Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire? (4 page)

       It
was
a threat.  Nina felt speechless.  Elsa had chosen her words so that she could
never be pinned down for speaking inappropriately, but Nina knew a threat when
she heard one.  Elsa and Daniel were in collusion, she realized, how else to
explain why they were playing good cop, bad cop?   And she was like a minnow
swimming among sharks.  The magic beast of DeVere fame and fortune was going to
eat her alive.

       Elsa
switched to her perky, official voice.  “Feel better Nina, and work from home
tomorrow too, we’ll see you on
Friday
.”

       Clicking
her cell phone shut, Nina tossed it on the table.  Elsa was the one who had
revealed her predicament to Daniel.  And Elsa was probably the one who’d cooked
up the plan for her to be Daniel’s fake wife.  

       Her phone
rang.  She looked at the caller display; of course, with his special gift for
disastrous timing, it was Reuben.  She took a deep breath, and picked up the
phone.

       “Hey
Bro—what’s up?”

       “Nina,
I’m really sorry, but I’m kind of in a jam.”

       She
couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.  “What is it now Reuben?  Do
you want money to go climb Mount Kilimanjaro?   Or maybe you’ve decided to take
up yoga and go live in an ashram?”

       His voice
caught, and she realized that he sounded almost ready to cry.  “Nina, I’m at
Mass General, and I’m in traction.”

       “Traction? 
You mean like hospital, broken bone, kind of traction?”

       “Yeah.”  He
was sniffling.   “Can you come Nina?  It really hurts.”

Chapter Six

       On the
way to the hospital, Nina called Rita, so her sister was waiting for her at the
main reception.  Rita started to give Nina a quick hug, but Nina pulled back. “Save
yourself, I’ve got something and I’m probably contagious.”

       Rita
smiled thinly.  “I just got here.  He’s in room 1247.   I guess it’s the
orthopedic wing or something.   They said it’s the third bank of elevators.”

       Nina looked
at her younger sister meaningfully, “If he’s not dying, I may have to kill
him.” 

       Rita
tried to laugh.  “I know, he’s a knucklehead, but he’s our baby brother.”

       Reuben
was poking lamely at some florescent orange Jello when they arrived.  One leg
was hoisted on a rope and pulley system into the air.  There were giant pins
sticking out of his thigh.  He put his spoon down, and pushed the rolling tray
away from the bed.  “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.  I was so out of
it, I just scrawled my name on the release forms and didn’t have it together
enough to tell anyone to call you.  I guess I was in surgery for a good chunk
of the night.”

       Nina
carefully sat on the edge of the bed, softening to her brother.  “What the hell
happened?”

       Reuben
looked vacantly toward the ceiling, “I, uh, I slipped in the mustard.”

       Rita
looked from Reuben to Nina, “He’s delirious, right?  That’s the pain killers
talking?”

       Shaking
her head regretfully, Nina just said, “Nope, I’m afraid he’s of entirely sound
mind.”  Turning back to her brother, she blew him a kiss, “But now, I’m going
to have to kill you.”

       Back
home, Nina leafed through a pile of paperwork someone from the hospital had
thrust at her as they left.  Rueben’s student health insurance from the
university was, thankfully, covering a large part of the cost.  But then she
saw the fine print: five thousand dollars deductible, no drug coverage, and no
physical therapy—and Reuben was going to need a lot of physical therapy.  In
addition, to keep the coverage on his surgery, hospitalization, and doctor’s
bills, he’d have to stay enrolled as a full-time student.  Nina felt like her
finances were an unsolvable Rubik’s Cube; she kept spinning and spinning, but
she could never get anything to line up, even if she did let the IRS take her
home.

       Nina knew
her mom, Vicki, wouldn’t have any money for the bills, but Nina also knew that she’d
come from Lowell in a heartbeat to take care of Reuben.  That would mean Vicki
would have to stay with her, Nina thought with a sigh, but at least she
wouldn’t have to worry so much about her brother.   Nina reached for the phone
to call her mom. 

       She gave
Vicki the rundown, but left out the part about her financial problems. 

       “Honey,
I’ll be there Friday night.  I’ve just been working temp jobs.  I’ll try to
help you out too, while I’m looking after your brother.  I know you work really
hard, and you look out for Rita and Reuben better than me.  That’s not lost on
me, Nina.”

       “Mom…”

       “Yes
honey?”

       “Thanks
for saying that.  I love you.”

       “I love
you too.”

       There was
nothing else left to do now, except write a report on Central America.  Oh, and
marry Daniel DeVere.

Chapter Seven

       By
Friday, Nina’s cold was better, but she had developed laryngitis.  She wondered
if it were some kind of psychosomatic thing, but no matter how hard she tried,
her voice alternated between the merest of whispers, and something sounding
like a bullfrog that had been gargling with shards of glass. 

       She rifled
through the hangers in her closet, trying to figure out what one wore to accept
a counterfeit proposal of marriage.  It was like one of those sticky situations
sent to an advice columnist, “Dear Etiquette Edna, A billionaire playboy has
asked me to marry him, but not really marry him, just kind of fake it.  I have
to go accept his bogus proposal.  Are stiletto heels appropriate?  Or should I
wear something more low key?”

       Her
wardrobe Nina realized, was not just sort of boring, it
was
boring. 
There was the ugly bridesmaid’s dress from her cousin’s wedding, jeans and
sweaters for off hours, and then a bunch of drab, professional clothes in
black, brown and grey.  There was one little black cocktail dress she’d fought
for at Filene’s Basement, the dress she wore to every Foundation fundraising
gala.  She held it up; it still had the dry cleaner’s tag on it from the last
time she’d worn it.  Why not, she thought.  She felt so crappy on the inside - why
not try to look her best on the outside?  Rummaging around in the bottom of her
closet, she pulled out a pair of heels.  They were imitations of Louboutins,
without the red soles, but nice enough looking shoes.  She liked the stacked sole
on the shoes as it boosted her from 5’7” and a bit, to nearly 5’10”.  Next, she
dug through her jewelry box and found a pair of simple pearl earrings.  The
hardest part was finding a pair of hose that didn’t have a run in them, but at
the very bottom of her sock drawer, she found a pair with a black seam running
up the back of the leg that had once been part of a Halloween costume.

       After her
shower, Nina straightened her hair some, pulling it back with combs so that it
looked quite elegant.  She never wore much make-up, but decided to pluck a few
strays around her eyebrows, give her long lashes some mascara, and then added a
touch of color to her lids and lips.  If she was going to play a part, she
thought, she might as well disguise herself. 

       When she
stepped off the elevator on the 30
^th
floor, the receptionist sat up
at attention and put on her best professional voice, and then Nina realized,
the woman didn’t recognize her.  

       “Nina
Alves—I have a noon appointment with Mr. DeVere.”

       The
receptionist tried to not let her surprise show.  “Yes, of course, Ms. Alves. 
He’s expecting you.”

       The door
to the executive offices magically whisked open, and Nina nodded a little
dismissively at the receptionist.  If she was going to be Mrs. DeVere, she
might as well start playing the part.

       The door
to Daniel’s office was open, and he was in the same spot as the first day she
arrived at the office.  He stared out toward the sea, his hands clasped behind
his back.  The thick carpets had absorbed the sound of her feet, and she
studied him silently, reluctant to announce her presence.   Daniel absently ran
a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed to her like that of a little
boy.  There was nothing boyish about the figure he cut though; he had been a
competitive swimmer when he was in school, and his body still had that shape:
broad muscular shoulders, a narrow waist and hips, and she imagined, a belly
like iron.  Although Daniel’s more dissolute lifestyle, as of late, may have
softened his form.

       She
tapped lightly at the door.

       When
Daniel turned, a low "wow” escaped his lips.  He could now see now that
Nina would be able to physically carry off her role.  The dress she was wearing
fit her beautifully, he thought, showing off her curves to advantage.  And what
man didn’t like to see a pretty, curvaceous, woman wearing high heels?   There
was something wholesome about her too; she didn’t have that anorexic look of so
many of the rich girls, who starved themselves to achieve impossible ideals. 
It hit Daniel that there was a lot to be said for a woman with a shape like a
woman, rather than one that looked more like an ironing board.  Her eyelashes
fluttered, and he fought to pull himself from his reverie.

       “Hi
Nina.  You look lovely.”  He smiled, and she could tell it was his real smile,
not the one he flashed for photographers.  “I hope you have some good news for
me.”

       She
wandered toward his bookcase full of treasures, and picked up a framed black
and white, autographed, photograph.   It was Hepburn and Tracy.  It seemed
incongruous for a thirty-one year old playboy to care about such a thing, but
maybe a decorator had been responsible for the choice.  She smiled to herself,
thinking about some of her favorite movie scenes with the pair of actors, but
then she remembered how they had hid the true nature of their relationship and
Tracy’s problems for so many years.  Not every Hollywood story necessarily has
a storybook ending.  She could feel herself getting emotional over what she was
about to do and set the picture down.  This was a business transaction, and she
needed to keep it professional. Nina turned to Daniel. 

       She tried
to simply say, “I accept your proposal.”   But it came out sounding like the
cry of a demented whooping crane.  Daniel looked like maybe he wanted to call
security.  Nina tried again, “I_AH_LAR_N_OOP_TIS.  Daniel stared at her, a
little horrified, trying to decide what was wrong with her.  Frustrated, Nina
grabbed her phone out of the clutch she carried, and began frantically texting
as he looked at her, puzzled.  A moment later, his phone beeped, and he took it
out of his pocket.  He read it aloud, “I’m not crazy.  I just have laryngitis. 
I accept your proposal.”  He started laughing.

       The magic
mini-bar revealed itself once more, and Daniel took a bottle of Dom Perignon
out of the little cooler.  He held up the bottle, apologetically “Oh this is
just for everyday, we’ll have some of the good stuff later, but I think we
should seal our deal with a toast.”  He popped the cork and poured two
glasses.  Handing one to Nina, he smiled again, “Things are getting off to a
great start don’t you think?  Every man dreams of a wife who won’t talk back!”

       He
clinked his glass to Nina’s, and begrudgingly, she took a sip of the
champagne.  The bubbles tickled her nose, and there was the faintest hint of a
coffee smell.  She took a second sip; it was the most delicious drink she
thought she’d ever tasted.  If this was the everyday, what was the good stuff
like?

       Daniel
gestured to the couch.  “We need to make some lists.  Now that you’re my
girlfriend, there’s a lot to do before you can become Mrs. DeVere.  Among other
things, you’re going to have to meet Daddy Dearest.”

       Daniel
grabbed a moleskin notebook from his desk, and took out his Mont Blanc pen. 
Nina wanted to slow things down, tell him her brother was in the hospital, and
her mom was arriving in a few hours.  But the more she tried to talk, the worse
her voice got, and nothing would come out but fragmented squawks.  Patting her
knee patronizingly, Daniel sat down next to her and started jotting things
down, “Wardrobe shopping, stylist, hair, nails, club membership, car…”

       She
widened her eyes in alarm at the mention of a car.  Oblivious, Daniel glanced
up, “What’s your style, like a Lamborghini, or are you more of Mercedes McLaren? 
Or we could just get you a Maybach with a driver, it’s up to you.”  

       It was a
few months out of her life, Nina thought, a few months to pretend she was
someone else, a few months to know what it felt like to be sickeningly rich. 
Nina took another sip of her champagne, took the pen from Daniel’s hand, and
scrawled on his notebook, “Porsche Carrera.”

Chapter Eight

       “Mon Dieu! 
Slow down!”   Rita was white knuckling the dashboard of Nina’s new car, a candy
red convertible.  “This thing is like some kind of crazy Batmobile!”

       Nina let
her foot off the accelerator, “I can’t help it—it just wants to go a hundred
miles an hour!”  They screeched to a halt at a stoplight.  The distinctive
sound of the V10 engine revving caught the attention of every suit on Boylston
Street.  Men seemed surprised that a rather feminine looking woman was behind
the wheel of a Carrera GT.  Grinning at Rita, Nina added, “It sounds just like
an F1 racecar, just like something Papa would have driven.”

       Rita, usually
the first one up for an adventure, found herself reversing roles with the
normally cautious Nina, “Hey, remember that Papa
died
in race car.  I’d
like to live to be your fake bridesmaid.”