Page 20 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

“Not a real marriage. It will be more of a business transaction. I know it’s a crazy idea, but I need you to hear me out,” he says, seeing my utter astonishment.

I don’t have any words to reply, anyway, so he continues, hurriedly rambling off the reasons why he needs to do this. In my stupor, I learn about his grandfather, what a beast he is, and the stipulation of marriage he has put on Orson as a prerequisite to inheriting the business. Then he tells me the reasons it will benefit me.

“The bakery will be safe, Lily. You’ve told me how dire things are for you and how worried you are about the business crumbling. But if we do this, you’ll be financially free. I’ll pay off all the outstanding bills. I’ll even buy new equipment for the kitchen. It’s a win-win.”

Orson is speaking at a mile a minute, clearly excited. I’m just staring across the table, trying to keep up with my racing thoughts. I can’t deny that the bakery is my life. And of course, the idea of having no debt and the doors remaining open is a huge incentive.

But marriage?

How can I even entertain such a notion? Marriage, even a pretend one, is a sacred bond, not a transaction to be negotiated over coffee.

Yet, as the steam from my cup curls into the air, so, too, does the realization of my dire situation. My bakery, once my father’s pride and joy, is on the brink of failure. The debts are overwhelming, and the prospect of losing everything is so real that I can nearly reach out and touch it. Even with Donovan Enterprise's proposal, there’s no guarantee that the business will stay afloat. Like I told Jasmine only yesterday, these things take time. Time I don’t have.

There’s a dense silence in the room for a while. Orson is waiting for me to respond, and yet, I feel paralyzed.

Jasmine said the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Sure, but I hardly think a fake marriage is the way he would go!

It would solve both of our problems. But it’s still a fake marriage. No romance, no love, no shared goals, long-term or otherwise.

“Listen,” Orson says, eventually breaking the silence. “You probably need some time to think about this. I want you to know, there’s no wrong answer. I only ask, if you decide against it, that you keep this between us.”

“Of course.” I nod, still reeling from the prospect.

“If you say yes, then we will do it properly. A written contract of stipulations that we both have to agree on.”

Those words nearly make me shiver. They sound so cold and calculated, as far from what a marriage should be as I can imagine.

His chair scrapes against the tiles as he stands. “I’m going to go. I know it’s not an easy decision, Lily, but if you can let me know by the end of the week, I’d appreciate it.”

“All right,” I say.

That gives me two days. Two days to figure out if I want to sell my soul to keep my business.

Don’t be so dramatic.

Fine, but that’s what it feels like.

A minute later, Orson is at the door, and after a final glance back at me, he leaves, closing it quietly behind him.

For the next three hours, I do a lot of pacing in my apartment. And I mean a lot. I also talk to myself out loud. I need to get this as clear in my head as possible, and listening to myself rambling seems to help.

On no less than three occasions, I lift the phone to call one or both of my sisters. Maybe I need their input; maybe their advice could be helpful. But each time I go to call, I chicken out.

After the third time, I come to a realization. I’m not calling them because I know they’ll try and talk me out of it. And strangely enough, it’s that thought that gives me the answer I’ve spent two hours trying to decide.

I lift the phone again, only this time, I go to my messages and select Orson. With my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I give this one last consideration.

There’s not going to be any fairy tale romance here. My heart is heavy with that thought. But, on the other hand, the bakery will be safe. My business will be safe. Jasmine’s job will be safe. And though he comes last on the list, which I suppose, is a little selfish, Orson will get the inheritance he has worked so hard for.

Tapping the letters on my keyboard, I look at the message one final time, and then I press send. I wonder how long it will be until he replies. I wonder how he’ll react when he sees it. I wonder what will happen now.

My message sits there, glaring at me, while my heart thumps in my chest.

All right. I’ll do it.

9

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