Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) (18 page)

"So, talk to me about this wedding you've been planning behind my back," I said hours later, when Florabelle had finally grown impatient and had requested our presence in the kitchen. Okay, "request" is, perhaps, a mild word for the way my cockatiel had let me know that I'd totally forgotten to fill her water dish for the first time ever—apparently, I'd had something more pressing on my mind. Now that my bird was content, perching on my chest as Jack and I cuddled together on the couch, I figured it was time to iron out those thorny details that Claudia and Kimberly would certainly ask about when next we met.

"It's a bit premature to plan the actual wedding," Jack answered, pulling a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pants pocket. Unlike his previous proposals, this one was written out longhand on what appeared to be the back of a grocery-store receipt. It had taken some doing to cram everything into the small space, but what caught my eye—and made my stomach churn—was the lettering at the top of the page: "Prenup."

"Jack..." I started, not sure how to express the disappointment I was suddenly feeling. Yes, it made total sense for someone as wealthy as my companion to ask his fiancée to sign a prenuptial agreement, but did I really want to enter into a relationship with someone who trusted me so little? If, heaven forbid, our partnership was doomed to failure, I would expect to leave carrying the same few possessions I'd entered with, and I thought my lover understood that fact. Did he really think I was a gold digger in search of his millions?

But, before I could speak or Jack could explain, my eye was drawn to the items my partner had listed as his demands. "You promise to always drive at or below the speed limit?" I asked, my lips twitching up into a smile as I realized that I'd jumped to the wrong conclusion entirely. Jack's idea of a prenup wasn't a method of protecting his assets, but, rather, a way of solidifying his promises to me. "You'll trade your spaceship in for the safest car on the market?" I continued reading. "And you'll eat five servings of fruits and vegetables per day?"

"Immediately and constantly," Jack said eagerly, his words surging up over top of mine before I'd even finished speaking. "And we'll enroll Shirley in an anti-smoking program if she lets us. Lena was the trickier part, though. I'm pretty sure I can browbeat Dad into sending her back to stay with us, but I wasn't sure if you'd want a sister-in-law in residence right from the get-go?"

"Definitely," I answered, not even needing to consider whether I wanted to accept responsibility for the metaphorical stray kitten. And it wasn't all selflessness that made me agree, either—I loved Lena and wanted to spend as much time as possible with the girl before she went off to college and began making her own way in the world. "But what about this part—you want to wait a year before we get married? Are you still unsure about us...?"

I was disappointed but not surprised by Jack's hesitance. We'd only known each other for a few weeks, but
I
was already confident that the unconventional businessman was the perfect mate for me. Twelve months seemed like an awfully long time to stay in limbo, but if Jack needed that time to process our relationship, then I would willingly wait.

By way of response, Jack took both of my hands in his, the amended paper fluttering to the floor. And as he did so, I realized that this must have been my lover's very first Food City receipt, a remnant of the day when pizzas and fish sticks came rolling down my conveyor belt, the moment when my eyes first made contact with the man who I would later fall head over heels in love with. There was my name at the top of the paper and the Value Card savings I'd circled in green ink down at the bottom. In fact, the mere presence of this memento from our shared past was evidence that Jack had been as intrigued as I was from his first sighting. Whatever Jack said now, I knew I would agree to with my whole heart.

"Ginny, this is the most important decision of our lives," Jack said, his blue eyes boring into mine. "And I'm one-hundred percent certain that it's the right one. But I read some of your books last night while I was trying to figure out where you might have disappeared to. Or, rather, I perused the thoughts you'd penned in the margins. And one of your notations said that marriages are vastly more likely to succeed if both parties are aged twenty-five or older. You're only twenty-four years old—I'm not willing to take that risk."

I knew exactly which book my companion was talking about, and I had to laugh. "Jack, the author was just trying to say that both parties need to be mature enough to know what they're getting into, to have solidified who they are as people. I've been taking care of myself since I was twelve. I know my own mind, and I know I want you."

"It's non-negotiable," Jack replied firmly, but his sexy smirk belied the seriousness of the occasion. Releasing my hand at last, he reached into his pocket in search of another rectangle of paper. This one was a ticket stub from the botanical garden, and the memory of our blissful day there made me breathe more deeply, relaxing into the same feeling of togetherness that now filled my tiny living room.

My companion's next words, though, were ominous. "This is non-negotiable too," he said, handing over the second carefully-lettered document. "These are the promises I need to hear from you."

Here it was, finally, the other shoe dropping. I bit my lip in distress, but reserved judgment as I looked down at the paper in my hand. Once again, the list was titled by the word "prenup," although a Roman numeral "II" finished up the heading. "You say I have to go to college...but only if I want to? The same for travel?" I asked, the sentences resurrecting long-held dreams. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine walking up Egyptian pyramids, perhaps taking a course in horticulture. But neither dream was realistic, even with all of Jack's millions at my disposal. No amount of money could turn back the clock and make me eighteen again, and I had responsibilities here and now that couldn't be dropped on a whim.

"There are online options, or you could be a non-traditional student at nearly any school," Jack clarified. "And I'm flexible—we'll relocate anywhere you want to go. Cuadic can live without you for a few months or years, and we'll hire a tree-sitter if necessary." I couldn't help grinning as the image of every library we'd toured rushed in front of my eyes. I'd at least think about it.

But still—the next item was ludicrous. "And you want me to manage your personal finances?" I asked, even more dubiously. "You know I don't have the foggiest clue about things like that. My bank account hasn't gone beyond triple digits ever since I bought this trailer." In fact, if it hadn't been for Jack's recent handouts, my account would have been completely empty at the moment. The idea that a billionaire-in-training would need any help in the financial arena was just plain silly.

"All the more reason for you to be in charge of our combined assets," Jack confirmed. "Maybe you'll decide to give my inheritance away to Greenpeace. Or perhaps it'll do more good expanding your experimental energy center. Whatever. We can hire an accountant to handle all the boring little details, but I want our marriage to be a real partnership, and Reynolds men have a tendency to wield their billions like whips. Money is too unimportant to ever stand between us."

"But this part is even more serious," Jack continued, poking his finger at words nearly too tiny to make out midway down the ticket stub. "No more fake smiles. If you're unhappy, tell me and I'll fix it."

"And I have to let you be my family?" I said, continuing to skim the page. Then the words I'd spoken slowly sank in, and I looked up at Jack with tears in my eyes. Yes, I'd finally admitted that Cuadic members had acted as a stand-in for my family all of these years, but to have one person who put my needs before all others, who loved me unconditionally and only asked that I treat him the same way back? It had taken me far too long to even call my mentor by her first name, but with Jack, I was ready to commit this very moment. Carrying out
that
prenup restriction wouldn't be hard at all.

"No more letting dreams drift away," Jack concluded. "So, what do you say, is it a deal?"

As we sat there on the sofa, Jack, me, and Florabelle, I realized that my lover was offering far more than I'd ever dared to dream of. And not because of his bank account either. The man in front of me had listened to every word I'd spoken, had read between the lines, and had figured out what truly made me tick. Then Mr. Fish Sticks had wiggled around all of my objections to get exactly what he wanted.

And exactly what I needed.

"It's a deal," I said at last, and we shook on it. Florabelle squawked her approval, then trotted down my extended arm to settle onto our clasped hands, ensuring that we wouldn't break our contact anytime soon.

Ten months later, spring was creeping up the hillside toward Jack's mansion and toward my trailer on the hill. I was still kinda-sorta living in the latter, or at least retreating to the space when I needed a bit of solitude away from the endless parade of new and old friends who trooped through the mansion's downstairs on a daily basis. Jack had offered up that space as the center of operations for Citizens United in Search of Clean Energy (Cusce for short), of which I was the director, and we used the dining room for meetings while waiting to break ground on our own facility at the end of the month. In exchange, I'd allowed Jack to install a queen-sized bed in my trailer, although the extra space didn't prevent us from snuggling closer and closer together, our bodies mirroring the iron-clad bridge that had been built between our souls.

But as I walked across my garden toward the main house this morning, I had other things on my mind. Twenty-five years ago today, I'd slipped out of my mother's womb, and thirteen years ago I'd enjoyed the final birthday party planned by my parents. Since then, I'd hugged the important date to my chest, never offering up the information to acquaintances since I was unwilling to sully my memory of that important occasion with an inevitably watered-down, non-family celebration.

But now, as I shifted into my second quarter-century, I finally felt ready to allow someone new to light birthday-cake candles on my behalf. Well, not just anyone—the man whose smiles lit up my days and nights. Jack had become my family in every way that mattered, and I wanted him to be a part of this special day as well.

Assuming I could ever get my lover alone for a confidential talk, that was.

The murmur of voices from inside the mansion was audible even before I reached the front porch, proving that Jack and I wouldn't be enjoying that private discussion anytime soon. But before I could decide whether to turn back around and wait for a better opportunity, Lena came barreling out the door toward me, her young face glowing with the joy that had been slowly building ever since we'd ripped her away from her father's dubious care. I wasn't entirely clear about the details of that arrangement, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Jack had resorted to blackmail to get his way, but the particulars didn't really matter as long as Mr. Reynolds senior stayed far away from my favorite almost-sister-in-law.

"Did you notice Pippin?" the girl demanded before she'd even made it halfway down the steps, and I obediently turned to peer at the tree that I'd passed without a glance moments before. I'd been a bit concerned about my favorite plant the previous summer since she—unlike the rest of my garden—had taken a while to get her feet back under her after the move. The tree
had
manfully ripened her first fruit, which tasted even more delicious than I had originally imagined, but she hadn't put out any new growth all last summer or fall, leading me to suspect that the tree spade had cut off some of her feeder roots and might have damaged the tree's mycelial network during the transplanting process.

But, given enough time, Pippin had bounced back just like the rest of us, and now the warmth of April sunlight had prompted her flower buds to open wide. It seemed as if hundreds of blooms had appeared on her fruiting spurs overnight, white petals tinged with pink now covering my tree from head to toe. I couldn't even begin to imagine what the tree would look like this fall when her flowers had turned into fruit.

"Ginny!" I turned at the sound and saw my favorite person in the world standing just outside the open front door, the sight of him enough to derail any interest in even my newly-flowering apple tree. I'd thought Jack was handsome when I first met him less than a year before, but it seemed like my companion's allure doubled every day. Now, I found myself at the top of the stairs before I had even urged my feet to move in his direction, and my hand slipped into his without conscious volition.

This was just the opportunity I'd been waiting for, as well—two Reynolds and I alone on the front porch, ready to hear my birthday confession. "There's something I want to tell you," I said, halting Jack before he could draw me back inside, where raucous laughter turned the mansion's paint three shades warmer in an instant. Even though I'd barely taken the time to change anything about the structure since moving in next door, the dwelling already felt like an entirely different place than the mausoleum I'd first walked into last June, and I was glad that the Reynolds now lived in a home instead of just a house.

But Jack appeared unusually impatient at the moment, his eyes cutting toward the door behind him as I mulled over the building's changes, so I figured I'd better go ahead and spit my secret out. "Today's my birthday," I offered, not sure what I expected in reply. I hadn't told my lover about the way I'd clung so tightly to the memory of my twelfth birthday, and he probably wouldn't understand that I was
giving
him a gift with my words, not asking for one. So I tried not to be disappointed when my companion simply nodded and pulled me through the doorway and down the hall to the formal-dining-room-turned-Cusce-operations-central.

"I know," Jack said at last, our rushed flight halting just before we ran into a dozen friendly bodies. This was exactly the kind of non-reaction I always expected if I ever fessed up to my birth date, so I shouldn't have been so chagrined at my companion's complete lack of interest. But, despite my better intentions, Jack's hurry to move on to more serious matters pained my heart.

And what did he mean by "I know?"

The answer became apparent as Crystal and Tom stepped aside, revealing what the Cusce members had been clustered around—a huge white cake dripping with intricately swirled frosting and edible flowers. The confection was five stories high, each tier growing smaller and more delicate, and at the very top perched a perfect replica of Pippin in full bloom, Jack and I standing with clasped hands behind the tree's trunk. I thought I could even make out Florabelle perched on the mini-me's shoulder, and a squawk from the other end of the room proved that my pet was present in the flesh today as well as in miniature form.

"This isn't a birthday cake," I said at last, unable to believe my eyes. No one had breathed a word about a surprise birthday party, and Jack hadn't mentioned a potential wedding in months. Which was okay—I was content with our lives exactly the way they were, our days slowly growing together like the rootstock and scionwood of a grafted fruit tree. Why should I need a marriage license when I woke up more in love every morning, Jake's strong arm curled around my shoulders?

"Lena said you didn't want a formal wedding, no fancy dress, soul-searching vows, or decorated church. But she said you'd appreciate a cake," Jack replied, a tiny hint of uncertainty entering his vibrant voice. I remembered the conversation now, the little sneak having teased out my wishes while we were both sniffling at the end of a particularly good rom-com.
I'll be a basket case the night before Jack and I get married
, I'd told Lena, pausing to blow my nose.
Honestly, I wish I could just wake up one morning and find out that I was already married...to your brother of course. Oh, and there'd be cake. Really good chocolate cake with a cream-cheese frosting and edible flowers. You'd be there, of course, along with all of the people we love. And then I'd kiss Jack, and the formalities would be over.

I snuck a glance behind me, to where Lena now appeared nearly as teary-eyed as I'd been during my confessional night, and then I looked in front of me to where every person (and bird) that I cared about was arrayed around the room. Finally, I gazed up at the man who had stolen my heart...and then taught it to explode into exuberant bloom.

My lips curled upward into a completely honest smile (as mandated by our prenuptial agreement, of course), and I reached up to grab the scruff of Jack's neck. "Let's get hitched," I breathed, pulling his face down to join mine. It was time to create our own fond memories, today and for every other birthday to come.