Page 96 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

I’ve just stepped in the door from work when my phone rings. I let out a sigh when I see that it’s my mother… again. She’s called nonstop for the past couple of days, but I haven’t had the patience to deal with her. It’s only Monday, and work has already been unbelievably chaotic. August’s presence makes things bearable at the office, and coming home to Cash is my saving grace.

I draw in a deep breath and prepare myself for our call. I care about my mom and want to be there for her, but our conversations often leave me feeling emotionally drained.

“Hello, Everly.”

“Hey, Mom.”

I tuck my shoes and purse under the bench in the entryway and head into the kitchen. Cash is nowhere to be found, but I can smell something baking in the oven.

We agreed to have Fallon continue preparing our meals for now. She’ll be moving to New York soon, so we’re making the most of her exceptional cooking skills while she’s still in London.

“What’s going on?” Mom says, sounding annoyed. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and take a seat at the counter. “How are you?”

“Wonderful. You won’t believe where I am,” she chirps with excitement.

“Where?” I place my phone on speaker and set it on the counter next to me.

“Miami,” she exclaims. “Oh, Everly, things are finally turning around. I met a handsome surgeon online, and he invited me to stay with him for a month at his vacation house. It has a home theater and a pool with a waterfall. It’s incredible.”

“What’s his name?” I sigh.

“Mark.”

“What’s his last name? Does he live in Miami?”

“I’m not sure what his last name is—that’s unimportant,” she says, brushing off my question. “He’s from Colorado and comes here when he needs a break from work. He’s such a gentleman and is a dynamo in the sack.” I cringe, rubbing my temples as she giggles like a schoolgirl. Clearly, my mom doesn’t understand the concept of TMI. “Honey, I think he’s the one.”

I rub my forehead, trying to ward off an impending headache. This is so typical of her—going away with a man she barely knows. He could be married with kids and using his vacation house to keep his affairs hidden from his family, or a scam artist who thinks my mom has money of her own. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s gotten involved with someone like that.

“What happened to the guy you met in Bali?” I ask, taking a sip of water.

“You mean Jonathan?” She scoffs. “He was just a fling.”

That’s funny, considering she called him her soulmate the day she was packing for her trip to meet him.

“What happened?”

“The spiritual retreat he took me on was fabulous, but afterward, we stayed in a resort for a few days.” I hear the abrupt slam of a door in the background and the sound of shoes slapping against concrete. “The room had a terrible view, andhe opted for the cheapest meal plan, then he had the nerve to get upset over my spa bill. I can’t be with someone unwilling to support the lifestyle I deserve.” She lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Mark treats me like royalty. I’m lounging out by the pool right now while his personal chef prepares dinner. Did I mention he’s filthy rich?” She laughs with glee. “Oh, that reminds me—I was in Aspen Grove last week and stopped by Main Street Market for some wine. Imagine my surprise when Willis, the owner, offered his congratulations on your marriage to Cash Stafford. Is there a particular reason you didn’t tell your mother you got married, and to a billionaire, no less?”

There are plenty of reasons, but none of which I want to share with her.

“We eloped in Vegas, just the two of us.” I keep my answer brief.

“Darling, this is amazing news,” she squeals. “I always knew Theo’s connection to the Staffords would pay off eventually. Please tell me you didn’t sign a prenup. You need to get every penny you can before Cash leaves you.”

I close my eyes, praying for patience. “Mom, I didn’t marry Cash for his money.”

He’s never brought it up, but I assume when this marriage ends, we’ll each leave with what we came in with. I would never exploit him like my mom has so many of the men she’s dated.

My stomach turns at the wordwhen. There’s a voice in the back of my mind urging me to consider the possibility that this could be more than an accidental wedding turned marriage of convenience.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to have unlimited access to it,” Mom says. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you sent me five grand. I found the most beautiful, limited-edition designer bag I can’t live without. It’s the least you could do for not inviting me to your wedding.”

It’s ironic how Johanna wanted pictures of Cash and me as a couple because she wasn’t at the wedding, while my mom wants a designer bag she’ll use once before she finds another she can’t live without.

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