Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)
Undeniably Married: Chapter 10

I hang up with Stone, and everything that was fun and sexy and perfect not even ten minutes ago has taken a complete nosedive. It sucks. I don’t know what to say to make her feel better. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say in this situation. The headline is accurate. The truth is what it is. All I can do is be here and hold her a little tighter, so that’s what I’m doing.

A little press doesn’t bother me. I smile, act cocky, and throw a ball for a living. Generally, that works for me. Yes, I’ve gotten my share of crap over the years. Reporters saying I only went as high as I did in the draft because my father drafted me or that I’m an overinflated quarterback or that my hearing deficit makes me a liability on the field.

Whatever. I don’t let that shit get to me. I focus on what I can control.

But Sorel, despite being a Fritz, has never lived that side of her famous family. That was intentional on her part. She was living in New York, not Boston. She flies under the radar. Even when she moved back to Boston with Brody, she kept it that way. Plus, as far as Fritzes go, her father is probably the quietest and least famous of them—like Sorel.

I liked that about her.

She doesn’t seek the limelight or use people to up her fame the way so many women I encounter do.

Which only makes this worse because this headline doesn’t paint her in a good light. Me neither, honestly. It makes it look like I stole a bride, another man’s woman, and it makes Brody look like the hero. We didn’t consider any of this last night, and I hate how careless I was. I should have known better. I should have double-checked people for their phones. At that point, my mind simply wasn’t on that.

Sorel rests her head on my chest and falls quiet for a few minutes.

“We’ll get it figured out,” I promise her, kissing the top of her head.

I don’t want to let her go, but I can already feel her slipping away from me. It was too soon. I made my move too soon, and the weight of that foolish decision is sitting heavy on my chest. I went after her the way I go after everything else in my life—single-mindedly. I didn’t stop myself, and I didn’t follow my original game plan of going slow with her.

I can’t take it back. I can’t change it.

And I know she’s regretting everything with me.

“How are you still talking to me after all I’ve put you through? You’re married to me, and now this.”

“Shit happens. I’ll survive it. We both will, and when it blows over, it’ll be like it never happened.”

With a heavy breath, she climbs off my lap and goes for her phone. She turns off the Do Not Disturb, and the thing erupts like a volcano, spewing texts and voice messages out like lava.

“I’m going to go call my parents,” she says softly, her voice dejected as she sifts through some of what’s on there. She climbs out of bed, tightens her robe, and walks out. I watch the empty doorway for a minute. I can feel it. The wall that’s coming back up around her. The shell she feels comfortable hiding behind.

It was too fast. Not even a full day, and she’s already gone.

Wow, that really sucks.

I sink back against the headboard and chuck my phone across the bed, no longer wanting to deal with that side of this. She’s all I’ve cared about since this started. Making her smile. Making her happy. Bringing life back into her when others stripped her of it. Sure, the marriage was dumb. It was foolish.

But if I wasn’t Mason Reyes and she wasn’t Sorel Fritz and she wasn’t formerly engaged to Brody Douchebag, none of that would matter.

My heart pounds out a steady, tireless beat. I married her. That makes her mine. Mine to protect. Mine to fight for.

I don’t care if she sees it as fake. I’ve never been a quitter. Even when the odds were stacked against me and life wasn’t always in my control, I fought for the win. I’ve never failed at anything, and I sure as shit won’t fail at this. Not when the stakes are this high and what I’ve wanted for the last year is on the line.

Resolved to that, I crawl out of bed, and go to my room to take a quick shower and get dressed. My motions are mechanical, my brain running circuits as I think through how to go about this.

After that’s done, I text my guys, including Stone.

Me: I’m sorry about all this. I know it’s going to cause drama and headaches and you’re likely pissed at me. But remember what I said about her being my instalove. I know that was hyperbole at the time, but now, I’m starting to think it’s been real all along. I’m in love with her, it’s unrequited, so cut me slack on this.

Then I text my parents and let them know what’s up and that I’ll call them later. My dad is going to have a lot to say. This sort of thing could be a distraction for the team. Brody was one of us, and our season last year was far from our best. I need to come out strong and as a solid leader for the team, but Brody made some friends, and there could be backlash. But that’s a training camp and preseason problem and not something I’m going to worry about now.

What I am going to worry about right now is my wife because she’s hungry.

Going out to eat is no longer an option for us. I order something from every restaurant on the property instead, and just as I’m hanging up with room service, our butler calls me. For five minutes, I sit on the edge of the bed and listen as he explains what happened. Evidently, the woman he brought in to witness our nuptials was the woman he was seeing. A woman he trusted. A woman who worked as a concierge for the main hotel. Worked. As in, she quit this morning after she sold our picture to Intertainment for who knows how much. He apologized profusely and begged us not to demand his job over this.

How could I?

Poor bastard fell for the wrong woman who used him for her own gain. The long and the short of it is, no matter what fight I put up, the picture is out there. I have no choice now but to embrace it and deal with it. And find out more about the woman who sold it and determine what action I need to take.

Speaking of that, I dial up Vander who is a cyber security CEO for Monroe Technologies by day and one of the best hackers on the planet by night. But only a select few of us know about his alter ego.

“Ah,” he says as a greeting. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

“I need everything you can get on the woman who sold the picture to Intertainment. I don’t make it a rule to ruin people’s lives, and if she needed the money that badly, so be it. But I want her phone wiped of anything else she could potentially have on there.”

“On it,” he says. “Actually, I was already on it without you having to ask.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he clicks around on his keyboards in his bat cave or whatever he works in.

“Perfect. Thanks, man. I owe you. What can you do for me with Brody?”

“Anything. What are you looking for?”

“I want eyes on him. I know this motherfucker. He’s not a guy who goes quietly. He’s a guy who wants to not only be the best but look like he’s the best. No matter the cost to anyone else. I don’t trust him, and I don’t want him to do something to hurt Sorel more than he already has.”

“Easy enough. I can monitor him and let you know if anything comes up.”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

“You really married her?”

I smirk. “I really married her.”

“My parents did it that way, you know. My mom needed to get married to inherit Monroe Technologies, and my dad stepped up. Now look at them. They’re like your parents. Happy and blissfully in love.”

“She hated him, right? Your mom?”

Vander chuckles. “Well, he did break her heart, but he made it up to her.”

I stand and start to pace. “I needed to hear that.”

“I figured you did.”

“Except Sorel was never in love with me. Hell, she’s not even in like with me. I’m her friend. A guy she let screw her a few times, but that’s all.”

“You’ll have to change her mind about that.”

“That’s the plan.”

Only he can hear I’m posturing, and his tone sobers. “Mase, she’s there with you. She married you. You’re sleeping together. She might not know it, and she might even resist it given the circumstances, but she’s more in like with you than you think.”

I pause, my smile growing. “Thanks, brother. Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.”

“Good luck. And if you need any more help along the way, just call.”

We disconnect the call, and I go to find Sorel, Vander’s words sparking renewed vigor in me. She’s sitting on the sofa in the living room, still in her robe, staring down at her phone as if the thing betrayed her.

“I ordered room service,” I speak softly, not wanting to startle her.

She glances up at me and nods, her expression vacant and her eyes lost.

I don’t know if she knows what Vander does, but it’s not something we talk about with anyone. I could tell her because she’s Sorel Fritz and not just anyone, but right now there’s nothing to say, and I’m not sure I want her to know that I’m having Brody looked into just yet.

“I was going to call my PR team,” I continue. “I thought you might want to be part of that conversation.”

She pats the seat beside her. “My dad reminded me that my uncle Oliver was fake engaged to my aunt Amelia. Their fake engagement started out as a fuck you to his ex and to the people who bullied her in high school, and it went viral on them.”

I smirk. I’m not sure I knew that. “Sort of like us.”

She smiles back, and relief hits my bones. “Sort of like us. At least the first part. Oliver fell hard for Amelia pretty quickly, so I don’t think our fate will be the same as theirs. Still, it was nice to hear I’m not the only Fritz to do something crazy.”

I ignore the part where she says our fate won’t be the same as theirs. “Stone and Tinsley were fake engaged.”

Her eyes sparkle. “For the press and her safety. Yes. Keep going. What else do you have?”

“Vander’s parents had a fake marriage, and the media fed on it. It all turned out okay.”

She sighs, rolling her shoulders and her head on her neck until it cracks. “I’ve never been good at the unexpected or not knowing what comes next. I’m sorry I freaked out.” She gives me a wilted smile and nudges my arm with her shoulder. “I feel like all I’m saying is I’m sorry to you today, but I am.”

I shake my head. “Stop apologizing. I swear, I’m good, and if I’m not, I’ll tell you.”

She nods, liking that answer. “Okay. Let’s call your people and figure this out.”

“Three months?” She tucks her robe a little tighter against her chest, closing herself off from me again. I have a bad feeling this is going to be a pattern with her. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is who she is. Cautious and reserved. Well, most of the time.

“Yes. Three months.” That’s Bruce, my main PR rep. “You admit you got married on a whim, but say there’s something there between you. Brody cheated, and you ended that relationship before you left for Las Vegas. You and Mason have been close friends for a while and care about each other. We leave it at that. And you agree to stay married for three months. That’s long enough for the press to move on to something else.”

Sorel shoots to her feet. “Are we supposed to live together?”

“That’s what we’d recommend,” Bruce tells her plainly, his voice deadpan because I don’t think Bruce has ever had any emotion. That is why I hired him and his company. “Three months is enough time for everything to play out. Including a divorce or annulment, but at this point, an annulment is unlikely.”

She stares heavily at me as if he’s speaking to her in Italian and she needs a refresher course in romantic languages. One I’m all too happy to give her, but now’s not the time for that.

“Mason?”

I shrug. “I can’t argue it, Sorel.” Mostly because the idea of it makes me happy like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. “What he’s saying makes sense. It’s safe. It makes it quiet instead of loud. If we go straight to an annulment right now, the press will be all over us. If we say we’re trying to make it work, the press will find that boring and move on.”

Her hands fly, as do her eyebrows. “You want me to not only stay married to you for the next three months but move in with you for that time.”

It’s not a question. It’s an are you crazy statement.

“Bruce, hold on.” I put the phone on mute so I can speak directly to her. “If you don’t like what my people are saying, ask your PR people and see if they suggest anything else. I understand it’s not what you want or what we originally discussed, but right now, you don’t have a place to live anyway. This takes some of the stress off of that for you. This is safe. It’s clean. And by the time the world moves on, we can file for divorce or figure out an annulment without it being front page news.”

Sorel stares down at my phone. Then looks up at me. “Three months?”

“Three months,” I confirm.

“I move in with you?”

“You do.”

She starts to pace, needing a second with that, so I take Bruce off mute and ask him what’s next. He launches into a diatribe about legalities and contracts and things we should do, press conferences we should never hold, and things we should absolutely never ever speak about. I’m not stupid. I may be a baller, but I’m not. I know what to say and what not to say, and believe it or not, I read. I had a three-point-seven GPA in college with a major in economics, and that was not because I had a cheerleader do my work for me.

I may not look smart, and I may act like a goof a lot, but I’m smarter than people think. With that, there is an advantage to playing dumb. It gives you an upper hand in this world.

“I guess I don’t have a choice, and I understand the logic of it. Thank you for your time.” Sorel walks over and hits the end button on my phone, disconnecting the call before she folds her arms, all business. “No sex, Mason. And I’m not sleeping in your bed.”

The fuck is that?

I toss my phone on the couch beside me and stand. “What do you mean no sex and you’re not sharing my bed?”

Her hands meet her hips, and I hate that I know she’s completely naked under that robe. A robe I started stripping off her only an hour ago.

“I mean no sex,” she tells me in no uncertain terms, her hazel eyes fierce and unwavering. “I mean, we both planned on a week of fun here, but now that doesn’t make sense for us, and if I’m living with you, acting as your wife, we can’t sleep together.”

I stare at her, all of her pretty features one by one. I tilt my head, taking them in from a different angle. Nope. It still doesn’t make sense to me.

“Why not?”

“Because sex confuses everything. If we’re married, if we’re acting as a married couple and I’m living with you, it’s not a fling anymore. It’s business, and I won’t mix business and pleasure, and I won’t mess up our friendship more than I already have. We said this wouldn’t change us, and continuing to sleep together will do exactly that.”

Right. I might understand that part of it. Maybe. Or not.

The word friends just became one of my least favorite words. Up there with moist, ointment, and curd.

“Why do we have to leave now? We have the week here. We can still have that.”

She gives me a dubious look. “Come on, Mason. You know we can’t. It was fun. A lot of fun. A little too much fun. But we have to go home and deal with this. We can’t hide out here and pretend it’s not happening.”

“Sorel…” I trail off. I don’t have an argument. I don’t have my own words to give her. I’m the sad part of every romance movie. The third-act breakup, as Katy calls it. There is no convincing her to stay when she’s right about why we need to leave. I can’t tell her that I’ve wanted her for a year and that now that Brody is finally out of the picture, I can admit to myself that somewhere in that time, I fell in love with her. I can’t tell her that I don’t want a divorce or to call our marriage fake because I want it to be real.

I want to tell her that I can’t see anything I don’t like about her. I don’t simply just want her, she completes me. I burn for her. I wanted it to be her. I wanted it to be her so badly. I want to do this with her, all of her, forever, her and me. I’m a man, standing in front of a woman, asking her to love me. I wish I knew how to quit her. I think I’d miss her even if we never met. I sigh and chuckle as Sorel stares at me like I’ve lost my mind because I have.

Thanks, Katy, for making me watch every chick flick ever made because now I’ve become a cliché. Mentally spouting lines I didn’t write one after the other.

I take her by the arms, sit her on the couch, and get on my knees in front of her.

“Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

She stares at me as if I’m nuts. I might be. Again, I’ll blame Katy for this later. But we’re talking Casablanca here. Has there ever been a more romantic movie where the guy has the girl and then loses her? But the truth is, I could spout a million lines written by other people, filled in movies about love, but those are useless. They’re lines. Meaningless. This thing between us is not, she’s just afraid to see its potential.

Or maybe it’s just not a consideration for her yet. But it will be. I have to make it so.

“Do it, Sorel. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

Her eyes flicker back and forth between mine. I think she’s going to say no, but she surprises me when she cups my face in her hands, tilts her head, and leans in to kiss me.

It’s magic. It’s heaven. It’s sin.

It’s a perfection that sears a path of heartbreak through my veins. I wanted more time with her. I don’t want this to be it. I might even have to swallow the truth that she’ll never be mine. Not for real. Not in any space she wants to be. She wants out of this and away from me as fast as she can get it.

So I kiss her back.

I hold her face as she’s holding mine, and I split her lips and set my tongue free inside her mouth. I feast on her. I devour her. I consume her. I kiss her because this might very well be the last time, and I make it count.

Only in my head, I have three months.

Three months I intend to use to my advantage. I might have fucked this up early, I might have been overzealous and jumped in too quickly, but what if I get her to love me back? Hell, I got her to agree to hop on a plane and come to Vegas with me. Who knows what I can do in three months?

I pull back. “That was great.” I grin. “Now I’m good.”

“Good?” she murmurs, almost confused, her eyes glazed.

“One last kiss.” I shrug. “You just told me no sex for three months.”

I get a hard blink. Maybe a touch of perturbed. “Yep. That’s what I said.”

This line is mine. “With kisses like yours, there’s no way I’m not going to do everything I can to break that rule. You know that, right?” Before she can respond, I stand and wink at her. “Here’s looking at you, Mrs. Fritz-Reyes.”