“Player, mother. They’re called football players.”
“Oh, what difference does it make!” She snaps, sighing heavily again. “I mean my goodness, Natalie, what were you thinking? I raised you better than this and you damn well know it!”
I bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose, shaking my head.
“I spent far too much on your schooling and your upbringing for you to be slumming it with an athlete like that, Natalie,” my mother moans, as if hearing about some sort of world-shaking catastrophe.
“Mother, will you let me-”
“Natalie, my God,” she cuts me off. “Someone like that is just simply beneath you, dear. I mean what in God’s name were you-”
“He makes forty million a year.”
The line goes silent, and I could almost laugh at how predictable the response is.
Almost.
“Oh, Natalie!”
Her entire tone changes like the flip of a coin, something almost like glee and coming through the phone.
“Natalie, I am so proud of you, sweetheart!”
I roll my eyes as I shake my head. Loraine Ames-Royce, ladies and gentlemen.
“Thank you, Mother,” I say dryly, flipping down the driver’s side visor in the Porsche to try and put on some eye makeup. It’s bad enough I’m going out shopping in the black cocktail dress from two nights ago, not to mention commando since I’ve got zero clean underwear. Might as well take this lovely mother-daughter bonding moment to at least look halfway presentable.
“Oh, don’t make it sound like that,” she snaps. “You know what I mean, Natalie. You’re moving up!”
I snort. “Like you?”
“You are not going to fault me for moving on from your father, Natalie.”
She’s right, I’m not. Not after the shit he pulled, even before the arrest. It still doesn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at her though.
“I have to say though,” Her voice takes on this distasteful tone, “Las Vegas, Natalie?” She spits the word out like a bad taste in her mouth.
“Yes, Mother. We were feeling impulsive.”
By which I mean, blackout drunk.
“Well, never mind that,” she says quickly. “The important thing is you’re married.”
I snort out a dry laugh. “Right, that’s the important thing.”
“Natalie,” She sighs, like I’m the one that just said something ridiculous.
“Mom, I have to go.”
Shopping goes fine, even if I do feel like the ultimate cliché driving around Rodeo Drive in a sports car with my “husband’s” credit card.
Luckily, it’s Beverly Hills, and I’m surrounded by every possible instance of this very cliché.
Welcome to your life, Natalie.
And really, in the scheme of clichés, my arrangement with Austin really isn’t that bad. Yes, this whole thing stemmed from me needing money, but it’s not like I’m destitute, or don’t have family I could crawl to if I could get over my own ego. There are probably women trying on clothes in the very stores I’m shopping in that are all but indentured servants to rich, fat, older men with money who decided to buy a trophy wife instead of cultivating a personality and social skills.
Yeah, it could be a lot worse.
Hell, I could still be with Vince.
I think about it as I drive back to the house with a backseat full of clothes. Austin might be obnoxious, and full of himself, and cocky beyond belief, but he’s not an asshole. It’s a bitter feeling realizing my fake, bought-and-paid-for relationship is already better in two days than the two years I spent in an actual relationship, but it’s the truth.
And really, this could work. I could smile for the cameras, and join him at dinners and functions for the next few months. This business arrangement could work out just fine for the both of us, as long as we remember what it is.
As long as I keep my damn head on straight, and keep my traitorous and illicit thoughts about him buried deep inside, and pretend that kissing him - twice - never happened, we’ll be just fine.
I’ll just make sure I’m never alone at all with him, in the house that we share, for the next six months.
No big deal.
I take a breath as I pull up the driveway. Yeah, this’ll be fine. As long as we can set up boundaries, and-
The car brakes to a sharp stop as I slam my foot down, my eyes locked on the girl walking out the front door of Austin’s house. She’s young, and gorgeous, and dressed like…well, like that.
She looks up and then glares at me as I step out of the car.
“Oh, so you’re Natalie.”
I suppress the frown that comes to my face, trying to make myself smile at her instead. “Can I help you?”