The Wrong Fiancée: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Marriage by Contract Book 3)
The Wrong Fiancée: Chapter 22

Tate’s definition of small and mine were different. The small beach house he had rented had six bedrooms. Six!

It had a massive kitchen with a farm-style dining table that could seat fifteen, a dining room just as large, two living rooms, a library, a study, opulent lanais, and a garden that led straight to the beach. There was an infinity pool and the pièce de résistance—a tropical conservatory right on the property. The place was straight out of a movie set, with glass walls overflowing with rare orchids, towering palms, and vibrant native flora. The air inside was thick with the scent of plumeria and hibiscus—a hidden Eden within the estate. It’s where we had breakfast. Talk about the milkmaid playing princess!

While I was in the police station, Tate managed to hire an attorney for me and get Leilani to move my clothes and anything else I’d need to the beach house while my cottage was cleaned up. It was a one-bedroom teeny-tiny house, and it would take about half an hour max to fix up, but Tate refused to let me go back and insisted I sleep at the beach house.

I was grateful. There was no way I could pay him back—for anything, really, especially not the attorney. A quick Google search told me that Sara Iona, of Iona, McCluskey & Kekoa, was part of a premier law firm in Hawaii, with offices on every island. Their hourly rates were far beyond anything I could afford.

Speaking of money, I needed to get back to work. As an hourly employee, if I didn’t work, I didn’t get paid. And with Ka Pono bills coming due soon—paid quarterly in one big lump sum—I was in trouble. My bank account barely had enough to cover rent, let alone a check big enough to keep Ka Pono off my back.

‘Who cooked?’ I asked as I set my knife and fork down after finishing a superb and fluffy omelet.

‘The house comes with a cook,’ Tate explained.

Of course, it did! Who were these people? Who lived like this? No wonder Dean took one look at me and ran. No wonder Felicity took one look at him and wanted him. Uncle Sam had money, but not this kind. Not the private jet kind, which I’d found out the Archers were when Tate told me how Dean was getting back to Kauai from Rome.

‘I have to get back to work.’

Tate nodded. ‘Yeah, about that. I spoke with Dante, and considering the trauma you’ve been through, the company is giving you a week off, obviously, with pay.’

I sighed. ‘Mr. Archer, I⁠—’

‘Tate.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Tate, I need to⁠—’

‘Rest,’ he finished for me. ‘Darling, I know you want to go back to your cottage and set yourself up, and then work and work and work. It’s noble. But when someone is giving you a hand, take the win, yeah?’

‘The win?’

He nodded. ‘A week off with pay is a fucking win in my book.’

‘You people have too much money,’ I sighed.

‘That is a fact.’ Tate picked up his coffee cup. ‘We try to make sure we use the money wisely. We have a strong charity portfolio, which my wife does not run because Marcella can be mercenary—it’s run by someone hired to do exactly that.’

‘Marcella is your wife?’ I asked tentatively.

He smiled. It was a full, genuine grin. ‘Yeah, she’s special.’ He pulled out his phone and held it up, showing me her photo.

She looked like Salma Hayek, freaking gorgeous. Between her and Tate, it was no surprise that their sons were so beautiful.

‘Isn’t she something?’ he showed off.

I was touched by how the big, strong man persona slid away as soon as his wife was mentioned. He obviously adored her. ‘Yes, she is.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, she’s a tough cookie. And no one, including me, fucks with her because I like my teeth exactly the way they are.’

I hadn’t been around families like this one—at least, I hadn’t grown up in one where people cared about one another. Tate had told me he’d come to Kauai to meet me because Dean had talked about me, and he wanted a chance to get to know me when his son was off the islands. It was opportune that he spoke to Leilani right after I was arrested, and helped me get released.

‘I have a question.’

‘Okay.’

‘Why didn’t you think I stole the jewelry?’

He chuckled. ‘Someone like you who works two jobs to help her sister who doesn’t treat her with kindness is not someone who steals.’

‘How do you know about Noe?’

‘We’re a close family. Dean has told me about you…everything about you.’

‘You seem like a really nice man,’ I said sadly, wishing things were different. ‘But I need you to know that Dean and I are not together.’

‘Of course, not. He just got rid of that fiancée of his a few days ago. My sons do all kinds of stupid shit, but they won’t cheat,’ he said confidently. ‘Though I thought they wouldn’t indulge in locker room talk, and here I find that he mouthed off about you to Dante, and you heard him.’

I couldn’t believe it. Dean had told his parents about Honolulu.

‘Ah….’

‘Like I said, we share in our family; unfortunately, sometimes we overshare.’

‘It must be nice to be amongst people who don’t judge you.’

Tate guffawed at that. ‘Oh, we judge. We judged the hell out of Dean for being such a shit. Marcella ripped him a new one. It was a sight to watch. But then she can make grown men quiver in their boots.’

I couldn’t imagine the woman whose photo I had seen could be as tough as Tate said she was. I was certain he was exaggerating.

‘He felt really bad, and that’s when we knew that he was head over heels for you.’

I slumped. ‘He’s not.’

‘You’ve known Dean for five minutes, I’ve known him for thirty years,’ he remarked. ‘I know my kid.’

‘You think you know him,’ I didn’t back down. It hurt too much to hear him say something I knew wasn’t true. ‘And in any case, we had a fling for two weeks. No one falls in love in two weeks.’

‘You did.’

That made me shut up.

‘So, here is what I was thinking,’ Tate changed the topic, smooth as a chainsaw, ‘I want to go to Hanapēpē. You should come along and be my guide.’

Known as Kauai’s Biggest Little Town, Hanapēpē was filled with local art galleries and artisan shops.

‘I…I….’

‘Come on, when was the last time you took a day off and played tourist?’ Tate urged.

‘I…,’ I smiled sadly, ‘it’s been…actually, never.’

‘That’s a terrible travesty!’ Tate announced. ‘Come on, Elika, it’s the least you can do when I save you from spending a night in custody.’

I couldn’t believe he said that, attempting to openly and emotionally blackmail me. He gave me a cheeky smile, and he looked so much like Dean that my heart skipped a beat.

‘You’re right. It’s the least I can do,’ I agreed.

It had been a long time since I’d been to Hanapēpē. The last time, I was with a group of guests, tagging along to help the event organizer.

The town had a rustic charm, and whenever I was here, I felt like it had escaped time. It had a vibrant creative energy with colorful galleries lining the narrow streets. Old plantation-style buildings with peeling paint and crooked signs gave it an almost cinematic feel.

Tate, I discovered, was a lot like Dean.

He had a laid-back confidence that I envied. He was completely at ease in his linen shirt and pants, a fedora tilted just right on his head. He had a cigar in his hand, unlit but twirling between his fingers. He didn’t seem like the high-powered art dealer I knew he was—more like someone who could blend in with the locals and enjoy the simple pleasures.

‘I thought you’d want to go to one of our fancier galleries,’ I told him as we walked.

‘You seem surprised.’ He gave me a sideways smile.

I shrugged. ‘I guess I didn’t expect you to be so…relaxed. You seem at home here.’

He adjusted his fedora. ‘Kauai has that effect, doesn’t it? Can’t be uptight in a place like this. Plus, I wanted you to take a break. Enjoy yourself.’

I was about to protest—I had too much going on to ‘take a break’—but the truth was, it had been ages since I’d had a day off, a day to do nothing but stroll and soak in the world. And somehow, Tate knew that’s exactly what I needed.

We wandered through the galleries, stepping into little art studios and workshops that smelled of wood and paint. Rooms where walls were covered with art that felt alive—vivid paintings of Waimea Canyon, the Nā Pali Coast, and hula dancers captured in mid-movement, the colors practically vibrating off the canvas. There were carvings of koa wood, delicate handmade jewelry, and beautiful ceramics. This wasn’t high-end or glossy, it was authentic and deeply connected to the island’s history and spirit.

Tate was a true tourist. He was curious about everything. He’d pick up pieces and hold them in his hands, studying them with real admiration. He asked a lot of questions, and I surprised myself by answering most of his queries.

‘You know,’ he said, examining a small carved tiki statue, ‘there’s something here you don’t find in those high-end galleries. It’s raw and real. Feels alive, like each piece has a story to tell.’

I loved that he felt the same way I did about island art. Here, it wasn’t about status or prestige—it was about the islands, their people, their land, their soul.

After we wandered out of a small studio, my stomach growled. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was until I breathed in the smell of grilled fish and garlic from a nearby restaurant.

Tate raised an eyebrow. ‘Lunch?’ he asked, already guiding me toward a small café across the street without waiting for my answer.

The eatery was a tiny, open-air spot with mismatched wooden chairs and tables shaded by big, colorful umbrellas. Locals filled most of the tables, laughing and chatting with the laid-back ease that seemed to come naturally in Hanapēpē. The place wasn’t fancy, but it had a cozy charm—kind of like everything else in this town.

Tate chose a table with a view of the main street and the galleries across from us. As soon as we sat, a waitress appeared, smiling as she handed us menus filled with local dishes—exactly what I wanted.

‘What are we thinking?’ Tate asked, flipping through the menu as he lit his cigar, the smoke curling lazily into the air.

‘Something….” I eyed the ahi poke bowl on the menu. ‘The poke bowls here are really good, but you can’t go wrong no matter what you order.’

Tate read through the menu, weighing his options. ‘I think I’ll do the kalua pork plate, too. I can’t come to Hawaii and not have that.’

When the server returned, we placed our orders—ahi poke for me, kalua pork for him, lomi lomi salmon, and some Spam musubi just for good measure. Tate added a local beer while I went with fresh lilikoi juice, the sweet-tart flavor already making my mouth water.

The sun was warm on my skin, a soft breeze rolling in from the ocean, and the sound of island music floated through the air from somewhere down the street. It felt like everything had slowed down for a minute. No stress. No drama. Just a peaceful afternoon, eating lunch and talking art with…Dean’s father?

What had happened to my life?

‘I haven’t had a day like this in…,’ I leaned back in my chair, ‘I don’t even know how long.’

Tate gave me a knowing smile. ‘That’s what I thought. You needed a break. Too much work and stress can tear a person apart.’ He took a slow drag from his cigar, his gaze drifting lazily over the street. ‘Besides, you’re pretty good company—even if you did just get out of jail.’

I laughed, shaking my head. “Technically, it was an interrogation room.’

Tate put his hand on mine. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘You have nothing to apologize for,’ I said sincerely. ‘This is Felicity and Ginny. I…how come Dean couldn’t see who she is?’

‘He would have, but he was in a rush to settle down. Damian and Duncan got married to terrific women, and I think he wanted the same. He thought he could have it with Felicity.’ Tate stubbed out his cigar.

‘Did you like her?’

Tate shrugged. ‘If Dean loved her, it wouldn’t have mattered how I or Marcella felt. But, no, we didn’t like her. And before you ask, no, we didn’t say anything to Dean. We interfered once with our son Damian, and it nearly cost him Emilia, who is, by the way, a terrific artist. So, Marcella and I decided to keep our mouths shut and let the kids figure it out.’

‘But you came all the way to Kauai to check me out?’ I quirked an eyebrow.

He chuckled. ‘I thought he wouldn’t be here, and I could interfere without him finding out.’

The food arrived, and the flavors, as I had predicted, were incredible. The poke was fresh with a tangy soy-sesame dressing that made my taste buds dance. Tate dug into his kalua pork, pulling apart the tender, smoky meat with a satisfied grunt.

‘Now this,’ he pointed his fork at his plate, ‘this is what I’m talking about. Simple and fucking perfect.’

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the town—conversations, distant laughter, the occasional car passing by—creating the perfect backdrop. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this—just a day off, a day to enjoy life.

By the time we finished lunch and walked out of the café, there was a spring in my step, one that hadn’t been there for years, maybe since before my father died.

Tate lit a cigar as we strolled back toward the car, passing a few more galleries on the way, but I wasn’t in a rush. I wasn’t thinking about…well, anything. I was just…here, living in the present.

Tate turned to me as we reached his Range Rover, that easygoing smile still on his face. ‘Had a good time?’

A genuine smile spread across my face. ‘I did. Thanks for this, Tate. I really needed it.’

‘Good.’ He leaned against the car as he took one last puff of his cigar. ‘Now, we have six more days of this.’

‘Of what?’

‘Playing tourist, darling Elika.’ He winked at me. ‘Dean will be here tonight, and he’s also taking time off work to be with you. I think it’s just what you both need.’

I got into the car and waited until he was settled in the driver’s seat. ‘Are you matchmaking, Tate?’

‘Nah. The match is already made. I’m just being a good father and cleaning up my son’s major fuck up.’ He started the car and, once we were on the road, turned to me. ‘This was fucking awesome. So, where should we go tomorrow?’

I laughed, shaking my head. ‘Let me think about it.’