Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2) Page 3

  After a relapse this morning moping in the honeymoon suite until the late check-out, I’m now resolved to doing everything I can to make this marriage a true one. I just need to show him how amazing of a wife I’ll be. Easy, right?

  Even though I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. Or have the first clue about his interests, his likes and dislikes, how he spends his days…

  I take a deep breath, then another, until the panic recedes. I can do this. I have a plan. And I’ve already made progress. I’m moving into his place. Item one on my checklist accomplished.

  I step out of the cab in front of my building and lug my overnight bag over my shoulder, thankful that Mackenzie thought to pack it for me. Otherwise, I’d be coming home in a wedding dress. At least the concierge at the hotel agreed to hold it for me until I can figure out what to do with it. It’s not like I plan on wearing it again.

  “Miss Montague,” Raul greets me as I enter my building, holding the door open. “Your father is upstairs.”

  My father? I did what he asked and married into the Bishop family. What more does he want?

  “Thank you,” I murmur as he calls the elevator for me, appreciating the heads up.

  I’ve composed myself by the time I reach my apartment, finding Julia, my father’s personal assistant, and a man I don’t recognize along with Dad.

  His lips purse for a moment, his telltale sign of annoyance, before he clears his face, pasting on a jovial smile. “Sweetheart,” he booms, crossing the living room to give me a brief hug.

  I return it, wishing he’d explain himself, but he merely looks at me, waiting for me to initiate. “What brings you by?” If I were to word the question in any kind of accusatory way, like why are you in my apartment unannounced without my permission, I’d hear no end of it.

  “Well, now that you’re married, it’s time to sell this place.”

  I blink, unsure I heard him right. “Excuse me?”

  The grin briefly slides from his face, the message clear that he doesn’t appreciate my tone, but I honestly can’t help it. He just said he’s selling my home.

  “I planned on staying here after my marriage.” He doesn’t know that I changed my mind after marrying a different brother.

  He casually waves off my statement. “Nonsense. The Bishops have plenty of real estate in the city. If you don’t want to live with Archer, they can find somewhere else for you.”

  “Or I could just stay in the apartment I’ve lived in for the last five years.” The words slip out unbidden, but in my defense, I thought it was mine. He bought me this place after I graduated from college. I’d assumed he’d gifted it to me, but apparently, I was wrong in that assumption.

  “Don’t make a scene,” he grits out, his smile so at odds with his tone as he pulls me over to the corner away from where the unknown man is measuring my living room from wall to wall and Julia is taking photos of my framed art.

  “I’m not,” I whisper, “but you’ve caught me off guard here.”

  “Sweetie, I can’t keep paying your way. You’re a grown woman.”

  I instinctively shrink back. “I just thought-”

  “You thought what? You’d get to use Daddy’s credit card forever?”

  My tongue seems to swell, unable to form any defense. He’s acting like I spend frivolously. The only thing I generally pay extra for is clothing, but that’s because he insists I need a new dress for each event I attend. Heaven forbid I’m photographed in the same outfit twice.

  His face softens, temper from just a moment ago gone. “Come on. I’ll even let you keep some things from your closet.”

  Some things? Implying that my clothes aren’t my own. I wasn’t aware all these conditions existed.

  I follow him mutely to my bedroom, which appears to have been ravaged by wolves by the way everything is strewn about. Julia enters behind me, giving me a sympathetic smile.

  There are sticky notes with numbers on all my belongings, and it’s not until I realize the designer items have higher numbers that I make the connection they’ve appraised the perceived worth of all my things. He’s not just selling my apartment, but everything in it too.

  Then again, he essentially sold me off to the Bishops. And I’m still unsure as to why that stipulation was even part of the deal. Dad has plenty of connections without needing Harold Bishop’s too. But you don’t tell Dad no.

  Ever.

  He motions to a pile of clothing on the bed and looking closely at them, I realize they’re dresses I picked up on a whim when out at places like Target. Apparently, these aren’t worth enough to resell or auction or whatever he’s doing.

  Julia packs them in a suitcase for me, which I guess I’m allowed to keep, and my tongue finally unfreezes. “You know, I paid for some of these things with my own money.”

  He gives me a sardonic look. “You don’t have any money.”

  “I do in my account. Sometimes people give me money for my birthday or Christmas.”

  “You mean I give you money for those things. And not too much or you’d spend it all on your little charity project.”

  I shrink back at his tone. The Montague Animal Foundation is what I devote most of my time to, but he’s acting like it’s some unreasonable thing.

  Wait, he’s not stopping funding for it, is he? The clothes are replaceable, but my animal shelter isn’t.

  “You’ll still fund the shelter, right?”

  “Harold Bishop can,” he says distractedly, going through some of the more expensive dresses again.

  “But I got married. You only said you would stop funding if I didn’t marry Gabriel.”

  “And you didn’t marry him.”

  “A technicality. It wasn’t my fault he backed out.”

  “Maybe he wouldn’t have if you’d tried a little harder.”

  I take a long breath through my nose, exhaling slowly. “I did what you asked. The animals shouldn’t suffer because of all this. And I married Archer. It’s the same difference.” Well, not to me. But he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Julia has packed your toiletries,” he replies, changing the subject. “And we’ll start moving your things out tomorrow. Your presence isn’t necessary, though. We have it covered from here.”

  Tears form in my eyes at his callous words. This is five years of my life being boxed up and shipped off. “Why are you doing this? Why do you have to get rid of all my stuff?”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about that.”

  He passes by me to go back into the living room and I bite my lip so the bitter sound stuck in my throat won’t escape. He might as well have patted me on the head like a child. But what can I do? It’s his money, not mine. And he’s never been one to explain himself if I question things.

  Julia wheels over the suitcase to me, whispering, “I got him to agree to give you some of your nicer dresses, especially if they had any rips or stains on the hems.”

  Wow, how lucky for me. I get to keep all the inferior stuff.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, knowing she’s only trying to help but unable to appreciate it at the moment.

  I sink down on the edge of my bed, hiding my face in my hands, wishing I could bury myself under my soft floral comforter and make it all disappear.

  I’ve done too much of that lately, though. Ignoring problems, hoping they’d magically go away. And look how that’s turned out.

  At least I already told Archer I’d move in with him. Now that timeline will just have to shift up a little. As in… tonight, apparently.

  I sneak anything else I can stuff in the suitcase when no one’s looking, and don’t bother saying bye to my dad as I leave, my hands full anyway.

  Twenty minutes later, with the very kind help of first Raul and then Archer’s doorman with my luggage, I’m standing at his front door three hours before I’d planned to show up, his confusion apparent on his face as he stares at my suitcase.

  “Could I, um, move in earlier?”

 
He glances back up at me, gaze sharp. “What, tonight?”

  I nod, my arms crossing over my stomach. There’s no way I’m admitting to him the way Dad had talked down to me, somewhere between the level of a child and a simpleton.

  He motions toward my single suitcase. “Are you having the rest of your things delivered?”

  I swallow heavily, shame settling low in my belly. “This is it.”

  His brows raise the faintest bit, but he doesn’t question me further as he opens the door wider, letting me in. I hesitate at the threshold, not sure what to do with my belongings.

  “I’ll take care of that,” he murmurs, easily hefting my bag toward a hallway on the far side of the apartment.

  I follow him, catching sight of a matching queen-sized bed and dresser in the dimly lit room, decorated in neutral shades of cream and white.

  “This will be your room. You can redecorate it however you’d like.”

  “It’s fine.” Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Really, it’s not a problem. This should feel like your home too.”

  I nearly tear up at his words. This is the same kind, chivalrous man I remember from all those years ago. I half thought I’d built him up to hero proportions in my mind.

  “Listen, I was in the middle of something for work…”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry. I’ll just, um, unpack.” You know, my one measly suitcase that all my possessions now fit into.

  “I should be done in a few hours.”

  I nod, already feeling like a nuisance. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  He leaves, and I stay on the bed for a few minutes longer, taking in my new room. White linen curtains cover a good portion of the east wall, and I pull them back, looking out at clouds and the bustling city down below. I can’t believe how high up we are.

  I peek my head out into the hallway, the door two doors down from mine closed, the light on underneath. Archer must be in there.

  The room to my right looks like a home gym with a treadmill, elliptical machine, free weights, mats, and a whole mess of other equipment I’ve never quite understood the purpose of, and I creep down to the other end of the hallway, discovering a massive master bedroom decorated in shades of black and dove gray.

  Out in the living room, striking black leather and chrome furniture fill the area, yet the vibe is impersonal. There’s artwork on the walls, yes, but no photos, no knick knacks. It’s like a designer came in and styled it, but nothing has changed since.

  I have a momentary pang in my chest for my living room plants in their colorful pots, my vintage French press I used to make coffee every morning, works of art I’d personally selected and taken pride in.

  But that place doesn’t belong to me anymore.

  My stomach gives a quiet rumble and I head into the open kitchen, a gorgeous granite counter spanning its length. Everything is top of the line in here, and it appears to be the one room in the house that’s actually lived in judging by the pan soaking in the sink and glass storage containers filled with food I find in the fridge.

  My belly gurgles again, and I clutch at it, glancing around to make sure Archer isn’t near. I was too busy at my apartment getting kicked out to eat, and he did say it’s my home now…

  I grab a homemade container of hummus and rifle through the cabinets till I discover a bag of pita chips, then hop onto one of the bar stools at the counter and dig in, nearly moaning aloud at how good it is. Who knew he was a phenomenal cook?

  After a few minutes, I pause in my gorging to find Archer’s blue gaze focused on me.

  Crap.

  “Sorry,” I mumble through a mouthful. “I should have asked. I never had lunch-”

  “You’re fine. Anything in there is yours. You live here now.”

  A thrill runs through me hearing him say that, even if it is for show.

  “I came out to give you this.”

  He hands me a packet with Archer and Serena Phase One written on the front page, and I open it to find a detailed listing of upcoming events with photographers attending, local restaurants and shops where paparazzi are known to hang out looking for shots, and ideas for ways we can play up our relationship on ThousandWords, his dad’s social media company.

  Not that I do anything with my account. I gave Mr. Bishop’s PR team access to it back when I got engaged to Gabriel and haven’t touched it since.

  “This is… thorough.”

  “Yeah, Dad had PR working on it all day.”

  “And this is phase one? How many phases are there?”

  He twists his lips. “Listen, I know I got us into this mess-”

  “No, it’s fine.” Seriously, better than fine. “We’re in this together. A team. We’ll figure it out.”

  He blinks, almost like he’s taken aback.

  “What?”

  “Gabriel said you were, uh…” he trails off, seeming to search for the right word.

  Unenthused? Uninterested? Unwilling? Yeah, because I didn’t want to marry him.

  “I could’ve done more with the wedding planning,” I admit. “But he and Mackenzie were really into it. I always felt in the way.” I set the packet down, unsure how to voice this next part. “But this is different. I-” I bite my tongue before I confess it was him I was interested in from the start. Pretty sure that’ll scare him off. “I want to make this work.”

  He narrows his eyes slightly. “So the deal will go through,” he clarifies.

  “Right.” Can’t forget this whole thing is a ruse.

  He scratches at the back of his neck, gaze flicking away from me. “Dad’s lawyers are working on a post-nuptial for us. It’s nothing against you-”

  I hold up a hand to stop him. “I understand. My parents had one.”

  Relief flashes in his eyes for a brief moment. “Mine too.”

  There’s a lull and I flip through the marketing packet again for something to do. “Are you going to work tomorrow?” He nods. “Maybe we could go out to lunch? I can meet you at your office so people will see us, and then we can go to Evergreen?” I point to the open page. “It’s on the list.”

  He considers me for a second, the weight of his gaze rooting me to the spot. “Good plan. I’ll make reservations.”

  I release a breath, resisting the urge to bask in his praise. See, we’re already working together well.

  Now to just have him fall in love with me.

  Chapter Four

  Serena

  My bedroom is almost eerily silent as I wake, the usual noise of distant traffic absent. This high on the fiftieth floor, the sounds of New York in all its glory can’t reach us.

  I spend extra time in the en-suite bathroom fussing with my hair and applying makeup, wanting to look my best for Archer, but he’s nowhere to be found as I walk through the common areas of the apartment, a stillness in the air implying I’m the only one home.

  I sigh, flopping down on the couch, and sink into the leather cushions, propping my feet on the coffee table. He holed up in his office the rest of the night doing God knows what, our meeting about rules and expectations thankfully delayed, but at least I got all my things unpacked and put away.

  I scramble to get my feet off the furniture as the front door unlocks, and spread the bottom of my pink floral dress out around me, one of the few good ones I still own.

  But it’s not my husband that walks through the door.

  It’s a woman.

  Archer never mentioned a woman.

  “You must be Serena,” she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Look at you, you’re beautiful.”

  On second glance, it appears she’s in her late forties, a few strands of gray at her temples, but her figure is trim, energy radiating off of her.

  “Oh, let me wash my hands. I just took the trash out.”

  She heads to the kitchen and I follow her hesitantly, fairly sure she’s not an intruder since she’s familiar with where everything is.

  And knows my name.

&nbs
p; “I’m Lori,” she smiles again, drying her hands on the dish cloth hanging on the stove handle. “Archer’s housekeeper.” I shake the hand she holds out, her nails clipped short and unpolished, her friendliness instantly putting me at ease. I’ve been so tense over the last month dreading the wedding, it’s nice to finally relax.

  “Well,” she continues, “I’m part chef, part maid, and sometimes part emergency personal assistant when he needs it. I basically make sure his life runs smoothly at home.”

  Wait, did she say chef? “Did you make that hummus in the fridge? I nearly devoured that whole container.”

  “I did,” she beams. “I whip a batch up every week. I’ve been trying to convince Archer to let me add in some new flavors. Roasted red pepper, smoky chipotle, jalapeno. But no. I swear, sometimes he has the tastebuds of a five year old.”

  My eyes widen, my lips tipping up at the corners on their own.

  “Now if you wanted me to make some special kind for you…”

  “Yes, of course. I’d love that.”

  She grins. “Oh, I think we’re going to be friends.” She pulls a magnetized notepad off the fridge and fishes in a drawer for a pen. “Let me know some of your favorite meals, allergies, likes and dislikes, things like that. I’ll make it happen.”

  “Well, I’m vegetarian.” I internally cringe remembering Mackenzie and Gabriel getting mad at me after failing to mention it during the wedding planning.

  “Good to know.”

  “And sometimes the smell of cooked pork makes me nauseous. I got food poisoning from it once when I was younger-”

  “Not a problem,” she says easily. “Turkey bacon is healthier for Archer anyway.”

  I hide a smile behind my hand, wondering what he’d say if he knew she was talking about him like this. “Where is he?”

  “He leaves for work around seven-thirty.” Oh, I definitely missed him then. I need to wake earlier if I want to see him in the morning. “He told me about your arrangement, by the way. So you don’t have to pretend anything in front of me.”

  Great. One more excuse to stay apart.

  She cocks her head at me. “I thought you’d be happy about that.”