to your parents tomorrow and make this right. Okay?”

Belle didn’t know what to say. Then she asked: “Are you sure about that?” In her experience, guys rarely cared to meet a girl’s parents – who needs that drama, right? But Allen’s eyes told her he was set on it.

He said, “We should. I should. I’ve screwed up before, and I know all too well what that feels like. The last thing I want is to put someone else in the same position, least of all you, Belle.”

It was hard to believe, the way things were going: in one week Belle managed to quit one job, find another one that required her to become a fake wife to a superstar athlete, get her dad to stop talking to her. And now they were going to meet her parents…

Allen kissed her again, and once again the kiss was hot and long. They stood up at the same time, their lips never parting. Belle left both her handbag and the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, and they staggered upstairs, arms around each other, feeling around. At the top of the staircase they stopped. Where to go? Left, to her room, or right, to his? They looked at each other.

“Come on, I’ll show you something,” Allen said, and took her hand. He led her all the way to his bedroom.