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Three days later.
Nervousness ran cold and slick in Ivy’s veins as she sat in a dressing room in Mac’s luxury mansion with assistants fussing around her. While her hair and make-up were being done, a couple other female guests who’d had similar treatments sipped champagne and cackled by a wardrobe of colorful gowns. Her little love Danny boy sat quietly on a chair watching the scene, a bit overwhelmed, hands folded in his lap.
She blew out a breath. How could she not be nervous? She’d thought of Mac constantly since that day on the beach. He was so hot, he’d made her knees weaken, and her pussy had seethed with want. If he’d kept his burning lips hovering over her fingers a little longer—and if she’d been able to see his eyes, dammit!—she would’ve melted right there and then. The only other time in her life that a man had made this kind of effect on her was the night Party Boy had captured her heart. He’d had the same physical build, the same feral, self-confident attitude, and by God, the same insane pull on her.
Girl, he’d said he wanted the first dance! How exciting. Maybe he liked her.
Or... Maybe he’d pulled a joke on her. She was only a servant, after all, and he the son of a multi-millionaire, so she shouldn’t expect too much to happen at his birthday party. Honestly.
Mr. Fremont had been invited, too, like all of MacMillan Sr.’s neighbors, but had politely declined. He’d advised Ivy not to attend, given his resilience toward ‘the brat, the wild boy.’ She’d said she understood, however, she would go because it was an opportunity to meet other interesting people since she was new in the neighborhood.
She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake.
A knock on the door. It opened ajar, and an old man’s steely voice asked through the crack, “Is she ready?”
“Yes, Mister,” Ivy’s hairstylist answered.
In came a tall, white-haired man in his sixties wearing an elegant tuxedo jacket and a bow tie. He was entirely different from gentle Mr. Fremont. He exuded power and wealth and behaved as though everything and everyone belonged to him. His dark gray gaze swept the room before it stopped at Ivy, and he considered her from the length of his nose. “I am Alexander MacMillan Sr.,” he announced, chin in the air, walking over to her and reaching out his hand. “And you must be Ivy.”
“Yes.” She accepted his firm handshake, so cold it almost gave her a shiver.
“Good.” A tiny spark lit his eyes. “Alexander wasn’t lying. You are stunning.”
What?
She hadn’t checked herself during the make-over. She swiveled on her chair and found a mirror. A woman of rare beauty stared back. Not the slutty kind she’d looked like in her pole-dancer heydays. She resembled a top model, her hair pulled back into a classy regal updo, her eyes smokey with turquoise, brown, black, and shifts in gold, and her lips a striking red. Wow.
MacMillan Sr. said, “All right, let’s move on. The guests are waiting.” He told the makeup assistant, “Bring the gown.”
The gown? The closet was full of gowns. Couldn’t she pick one herself?
The assistant pulled a cover bag out of the closet and, with help from the hairdresser, revealed a white silk bridal gown.
Ivy gasped loud. “Y-you want me to wear this? But it’s a wedding dress.”
He smirked. “You should be happy he wants you for wife—”
The air punched out of her lungs. Wife? What on earth was going on? “He, who?”
“My son, of course.”
She gaped, shocked to her bones, and clasped her hands on her lap. “You’re joking. Mac wants to marry me?”
“His name is Alexander.”
“That’s hilarious.”
“Well, if you’re not happy, you can always divorce afterwards.”
A glance to the quiet, half-smiling assistants told her they knew. God, it was a set-up. She was being pushed into a situation she’d never imagined possible. “I’m not doing it.” She rose, but the old man shot out a hard hand and held her. “Let me go,” she wheezed.
“What do you want in exchange? Money? An apartment? Anything you want can be arranged.”
She spat. “I don’t want your money. Danny and I are doing fine.”
His eyes hardened. “Let’s make a deal. You proceed with the wedding and go through the day as Alexander’s bride, but we don’t sign anything. No contract. You don’t even have to sleep with him. Just pretend to be his wife for a day. Tomorrow, it’s over.”
“You’re using me,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t know what the hell you’re scheming for, but there’s something very weird going on.”
“See it like this: You’ll be treated as a princess for one day, and then you can go back to your cleaning maid life, if that’s what you really prefer.”
She shot a glance to Danny. “What about my son? What will he think? That his mommy marries a stranger just for show?”
“Your son?” MacMillan Sr. spun to the chair on which Danny sat. “He?”
“Yes.”
He walked over to the boy and stared for a while before asking, voice choked, “What’s your name?”
The boy looked back, a little shy. “Danny.”
“Danny, I’m very pleased to meet you.” He bent forward to take him in his arms and hug him.
Weird. Why would he do that?
After a long moment, he turned to Ivy, gaze shimmering. “You’re not strangers. Alexander said he knew you, and now I understand what he meant.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve only met on the beach. Like three days ago or something.”
“It’s more like three or four years ago.”
Her heart thudded. “Huh?”
A nod.
Mac had to be one of the guys who visited the club, then, only she hadn’t recognized him.
Oh, shit.
A shudder went down her spine. Then Mac knew what kind of woman she’d been at the time. Apparently, he hadn’t told his father, or the old man never would’ve agreed to the marriage. But if she refused to marry him, he might very well reveal her true identity to everyone—including Mr. Fremont—as a revenge, and then she would be fired and she and Danny would be propelled back to a life of poverty and low-paid jobs.
No!
She had to make sure Mac didn’t have a reason to mention her past. She had to comply with his highly peculiar will—accept to marry him—in order to stay on the safe side.
Snapping her out of her thoughts, MacMillan Sr. stood and told the assistants, “When your work is done, take care of the child and make sure he has a good time.” He turned to Ivy, gaze serious. “So?”
She swallowed. She couldn’t risk crossing these rich, powerful people and have them find out about her past and destroy Danny’s future. Heart in her throat, she nodded. “Okay.”
A smile lit his gray eyes. “Excellent. I’ll wait outside.” He slipped out the door.
In no time, the assistants helped her put the gown on and zipped it up for her. It fit well and felt amazing, if she had to be honest. They slipped a pair of elegant high-heeled shoes of white satin overlaid with delicate ivory lace on her feet, and gave her a bouquet of white roses.
She checked her reflection in the mirror and had a small shock. The strapless dress was of lustrous silk, somewhere between romantic and glamorous, mermaid-style like taken out of a fairytale, flattering her feminine silhouette and highlighting her shoulders and neckline.
Danny came to her side and pointed at the mirror, giggling. “Mommy, you look like a princess!”
She bent to hug her little man and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, honey.” She would much rather bring him with her, but he wasn’t dressed for a wedding. Besides, she trusted the assistants. They’d been nice to him the whole time. “I hope you’ll have fun. Mommy’s going to be busy, so the ladies here will take care of you, but I’m around if you need me. I love you.”
In a blurry haze, she crossed the room and opened the door. Whatever happened now was out of her control. She would just have to do her best.
MacMillan straightened when he saw her in the hall, and what seemed like relief smoothened his wrinkled features. He offered his arm. “Since your father isn’t here to lead you to the aisle, it will be my honor.”
She snuck her arm around his and let him take her through endless halls of unfathomable luxury, until they came to a French door opening to a vast sunlit garden. Outside, a large crowd of dressed-up people chatted and sipped from cocktail glasses.
She startled, her heart up in her throat. Could she do this? She’d dreamed of getting married one day, but never in a situation like this.
“Trust me,” MacMillan Sr. said, “you’re doing the right thing.”
“H-how can you be so sure?” Her voice trembled.
“Ivy, your son...”
“Yes?”
The old man only smiled, gaze shiny, like he couldn’t speak.
Well, she was glad Danny brought happiness to the elderly. He clearly had a gift. She hoped he would have a good day, despite seeing his mommy married away to a stranger.
MacMillan Sr. led her out the door. A hush went through the crowd, and all faces turned to greet them, splitting in the middle to create an aisle. At the end stood an arbor covered in beautiful white roses, and beneath it, a young man in a tuxedo. Was he the groom—meaning Mac?
She huffed. As much as she was attracted to him, he’d set her up in a most respectless way, and she couldn’t accept it. Once this farce was over, she was leaving him. Did he and his father really think they could manipulate her, like all they had to do was snap with their fingers and she would do anything they wanted? Bah, spoiled people!
As MacMillan Sr. led her down the aisle, people on the sides cheered and whistled. Violins played. Despite the festive atmosphere, she kept a straight face to show she wasn’t too pleased with the situation.
When they arrived at the porch, the groom turned to greet them and smiled. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses. Recognition hit her like a slap in the face.
You!
She nearly fell on her butt. Before her stood the heavenly handsome man who had seduced her in the club and gotten her pregnant. Danny’s father. Party Boy. Oh, God. She who had tried so hard to forget about him!
In the limo, and on the beach, he’d sported shades and a new beard, yes, but she should’ve recognized his strong nose and full lips—and of course, his sexy bare chest. These clues should’ve told her who he was, but she’d been blind.
Stupid, stupid.