ALMS TO LOVE CHAPTER 4

"So you're telling me she's frightening?"

Charles climbed one eyebrow. "I'm telling you she's the only living being who can reduce me to all I've achieved."

She took a deep breath, biting the inside of her cheek. "Great. So I get to marry you and become the star of a horror film."

He leaned forward, his face close enough so his breath was a whisper along her ear.

"Play your part, Fiona. We live. Break character, and both of us burn."

A moment.

He stepped back, eyes unblinking.

"I'll call when the time's right. Until then—disappear."

Fiona's fists tightened on her hips, pausing to collect herself.

"You charm a girl real good, don't you."

He gave her one last glance—hard, unblinking—and walked out.

The door closed softly behind him.

She was alone.

She grabbed the opened champagne on the side table and drank the entire contents in one swift gulp.

Mumbled to herself:

"Storm-married."INT. BALLROOM – LATER

Valeria Jayne was inebriated on her third flute of champagne when Fiona returned to the party, hair mussed, face flushed, and obviously out of breath.

Valeria's eyes flexed like a cat stalking prey.

"Where. The hell. Have you been?"

Fiona bestowed her with a tired face. "VIP room."

Valeria's eyebrow arched. "With him?"

Fiona didn't respond.

Valeria's gasp was too loud.

"Oh my god. A quickie? With Mr. CEO Sexyface?!"

A few heads turned.

"Valeria," Fiona hissed.

"Good grief! Smudged lipstick. Dilated pupils. Soul ever so slightly sold to the devil. Girl, you are glowing like someone just promised to give you a yacht and an offshore bank account."

Fiona closed her eyes. "Shut up."

"No! Spill! Was he the one who began it? Did he bribe you with cash?" Wait—did he talk mergers while unbuttoning his shirt?"

Fiona guzzled a glass of champagne as if it were water. "I signed a contract."

Valeria gasped. "Like. a prenup?"

"No. A marriage contract. Three months. Sixty million."

Valeria choked on her drink and almost passed out. "ARE YOU MARRYING THE DEVIL OR STARING IN A SOAP OPERA?!"

Fiona leaned in, whispered: "Both."

Valeria sat up in shock. Then took a second gulp. "God. I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and you trade your soul for the most spectacular excuse ever. I'm so proud."

The lights were dimmed. City sounds hummed softly outside the glass windows. Valeria poured two glasses of wine—full-bodied red, like spilled secrets—handed one to Fiona, who had not said much since they'd departed the party.

Fiona leaned against the glass, shoulders tightened.

Valeria's gaze grew narrower. "Fine. Continue. I waited through the whole car ride. Are you married to him on the down-low? Am I appearing on a N*****x television show that I don't get paid for?"

Fiona took a deep breath. "Val. this is between you, me, and Liza Liana. I need you to promise me."

Valeria came to an abrupt stop. Her teasing fell away like a shroud. "Fiona are you okay?"

Fiona nodded slowly, but her eyes gleamed with tears.

"Promise me, Valeria. On your life. On your modeling deal. On your crazy closet full of stilettos. That this never comes out of this place."

Valeria blinked. "Shit, you mean it."

"Promise."

Valeria held out her hand and wrapped Fiona's around it. "I promise. Even if lightning strikes me during a bikini shoot in the Maldives, I will never say anything."

Fiona smiled—tiny, tired.

She leaned in, whispering, "Charles Billion can never, ever find out that I said anything. He'd kill the deal. Walk away. Everything collapses."

Valeria settled back, sipping wine with dramatic flourish.

"Girl. I'm a vault. But monthly reports. And tea. Perhaps snacks."

Fiona burst out laughing, the pain in her chest lifting finally that night.

Valeria's eyes sparkled. "Now. tell me everything. Start at the moment when you sold your soul to a billionaire whose cheekbones could split my tax bill in two."

"For Liza Liana's healing, Valeria," Fiona said, her voice quivering but strong. "I will not give up. I won't. Her recovery is all I care about."

Valeria's lower lip also quivered infinitely. She rested her hand on Fiona's knee, light as a feather.

"I understand what you're saying to me, Fiona. I do. If I had money—actual money—not pictures of brand-new items and rented-out designer bags—I'd spend it all on you."

Fiona's eyes flashed up, brimming. "You gave me something besides money, though. You gave me family when mine was stolen."

Valeria's eyelids flew shut, wiping at a tear with her hand. "Shit, girl, don't go and make me cry—my mascara is more than my rent."

Fiona laughed through tears. There was a cozy quiet between them, full of love.

“You’re doing this for the right reason, Fi,” Valeria whispered. “You’re being brave. But promise me one thing.”

Fiona looked at her.

“Don’t let him break you. If that ice prince even thinks about hurting you, I’ll cut him in half with a stiletto and smile while doing it.”

Fiona exhaled a soft laugh, voice gentle. “He’s not supposed to get close enough to hurt me. It’s just a contract.”

Valeria raised a brow. “You’re signing up to be the wife of a billionaire for three months, pretend or not. That’s not a contract, honey. That’s an emotional hunger game.”

City lights smeared across the windshield like rivers of melted gold. Charles rode in the back of his black Bentley, quiet and dark, his face ghosting spindly in the glass. The contract was tucked under his coat like a cocked pistol. His jaw was set. Mind racing. Every possible loophole, risk, and proviso coursed through him like fire ants.

Then—

His phone jolted, harsh and imperative.

RING. RING.

He stared at the screen.

Madam Jamaica Billion.

He exhaled through his nose, jaw even more clenched, and answered.

"Lola,"

he breathed.

"Ah,"

the gravelly operatic voice over the phone said. "So when do I get to meet my soon-to-be granddaughter-in-law?"

Charles blinked, sat back, and glared at the roof of the car as if it held secrets.

"You're already calling her that?

"My sixth sense hasn't let me down in eighty-one years," she trilled. "And I knew you'd finally crack. So? Who is she? Classy? Does she strut like a woman or a new fawn shoved into six-inch heels?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, temples already thumping. "She's… nice."

"Fine?" The syllable whiplashed. "Charles  Billion, I did not build my empire on blood and pearls for my successor to bring me someone 'fine.' I am not interviewing a secretary. I am inquiring do the woman you are presenting to my empire possess sufficient backbone to survive my dinner parties. The last one cried in the powder room after I required her to spell Chardonnay."