Billionaire's Fake Wife Read online

  “Are you sure you’re my wife?” Maxwell blurted out as I came back from the vending machine. It was Thanksgiving night and I was spending it eating out of a hospital vending machine. I should win an award or something for most dedicated anthropology PhD of all time.

  “Of course, I’m your wife, silly,” I said and threw a bag of M&Ms and a diet coke onto his lap. “How else would I know what your favorite foods are?”

  He seemed to finally smile as he opened up the diet coke and squeezed the packet of M&Ms.

  “I haven’t had these since I was a kid. My mom never let me have them because it would get all over my hands and I would stain her expensive clothes,” Maxwell laughed softly and somehow a little sadly. “You really are my soulmate.”

  He opened up the M&Ms and popped two into his mouth. I stared at the way his jaw moved as he chewed and swallowed. It should be illegal to be that beautiful.

  “There’s one thing I can’t figure out,” Maxwell said as he shifted the blanket on his lap to cover his cast as though he was trying to hide it from me. “Why aren’t you more upset about this? I was out drag racing on Thanksgiving. Do you actually love me? Or is this one of those arrangement kind of marriages?”

  “Of course, I’m upset!” I said, throwing my hands up. “I’m just relieved you’re not dead! You have a broken leg, and now at least you’re bed bound. I hope that accident teaches you a lesson!”

  I prayed by yelling at him in a progressively louder voice I sounded more convincing. Truth was, I didn’t know the first thing about pretending to be someone’s wife. How does an angry wife act? Should I throw something at him? Take his Amex Black Card and go on a shopping spree? What would Melania Trump do?

  “Okay okay, you don’t have to scream,” Maxwell said and seemed to shrink back into his pillow. “When I first woke up from surgery, the first thing I saw were the Christmas decorations. All I could think about was how lonely I was. My parents died on Christmas day, you know.”

  “Yeah, they put the Christmas decorations up earlier and earlier every year,” I noted in agreement. I wasn’t sure how to react to his sad story. I guess that if I were his wife, I would be empathetic. Maybe I should take his hand and squeeze it in a comforting way.

  I stared at his hand and did nothing.

  “I’m so happy you showed up,” Maxwell said as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. It was an utterly foreign sensation to me. It was so weird, I just wanted to laugh like it was a terrible joke. This was all a really, really bad joke. I bit my tongue to keep myself from giggling. I think I moaned a little in shock as he gave me a reassuring squeeze. I hope he didn’t interpret as anything sexual. “I felt so alone. I wondered what the hell I was doing with my life. All the booze, gambling, and women. As I laid on that stretcher, looking back on my life, it just made me feel so empty.”

  “Well, you just confessed to your wife that you were gallivanting with other women. So maybe you should be prepared to meet your maker.”

  He laughed softly.

  “No, I would never cheat on you. I’m not like my dad. That’s the one thing I promised myself growing up. I’m not going to do any of the things he did. Don’t worry, this idiotic broken buffoon sitting here before you belongs entirely to you.”

  Oh fuck.

  Chapter 4

  “So, here are the pictures from our wedding,” I told him as I sat down in the squeaky hospital bed. Maxwell smelled like he was dearly in need of a shower. His scent was a mix of betadine, apple juice, and unwashed masculine musk. I tried to keep my distance, but apparently, Max was of the opinion that as his wife, his body, and all its gross byproducts were beautiful to me.

  He pointed to one of me wearing a hippie wedding dress in creme with a giant rose sewed on my ass.

  “That was the only thing I could find at the gift shop at the Bellagio,” I explained with a nervous laugh. “The wedding was a spur-of-the-moment thing. You said you would tell your family and friends when you were ready.”

  “I must have been serious about it if I told my sister Liliane and her mother about it,” Max said, scratching his neck as though he was trying to massage the memory back into his brain. I thought it was cute; he referred to Liliane as his sister and not as his half-sister. Clearly, he maintained no delusions about Dr. Aleexev being his mother even though she was married to his father at one point.

  “They played 'The Time to Remember,' by Billy Joel as I walked down the aisle, to the Elvis Impersonator who married us. Don’t you remember that?”

  Maxwell laughed.

  “Yeah, that sounds like something I would do. I always loved that song. Tell me more. Were your parents there? Did they approve of me?”

  “My parents weren’t there; we talked to them over Skype when the ceremony was over - after we pounded back a couple of Dirty Martinis at the Bellagio bar.”

  Maxwell nodded and puffed up his substantial chest with pride. “How many did I have? I hope I put away three at least before talking to the in-laws.”

  “Oh, I had so many, I didn’t remember. I just remembered waking up next to you the next morning in our hotel room, thinking that I had married a male gigolo. Judging by the flashy way you were dressed, I was sure you were a European Taxi driver. Then, the valet brought over your Ferrari, and I realized that you weren’t just another dude at the sports bar.”

  “Ferrari?” Maxwell asked and rubbed his forehead. I bit my lip as I realized I had taken too many liberties with my imagination. “I don’t own a Ferrari. It must have belonged to Bobby. Was he at the wedding?”

  “I don’t think so,” I muttered and put my phone with the fake wedding photos away. If I said that Bobby was at the wedding and then Bobby happens to show up and deny it, that would lead to a whole host of other problems. “I drank so much I barely remember who came.”

  Luckily, Max was so high on all the pain meds the doctors had him on that his eyelids were starting to flutter closed. I didn’t know why, but I was almost disappointed that he was falling asleep. The minutes had flown by. I had spent so much time writing my research papers, putting together lectures, and sequencing DNA from the hair follicles of endangered gorillas that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to talk to a human.

  “I’m going to let you rest,” I whispered to him as I pulled my hand out of his. He had intertwined his fingers with mine, and I didn’t completely hate the sensation. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk about Bobby and why you want to give him your company. Okay?”

  He nodded without opening his eyes.

  “Kiss me before you go.”

  I flinched. Oh great, now I have to kiss his unwashed mouth? He puckered his lips just a little. He looked like a perturbed angel with his furrowed brows and beautiful, sensual mouth. I decided to hold my nose and kiss him. His eyes were closed anyway. He was so high on pain-killers wouldn’t know if I kissed him or placed a wet tissue in his mouth.

  I leaned in, closed my eyes firmly shut, and planted one on his lips. His lips were soft and gentle though his unshaven cheek was surprisingly prickly.

  He caught my hand as I took a step back. I saw him lick his lips, where I had kissed him.

  “Once this cast comes off, I’m going to devour every inch of you, sweetheart.”

  I chuckled. “Well, that gives me a four to eight-week head to grope you, doesn’t it?”

  “Come back first thing in the morning, okay?” He asked with a hint of an amused smile on his lips. “I hate it here with all these goddamn white-coats probing me. I feel less confused when you’re here.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Goodnight . . . my dear.”

  Chapter 5

  Maxwell Weston was the last thing on my mind the next morning. As always, I went to the lab at the crack of dawn. I had to cut the follicles off the gorilla samples and put them into a cocktail of proteases so they’ll be ready for my college student assistant to come run them through the DNA sequencer later. I lived for mornings like these, the quiet of the lab before the
rest of the staff arrived. It was just me and my precious horde of hairs that Jennifer, the post-grad, had collected last summer from Nigeria.

  I was expecting Dr. Aleexev to pick me to go this year. I deserved it. My paper on the sexual selection of Cross River Gorillas was chosen as a keynote paper for the Lesting seminars this year. This hadn’t been done before by any member of this lab. Most scientists didn’t care about Gorillas unless they had something to do with humans and human diseases.

  The truth was, I started out as an AIDs researcher before I got roped into studying my giant, black, fur-babies. That’s the way science was, sometimes you click with a certain mentor, and then you end up working in that field. And no one could inspire dedication like Dr. Ramona Aleexev. If she didn’t go into environmentalism, she could probably have used her powers of persuasion to start a cult or something.

  “So, she’s going to talk about Gorilla penises because she hasn’t seen a human penis in years?” I overheard Andrew asking the rest of the lab last week when my paper was accepted. He was always blunt like that when he was jealous. “I’m sure Scarlett is going to do a great job. They say - those who cannot do, teach.”

  That morning, I was fuming. I was sure Andrew had something to do my biography suddenly disappearing from my department roster overnight. Andrew maintained our department website, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do something dirty like that. He needed to be the best all the time.

  “Hey, what are you doing here, Mrs. Weston?” Joey asked as he finally waltzed into the lab at eight am. “I thought you were going to quit this life and sail away on your superyacht.’

  “Oh, stop it with that nonsense. Is Andrew here? Why is my name off the department roster?” I asked as I busied myself by spraying down every surface with 70% ethanol. Those who made a living doing DNA sequencing were obsessive about cleanness. In that regard, I was practically Walter White from Breaking Bad.

  “It wasn’t Andrew. He was in a turkey coma last night. I took it off,” Joey said as he started firing up his laptop while taking a leisurely a sip out of his giant cup of Dunkin’ Donuts Ice Coffee. He took a massive bite of a jelly donut and then started talking with his mouth full. “Dr. Alexeev was paranoid that you were going to give Weston your real name, and he would google you. We’re lucky you were always so camera shy. The department photo is the only one we found online of you. She had me set a completely fake Instagram and Twitter account for you under your alter ego as a Friendly’s waitress.”

  “WHAT?” I yelled. I marched over there and snatched the jelly donut out of his mouth. Bits of powdered sugar went everywhere. I winced. He really shouldn’t have been eating in the lab. But then again, I supposed that wasn’t the worse thing that happened here. The college volunteers were probably smoking marijuana here. Maybe, later on, they can snort up the powdered sugar and save me some work cleaning up around here.

  “The kid is worth at least a couple of hundred million dollars,” Joey whined. “That is even if he’s just a figurehead of the board of directors of Weston Industries. You need to take this wife thing seriously. Just think of what all that money could do for your Cross River Gorillas. You’ll be a bigger environmentalist than Leonardo DiCaprio!”

  “Dammit, a Friendly’s Waitress?” I asked with an exasperated sigh. “You could at least made me a Red Lobster waitress. Does a person who scowl as much as I do work at a place called Friendly’s? Also, what the hell is Mrs. Weston doing working like some commoner? Shouldn’t I be managing charities or something?”

  “Dr. Alexeev insisted. This way, you can tell him you have your own life, and you’re not dependent on him. Tell him you looooveeee your job, and you would never give it up for the world. Men like him are paranoid about gold-diggers, but they also hate career women. You should have a job but a non-threatening one.”

  Oh my God, now we were asking Dr. Alexeev to create a girl who was attractive to 20 year-old-men. I was surprised she didn’t make me an Instagram Thot on top of it all.

  “Wait, wait, seriously? Does anyone really believe this crap?”

  “Oh, geesh, yes. You’re letting your Harvard graduate side show.” Joey brought his voice down to whisper. “ I would stop talking about that unless you want to be a walking limp-dick factory.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are male egos really so fragile?”

  “Yes, it does matter,” Joey said as he typed something into his computer and pulled up an article in the Wall Street Journal about Maxwell Weston. “Your husband’s dearly departed mother was working at a strip club before she met his good o’ dad. Maxwell won’t date you, never mind marry you if he thought you opened a book in your life that doesn’t contain pictures in it. All the girls he’s ever been tied to, and let me tell you, I’ve done plenty of research into Page Six on this matter - are all coke-snorting bimbos. If you go around talking in big words and telling him about your ideas to change the world and stuff - he’s going to go running for the nearest strip club in Times Square.”

  “So, you’re saying I need to dumb myself down to get him to like me?”

  “Yup,” Joey said as he rummaged through his hole-ridden sack and drew out a spankin’ new iPhone. “This is for you to take to your husband at the hospital today. His old phone shattered when his Porsche flipped yesterday. Dr. Alexeev managed to get the phone company to replace it, but despite her best efforts, they wouldn’t tell her what he had talking to Bobby about.”

  “I have to go now?”

  “Yup,” Joey said. “And put something on that shows some cleavage. God, you look like you found your clothes at a consignment store for nuns.”

  “Great, not only do I have to sound stupid, I have to dress like a hooker too?”

  “Welcome to dating in your twenties in New York,” Joey said. “It’s more dangerous out there than among the Silverback Gorillas in Nigeria.”

  Chapter 6

  I made good time getting to the hospital. I was pulled into the parking lot by nine am. I was still busy texting directions to my college student lab rat as I emerged from the elevator to the VIP suites. I immediately saw that I wasn’t Maxwell’s only visitor. There was a tall, blond man with black tips dyed into his hair. He had a large tattoo of a tribal mark peeping over his gray t-shirt. I didn’t have to ask his name to know he was a sketchy character. His arms were crossed, and he was tapping his foot against one of the nursing medication carts that peppered the halls. He seemed nervous.

  Robert “Bobby” Pinkerton, I presume?

  As a portly nurse emerged from the room holding a blood pressure monitor, she shooed him out of the way.

  “I asked Mr. Weston. He said family only, Mr. Pinkton,” the nurse said. “He says he’s not ready for friends yet.”

  “He doesn’t have any family!” Bobby yelled. “I’m the only person who knows anything about him.”

  “Ah-hem,” I said as I put my cell phone away. “He does have family.”

  “Who are you?” Bobby asked, squinting his slimeball greenish eyes at me. “Go away; Maxwell doesn’t need any hookers today.”

  “I’m his wife,” I said in my most authoritative voice. He called me a hooker, that must mean my top was low-cut enough. I had picked it up on my way to the hospital from a Forever 21. They were having an 80% off sale. I could see why no one else wanted to buy it; it was practically a tube top with spaghetti straps. I wondered if this was what the clubby young people were wearing these days. It showed off more of my bra than it concealed.

  “WIFE?” Bobby asked. “What the heck? Who put you up to this?”

  “He said that when Scarlett Weston came to show her in,” the nurse said and took me by the arm. She dragged me away from the furious boy whose eyes were practically bulging out of his head. “Come, Mrs. Weston, your husband, has been asking for you all morning.”

  I nodded weakly as the nurse closed the door behind us and led me down a hallway into the VIP suite. “You’re lucky. He’s very confused about most things, but he remembers y
ou perfectly. It just shows that even in the face of impossible odds, true love prevails.”

  I laughed softly. True love? He was in love with me as long as I was a non-threatening carbon copy of his mommy.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, Scar,” Maxwell said, his face breaking out in a smile when he saw me. He went as far as to make room for me on his narrow hospital bed immediately. He raised his hand to me. “I thought for a while there that last night was a dream.”

  “Oh? You were so zonked out from all the pain meds last night; I didn’t think you would remember a thing,” I said and reached into my bag and withdrew the new cellphone Joey had given me earlier. I placed it in his open palm in lieu of giving him my hand. He only looked a little disappointed to have cold metal in his palm instead of my warm fingers.

  “No, maybe it was my brush with death, maybe it was seeing you again - but I feel like my head is finally clear,” Maxwell assured me. “Come sit with me.”

  He patted a spot on the bed beside him. I pulled up a chair instead and sat down an arm's length away.

  “You’re mad at me,” Maxwell finally said, as though he were searching for an explanation as to my aloof behavior. “I understand. I’m the reason you’re stuck here at a hospital during the holidays. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes while Maxwell fired up his phone.

  “They couldn’t back up your phone with your iCloud,” I said, reciting what Joey told me. “You’re just going to have to start fresh. I guess the Apple folks didn’t know what to do when your old phone was shattered into a thousand pieces, and the only one who knew the password to unlock it is suffering from traumatic brain injury.”

  “It’s all right,” Maxwell said, as agreeable as a puppy. “I’m just glad you’re here. You’re the only memory I need. Speaking of which, I really should have shared my passwords with my spouse. It would have been useful at a time like this.” He winked at me. “From now on, I will.”