Make-Believe Marriage Read online

  Table of Contents

  Make-Believe Marriage

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Acknowledgments

  Twist of Fate

  Books by CA Quigg

  Make Believe Marriage

  CA Quigg

  This Limited Release Bonus Edition of Make-Believe Marriage contains a bonus copy of Twist of Fate

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  Copyright © Callie Quigg/CA Quigg 2017

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design and formatting: Callie Quigg

  Cover image photos: Deposit Photos

  Make-Believe Marriage

  Mock marriage plus counterfeit kisses equals a very real baby

  If I don’t marry within the next few weeks, I’ll lose everything I’ve busted my ass for.

  Lizzie Beaufort is the perfect choice because we both have needs.

  She needs money.

  I need a green card.

  Our relationship is a business deal and nothing more.

  But then our other needs start getting in the way.

  She needs love.

  I need a f**k buddy.

  When her father finds out how…deep…our relationship has become, he forces me out of her life.

  Then I find out she’s carrying my baby.

  And I’ll do whatever it takes to make our fake relationship real.

  But what if I’m too late to win her heart?

  This book is dedicated to my husband.

  Thanks for the green card ;);)

  and twenty years of love and support.

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth

  I strode through the now empty ballroom gripping a handful of past-due bills against my pounding chest. The sound of my four-inch heels hitting off the herringbone dance floor ricocheted back to me.

  Wheezy snores shook my dad's meaty frame, which, after a night of excessive drinking with his cronies, lay slumped over an ash-strewn poker table. A fuming Queen of Hearts with bulging eyes glared at me accusingly from his clenched fist, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat within his reach. Before the belligerent Mr. Jekyll side of my dad woke up and guzzled more sense-stripping alcohol, I confiscated the bottle and sat it on the full-service liquor cart conveniently located by the table.

  If the cheap ass hooch didn't smell like rancid cat vomit at the bottom of a fish barrel, nine on a cold Monday morning seemed like the ideal time to get wasted.

  Before confronting Damien "Trip" Beaufort the Third about the country club's overdrawn bank account, and because standing up to my dad was akin to fighting off a zombie attack single handedly, I lifted a wrist one of my wrists to my nose and inhaled the anti-stress oil blend I'd tapped over my pulse points earlier.

  The lavender, ylang-ylang, and bergamot scent would help defuse the anxiety bombs exploding in my brain. Having a full-blown panic attack wouldn't get me any answers.

  My dad preyed on emotions and used any weakness he could find as a weapon. I'd learned at an early age to keep my feelings hidden and my many shields firmly in place. Something I was glad of when my ass-hat husband of six months walked out.

  "Wake up." I poked my dad's tuxedo covered bicep and stepped back.

  A jumble of incoherent words and a blast of booze-breath puffed from his lips.

  "Where did all the money go?" I asked my still comatose dad.

  "What?" He raised his head and swept a shaking hand over his ruddy face, swaying as if he was about to fall off his chair and onto the floor. "Where's everyone? When'd the party end?"

  "Two million dollars? An overdraft of two million dollars at its limit?" I waved the letters in front of his unfocused eyes. "Mortgage arrears? When did you remortgage the country club? All of this month's checks have bounced." I let go of the papers, and they fluttered onto the table. "How am I expected to give the employees we have left a paycheck this week?"

  "You had no right to go through my office." He gathered the letters in his shaking hands and crumpled them in his fists.

  "Dad, the gambling and binge drinking have to stop." I pressed my fingers against my temples willing the migraine blooming behind my eyes to fade.

  "You can't tell me what to do. I'm your father. You're just like your mother," he grumbled. "Always shoving your nose in where it's not wanted." He flung the letters onto the floor and stumbled toward the drinks cart, clanking the liquor bottles together as he steadied himself. He reached for the whiskey and poured two fingers into a smudged glass then drank it down without a grimace. "Look where that got her. Knocked up by that white piece of trash O'Halloran. Bastard lost his own wife so he thought he'd take mine."

  I sighed. "It's been twenty years." And every week for twenty years we'd had a similar conversation. Time hadn't healed any of my dad's wounds. Time had allowed them to fester and turn gangrenous. "I wish you'd move on and meet someone new." If he did, I might have some semblance of a life without being at his constant beck and call.

  "Easy for you to say. You weren't cuckolded and humiliated." Mr. Jekyll entered the room, and I dragged in a deep breath, bracing myself for the oncoming onslaught of venom.

  "Every time I look at you I'm reminded of that woman. Why did you have to grow up to look like that blonde bitch?"

  "Don't talk about her like that," I snapped. Over the years, other than going under a surgeon's scalpel, I'd done what I could to temper my resemblance to my mom. Thirteen years ago, when I was fifteen, I'd started dying my strawberry blonde hair drugstore brunette. Instead of contacts, I wore 1950's-style cat-eye glasses, and instead of showing an interest in clothes, I wore a uniform of somber business suits in grays, browns, and blacks. When I wasn't working, I usually wore leggings or yoga pants. The only indulgence I ever allowed myself were the occasional pair of designer shoes, although all but one pair had found new homes via eBay. Slipping my feet into four-inch heels and butter-soft leather was the closest I got to having an or
gasm these days.

  "I wish you'd left with her," he said, his voice snapping like a whip.

  On days like these, I wished I'd taken my mom's offered hand and gotten into the car with her instead of falling for my dad's tears and promises of a pony.

  Slumbering memories stirred and scratched their jagged fingernails across my mind. Overnight, I went from being an only child with a supposed happy home life to having a stepdad and four teasing step sisters with another one on the way.

  The adult part of me understood why my mom left, but that didn't stop the child inside of me grieving for a life that never was. No eight-year-old should see her daddy sobbing on the floor begging his wife to stay, and no twenty-eight-year-old should have to deal with crippling debts and a father with unpredictable mood swings.

  Ever since my mom had fallen in love with Sean O'Halloran and his girls, I had been my dad's dutiful shadow and had defended him through too many highs and lows to recall. Now one of his lows had left us on the brink of bankruptcy.

  "You have to tell me where the money went." I wouldn't allow my voice to crack or show him I was on the verge of tears. I didn't need the "what are you going to do, cry?" rant, which would, undoubtedly, make me cry with anger and frustration and make him irate.

  "Remember when this place was filled to the brim with members?" Wistfulness seeped into his pale blue eyes.

  Great . A trip down memory lane was the last thing I wanted. Getting the answers I needed wouldn't happen anytime soon.

  "Remember when this place had a year long waiting list? When Sundown Sands was the place to be? You know," he said pouring himself another helping of whiskey, "Nixon stayed here once."

  I gave a watery laugh. "Sure, Dad. The good old days." Agreeing with him was easier than arguing. Going back and forth when he was still half-drunk would only lead to him shutting me out or me having a meltdown.

  People didn't have the money to pay the exorbitant membership fees he charged. They wanted value for money. A place where all the family could have fun. Sundown Sands Country Club was not that place. The golf courses were so overgrown that anyone who made it past the ninth hole without breaking their ankle should thank God.

  Grass had claimed the clay tennis courts. The carpets throughout the entire club were threadbare, and the hardwoods had so many scars they looked as if the Civil War had been fought and won within the two-hundred-year-old walls.

  If we had the money, there were so many things I would do. The neglected one-thousand acres would make a perfect family resort. I would add bedrooms, swimming pools, and stables. Maybe get the pony that never materialized.

  Year after year, people from all over the country would come back because of the service and the activities.

  The spa I dreamed of opening would offer mud wraps, hot stone massages, reflexology, and personalized aromatherapy treatments. Handmade skincare products and essential oil perfumes would carry my label. And my Etsy store would become an actual brick and mortar shop. But those were all pipe dreams along with training as a spa therapist. The small amount of money I'd managed to squirrel away to pay for school was now in someone else's pocket.

  I stepped toward one of the single-paned floor to ceiling windows at the back of the ballroom and cracked it open to allow the air blowing in from the Atlantic to dilute the stench of stale cigars.

  The canopy of oak trees below with its gnarled arms, secret hideaways and worn paths that led to our private beach beckoned to me. If I had time later, I would walk along the shoreline and lose myself in my thoughts.

  "Help me, Dad. I don't want to lose this place. Remember the money I'd earmarked for renovations. Where'd it go?"

  My dad abruptly pushed away from the cart, rattling the bottles so hard a few tumbled and smashed against the dancefloor.

  "What time is it?"

  "Dad! Careful." I ran toward the hundred-proof concoction flowing between the cracks on the floor, grabbed a handful of napkins from the drinks cart, and swept up shards of glass with the side of my stiletto.

  "The money," I said and gritted my teeth. "Focus. We're talking about the money."

  "I won't ask again. What time is it?" He tore his fingers through his silver hair, and his bulging eyes flitted around the room. "I need the time."

  Giving in, I glanced at my watch. "Nine-fifteen. What's so urgent?"

  "Be in my office at ten. Don't worry everything will be okay. Have I ever let you down?"

  He rushed out of the ballroom leaving fumes of alcohol in his wake.

  "All the damn time."

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth

  My dad's first-floor office was as shambolic as I'd left it earlier that morning. Dust motes danced in the light streaming from the open office door. Crumpled paper and conjoined coffee cup rings decorated the antique walnut desk in the center of the room. The carpet needed a thorough vacuuming and the gold-fringed velvet curtains, which were perpetually drawn, shut out the morning sun. If Mrs. Havisham still needed a husband, my dad would make a perfect groom.

  The grandfather clock tick-tocking in the corner struck ten and, of course, there was no sign of my dad. When he said "be in my office at ten," I should have asked him to specify ten tonight, ten tomorrow, or ten next Wednesday morning.

  I made my way to the window and tugged open the curtains, causing a hurricane of dust to spin around me.

  "Ah-choo."

  "Bless you."

  "Jesus." I tugged the drape so hard, it ripped from the rail and landed on my head. I quickly dragged it off, fixed my askew glasses, and looked around the office to see who had attempted to scare me to death.

  "You must be Elizabeth. Apologies. Didn't mean to scare you like that."

  The deep Irish lilt in the almost assassin's voice melted the edges of my heart. All six-one of him strode from the threshold and into the office. A wide smile curved his full lips, but it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes.

  Silver tinged his short black hair at the temples, and a few long strands fell onto his forehead. A strong nose and high cheekbones gave him a distinguished, almost aristocratic look. Everything about him was severe yet sexy and set every nerve ending in my body tingling.

  "I had a meeting with Mr. Beaufort at ten. There's no one at reception. I thought maybe I'd find him here."

  "Don't sneak up on people like that. You almost scared me to death."

  I moved back and gripped the wall for support. What would give out first, my heart or my legs?

  I skimmed my gaze over his navy sports jacket, the gleaming white shirt below, and the faded jeans covering his long, muscular legs. Whoever he was, he was everything a man should be and more.

  He placed a black backpack on the floor, leaned his thigh against the curved edge of the desk and crossed his arms.

  Confidence radiated from him, and the way his eyes probed me from head to toe woke my dormant hormones and sent them into a feeding frenzy. They were starved for affection and wanted to eat him alive.

  I gave my head a mental shake and, as hard as it was, I forced myself to stop staring. I'd met the man less than five minutes ago, but was ready to pull up his shirt and trace my tongue down his happy trail. I needed to get out of my head and get out of the office more.

  "I wasn't aware my father had a meeting with you Mr.-"

  "Apologies again. I'm a right ignorant gobshite." He moved forward and held out his hand. "I'm Caden Gallagher from Gallagher Holdings."

  Before I could take his hand, my dad strolled into the office, freshly shaven, showered and suited. He looked nothing like the hungover man I'd woken up an hour ago.