The Wrong Fiancée: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Marriage by Contract Book 3)

‘I don’t know why you’re here, Dean,’ I asked, exasperated when I found him waiting for me when I returned from my morning housekeeping shift. I’d had a crappy day with a vacuum cleaner that died when a fuse shorted, and a bathroom where a guest had forgotten to turn off the tap in their bathtub and gone to sleep after smoking a blunt.

‘I wanted to speak with you. Do you have a few minutes?’

I sighed at the unfairness of it all.

I was still in my housekeeping uniform, the least flattering thing ever made in the history of the planet. A brown burlap sack had more elegance than this piece of crap. Meanwhile, Dean was a picture of effortless perfection in his linen pants and crisp shirt, looking like he’d stepped straight off the cover of a magazine. Even in the soft evening light, he had an air of polished ease about him that made me feel frumpier than I already did.

‘Come in,’ I muttered, pushing the door open to my cottage.

The moment he stepped inside, I couldn’t help but see my place through his eyes. My cottage—a basic one-bedroom at the edge of the resort—felt even smaller with Dean standing in it. The whole house was no bigger than the size of his suite at the resort, maybe less. I’d made it as cozy as I could, but there was no denying how worn out and simple it was. A small kitchenette with a two-burner stove and a mini-fridge. A tiny table with mismatched chairs tucked in the corner. In the tiny bedroom, the bed was pushed up against the wall, neatly made with the cheapest bedding I could find. No headboard, just plain white walls behind it.

There was no clutter, at least. It was clean and minimal because there wasn’t room for much else. A couple of throw pillows I’d found on sale, a knitted blanket at the foot of the bed to make it seem homier. A few shells and beach stones I’d collected from walks along the shore were placed on the windowsill for a bit of personality. But that was it. Basic. Clean. Plain.

I glanced at Dean, wondering what he saw. Did he notice how small my home was? How bare? How meager this was compared to the luxury he was used to?

‘You live here?’ He looked around.

‘No. This is just a cover; I have a bunker below ground,’ I quipped sarcastically.

He grimaced. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘I know it’s not much.’ Despite my best efforts, I sounded more defensive than casual. ‘But it’s home for now.’

Dean didn’t say anything at first. His eyes moved slowly around the space, taking it all in. He didn’t look judgmental, though. Just curious. He finally met my gaze, and something softened in his expression.

‘It’s cozy,’ he said, and for a second, I almost believed him.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t patronize me.’

‘I’m not,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s you. It’s nice.’

I wasn’t sure how to respond since he had no clue who I was. We spent two weeks together a long time ago when we were different people—at least I was, so I busied myself by setting my keys down on the small table.

‘You said you wanted to talk.’ I put my hands on my waist, my stance combative. Yeah, very mature, Elika.

He cleared his throat. ‘Can we sit?’

I sat down on a chair and waved my hand at my two-person hand-me-down couch, which had seen many, many, many better days. It was steam cleaned, so there, he wouldn’t get a disease.

He sat and smiled again.

He was a handsome mother, I’d give the buggah that.

‘I heard about your sister,’ he began.

I waited, expressionless. I had no clue what he intended to say, and whatever it was, I wanted him to finish so I could take a shower and get to my next shift. Some of us didn’t have the privilege to sit around enjoying life like him and his friends, I thought caustically.

Stop it, Elika. If you continue this way, you’ll end up bitter like Daddy and Noe.

I took a deep breath and let the anger inside me fade. I was fine—everything was fine. I had my life under control.

This too shall pass, Elika, this too shall pass.

‘I’m sorry about your father,’ he added. ‘Sam mentioned that you’re carrying the…ah…burden of your sister’s care.’

I cocked an eyebrow. ‘She’s my sister. She’s not a burden.’

He sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I misspoke. I just meant that you’re taking care of her needs.’

‘Like I said, she’s my sister.’

‘I want to help.’

Of all the things I thought he’d say, this was not it. ‘How?’ I asked incredulously.

‘I’d like to help pay for her care. You know⁠—’

I stood up, furious. ‘How dare you?’

‘Elika, I only want to help,’ he used a tone meant to calm down a crazy person.

‘I don’t need your money.’

He sighed elaborately. ‘Look, Felicity mentioned how you’d asked your Uncle for financial support and⁠—’

‘Never,’ I snapped. ‘I have never asked Uncle Sam or any of the Thatchers for anything. Ever.’

He looked surprised at first and then confused. ‘I know it must be expensive⁠—’

‘Get out.’ I pointed to my door.

‘Elika, please, be reasonable.’ His condescension was the last fucking straw.

‘You haole son of a bitch,’ I threw at him. ‘You think it’s all about money? Do you think I’m some whore? Is that why you left money the last time? A thousand dollars? Was that what two weeks between my legs was worth?’

The memory of the humiliation burned through me—the note, the money left with it. But what stung even more was that I’d had to use the money. I didn’t have the luxury of throwing it back in his face. Not that I could’ve, even if I’d wanted to—he was already gone.

‘No,’ he looked completely distressed. ‘No, baby, I knew you worked hard, and I just wanted to help.’

‘Really?’ My eyes filled with angry tears. ‘You left a note saying: I enjoyed our time together,’ I said that last part mockingly. ‘What? You thought you were Richard Gere, and we were in Pretty Woman?’

‘Elika, you misunderstand.’ He rose and came to me. I took a step back, which stopped him. He held both his hands up to let me know he wouldn’t touch me. ‘I cared about you and⁠—’

‘Cared about me? The hotel maid?’ I couldn’t keep the sadness and shame out of my voice. ‘I heard you talk to Dante Giordano. What did you say?’ I pretend to have to think to remember. I didn’t. His words were embossed on my brain. ‘Oh, let’s see. She’s a hotel maid, Dante. She’s good company, but she’s not relationship material. I don’t think we’re intellectually on par.’ I enjoyed seeing the color drain from his face. ‘And let’s not forget you saying how I was a great fuck, but still a dumb hotel maid.’

‘God, Elika.’ He was breathing hard. ‘I…how?’

‘I got off early from work that last day so…I could get to you sooner. You were at the bar with Giordano,’ I told him. The heat had left me; all that remained was resignation. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I always wanted more than I could have. I’d wanted an education even though my father wouldn’t pay for it. I’d wanted someone to love me and make a family with me, like the one we’d had for a few years with Mama.

‘I’m so sorry, Elika,’ he looked contrite enough, and he didn’t defend himself, saying something like, I never said that. He knew what he’d said.

‘Why? You meant it, didn’t you? Did you lie about any of it?’ I demanded.

He closed his eyes for a long moment. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

‘Well, you can’t be blamed for me eavesdropping, now can you?’

‘I should’ve never said what I did,’ he said, guilt evident on his face. ‘I can imagine what you thought when you saw my note and the money. I was sad that we couldn’t have one last night and….’

‘Oh please, Dean. You didn’t even push it when I said I couldn’t make it. You just said goodbye. And what you wanted wasn’t one last night; it was one last fuck with the lowly hotel maid. Or was it a blowjob you were after? Isn’t that what you said to your friend? I’ll miss the awesome head she gives.‘

He took a step away from me as if I’d struck him. ‘I’m so ashamed that I said those things.’

‘Or maybe just feeling guilty that I heard them.’

I walked to my front door and opened it. ‘Leave and don’t come back. We have nothing to talk about. I don’t want your money. I never wanted Uncle Sam’s money. I’ve never asked anyone for anything. And if Ginny or Uncle Sam say otherwise, remind them that when my father asked for help while Mama was dying of breast cancer, Uncle Sam said he wished he could help—but wouldn’t because it would make Ginny mad. Oh, and do let him know how great it was to have Ginny come to the hospital where my mother was dying to tell her she was a whore who slept with her husband. These are the people you’re marrying into. Congratulations on your engagement, by the way—you’ll fit right in with the shallow assholes they are.’

His steps were slow as he walked to my door. ‘I’m really sorry, Elika.’

‘Aloha, Dean.’

I slammed the door shut behind him and slid down to the floor. I hated remembering what he’d told Dante. I hated how they’d talked about me like I was just a body, just holes. Even if he didn’t feel as serious about me as I had about him, he didn’t have to sully what we had—didn’t have to reduce it to nothing, reduce me to just what I had between my legs.

I folded my legs, rested my forehead on my knees, and willed the tears back. I’d cried enough for Dean Archer. I wouldn’t cry anymore. He didn’t deserve it.