Page 67 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

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Epilogue

Lily

It’s been eight months since Orson’s thirty-fifth birthday dinner. The same dinner where he inherited the family business, and the same dinner where he discovered that his grandfather had known for quite some time that we were, indeed, not married.

It came as a surprise to both of us, which, after the initial shock, we were able to laugh about.

“So you’re telling me he knew we were not married when I danced with him at the gala?” I balked as Orson drove us home afterward.

My still-pretend husband was grinning from ear to ear. I think it was disbelief that everything we had done was all for naught.

“That’s what he said. He told me he knew weeks before that.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “So the gala was a test?”

“Well, I knew that before we went. I just didn’t tell you. You were already nervous enough. That being said, I didn’t know it was that kind of test. He was rather impressed with your defense of me, though. In fact, I think he’s quite taken with you,” Orson replied with a smirk.

Pops, as I now call him, had been very pleasant for the rest of the dinner, engaging me in conversation and showing real interest in the business. He told me he remembered my father well, and what a hard worker he had been.

“It has clearly been passed down from father to daughter,” he said. “Your father was a fine man. I always had the greatest respect for him.”

Those words coming from Arthur Donovan’s mouth meant a lot to me. I know I had been nervous at the gala, but that evening, I saw a different side to him. He also put me in my place.

“And by the way,” he had said, lowering his voice so no other could hear. “I never agreed to Orson remaining at Willow Creek High. In fact, I was dead against it. I didn’t think it was fair that my grandson had to suffer because of the narrow-minded townsfolk. But I’m afraid I’m not his father, and in the end, it was my son’s decision.”

My eyes widened at that remark, and then I found myself blurting out an apology for the comment I had made when we had danced together.

Arthur dismissed my words with a wave of his hand. “There’s no need for all that, my dear,” he said. “But you should know something else, while we’re on the subject. I didn’t send Orson back to Willow Creek because I thought he was a coward. I believe he has the strongest character of all the Donovan men. I sent him back to heal.”

I frowned then. “How was making him go back to have to face such awful people going to heal him?”

The old man smiled. “I wanted him to see that those people no longer had any power over him. All those years in high school had dented his self-esteem, and yet, their view of him meant nothing at all. He needed to recognize that he was a successful man in his own right. He needed to exorcise his demons.

“And if I’m honest, which is a little bit wicked”—Arthur smirked as he continued—“I wanted them to see how well he had done in spite of them. It is ironic, don’t you think, that the man they spent years torturing was the same man who had to come back and save them all?”

I couldn’t help but smile through my surprise. But I’ll be honest; I never would have imagined Arthur to be so insightful. Then again, I didn’t really know him. I only had Orson’s distorted view of his grandfather’s wishes.

“And does Orson know any of this?” I asked.

Arthur winked and grinned. “Not yet, but I will tell him in good time.”

The next hurdle we had to cross was telling my sisters the truth. I didn’t think Facetiming them was appropriate under the circumstances, so we invited both them and Jasmine to the apartment for dinner. Orson and I had agreed that we would tell only the people who were close to us, those who meant something to us. The rest of the town could think whatever they liked.

Orson had already told Jake, who, no doubt, had told Tara. Now, it was my turn.

We invited them to the apartment under false pretenses of just an ordinary dinner, and the evening went well, with much conversation and laughter. After dessert was finished, we relaxed in the living room and served more drinks. I wanted to wait until after everyone had eaten. In my mind, I wanted Jasmine and my sisters to at least have a bit of alcohol in them. It might soften the blow.

“So,” I said when we were all relaxed and sitting in comfort. “Orson and I have something we need to tell you.”

“Yes, a confession of sorts,” Orson added.

I grinned at him as I sat on the arm of the chair he sat on, his arm wrapped around my hips. “Well, it’s not really ‘of sorts,’ is it? It’s a confession.”

“All right. Yes. A confession,” he conceded.

“Can you just tell us?” Martha demanded playfully.

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