Page 31 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

Bailey iscute in a shell-shocked way. His eyes, which are a pretty shade of blue, like clear, tropical waters, have been getting wider while I’ve been showing him around the house. He’s dressed smartly in a close-fitting grey shirt and black trousers. He’s slim, like me, but has narrower shoulders and a softer jawline. His hair reminds me of a surfer’s—blond, with dark roots, long enough to graze his eyes, and tousled.

The chef I hired tells me dessert is in the fridge and then shows himself out.

“And now we’re alone.” I gesture for Bailey to sit.

The chef has placed our food at the top of the table, so we’re sitting opposite each other.

I flick a linen napkin onto my lap, pour some wine, and then pick up my knife and fork. I have no idea what the chef has made for us, but it melts in my mouth and makes my tastebuds tingle. “Questions?”

“Why?”

“Why am I letting you ask questions?”

Bailey’s jaw becomes slack, and he tugs his eyebrows together, causing a deep slash to form in the centre of his forehead. People tend to look like that around me a lot.

“Why you? Oh! Why do I want to hire a husband?”

“Bingo.”

“Why didn’t you ask that in the first place?” I grin.

Bailey winces and pinches his lips together. I have that effect on people too.

“My mother has been trying to marry me off since I turned twenty-one. I’m fed up with it, so I’ve decided to get married to prove I’m a shit husband so she’ll stop.”

Bailey blinks. “That’s?—”

“Brilliant?”

“Crazy.”

“Can you think of a better idea? Before you ask, yes, I’ve asked her to stop. She won’t.” I start eating to give Bailey a chance to think. I was right. The food is delicious. I’ll have to hire that chef again.

“It seems like an extreme length to go to.”

I shrug. It may be, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“How would it work?” Bailey asks.

“We’ll fly to Vegas, get hitched, act like husbands for twelve months, have a pretend fight, and get divorced.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes. And we’ll need to sign a prenuptial agreement. My lawyer has drawn one up for us. We’ll live here together. You’ll have to meet my parents, and I might need you to come to some functions. Charity dinners and whatnot. Other than that, your time is your own.”

He relaxes his shoulders a little.

“What do you do with your time? Other than—what do you do for the agency?”

“I’m an escort.”

I waggle my eyebrows.

Bailey scowls. “Not like that. There’s no sex involved. I keep people company.”

“Well, if you accept my proposal, you’ll be keeping me company for a year.” I give him what I hope is a dazzling smile he can’t refuse.

The corners of his mouth twitch up into a hesitant smile.

“You mentioned Vegas. If your mother is so keen on you getting married, won’t she want to be there?”

“God, no. Well, yes, she would want to be there. But she’ll also want some grand affair.” I wave my hands. “I can’t think of anything worse. No. We’ll slip off to Vegas and then come home and announce we’ve tied the knot.” I sip the wine. “You were going to tell me what you do with your time.”

“I volunteer.”

“Doing what?”

“I help out in soup kitchens and homeless shelters. Sometimes I join groups of people going onto the streets at night to check on people and hand out help packages.”

“Wow. Mother is going to adore you.”

Bailey frowns. “Is that a good thing if we’re going to get divorced?”

“Yes. It’s perfect. If I can’t keep someone as saintly as you, she’ll have to believe I’m not cut out for marriage.”

He blushes. “I’m not saintly.”

“Don’t tell Mother that. Will your parents mind not being invited to your wedding?”

Bailey looks out the window. “I haven’t spoken to them in ten years.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I should leave it there, but I’m far too curious. “Why?”

“I told them I was gay. They kicked me out.”

“Shit.”

I put my knife and fork on the edge of my plate and clasp my hands in my lap. He looks like he needs a hug, but I don’t know him well enough to offer. Or at all. I don’t know him, and I’ve blundered into opening up a wound. I’ll make an awful husband.

He clears his throat and lowers his gaze to his plate. “It’s in the past. What do you do?”

“I make money.”

He looks up sharply. “You work on the stock market or something?”

I chuckle. “No. I make the stock market work for me. My parents are wealthy but didn’t want to give me or my siblings a free ride. So when we turned twenty-one, they gave us half a million to get set up and told us, in no uncertain terms, that it was the last financial help they’d give us.”

Bailey’s jaw drops. “Half. A. Million?”

“Yes. I invested my money in the stock markets and turned it into more. A lot more. And now I’ve told you that you probably want more than I initially offered. Name your price.”

“No. What you offered is enough.” He mutters something under his breath. ‘More than enough’ perhaps?

I smile. A lot of people in his position would have asked for more.

“How many siblings do you have?” he asks.

“Four. I’m the baby and the only one who isn’t happily married.” I almost ask him if he has any siblings but manage to bite my tongue. I don’t want to open any more wounds. “We’ll need to do some PDA to sell the whole being married thing. Holding hands, a hug or two, that sort of thing. Do they still ask you to kiss when you get married?”

Bailey chuckles. “I think so.”

“We’ll have to do that, then. But otherwise, I’m not expecting a marriage with benefits. This is strictly a business arrangement.”

He nods.

“Is that a yes?”

“Uh—”

I put my hand up. “Don’t say a word. Don’t move. Wait.”

I jump up and dart into the study at the back of the dining room.

I stick my head out the door. “I forgot to show you the study. Sorry!” And then open my safe and pull out the ring box I’d stashed in there this afternoon.

I saunter to Bailey and kneel beside him. “Bailey Sharp, will you marry me?” Who says romance is dead? I open the ring box.

Bailey gasps and widens his eyes. His pupils shrink, leaving behind an ocean of blue.

“Nice ring, right?”

“It’s—”

“Understated. I hope you don’t mind. I was shown several rings in the shop but settled on this one. The band is made of platinum. It only has five carats of diamonds. If you want more, we can choose a fancier ring together. Do you like it?”

He swallows, eyes adorably wide again. “I have to give this back when we get divorced, don’t I?”

I grin. “Is that a yes?”

“To liking it or marrying you?”

“Both.”

Bailey meets my stare. “Yes. To both.”