The Billionaire’s Betrothed(25)
The Wife Contract
Before I met him, I knew him.
Thax Johnson, business savant and heir to a family fortune, twenty nine years old and already a billionaire. His striking, handsome face filled the evening news, billboards, and magazines. His life must be full of luxurious gifts, beautiful women, everything and everyone available at his beck and call.
Then, he wandered into my bakery one lazy afternoon. I could probably count on one hand the number of customers I had that day, but none mattered except for him.
Before I knew what was happening, he was making me an offer: wed him and he would save my faltering bakery. We both needed each other; I needed to fund my shop, he needed to find a bride before his upcoming birthday or lose his inheritance.
Now, our worlds are colliding and melding into one shared life, but will we be able to persevere a wedding of convenience? Will my husband ever be more than an acquaintance in my bed each night?
Bonus Content
Loss and Love
The Billionaire’s Heart, Book 1
Ella Cari
Copyright 2015 Ella Cari
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Image courtesy of Pat138241 at freedigitalphotos.net
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
When my eyes open in the morning, taking in the dewy shine of the fresh sun on white crisp sheets, the very first thing my mind processes is the simple fact that I am still alive.
Regrettably, painfully alive.
Caroline Davie had made it through yet another lonely day.
Carefully, I raised my hands up in front of my face, watching as the beams of cheery morning dazzled across my skin. A soft, pale line where a wedding ring once hugged my finger was still clearly evident. Why did that line still insist on hugging my hand, months after the golden ring had vanished?
Swallowing back a lump in my throat, I curled my fingers into fists, letting them drop back down to the bed beside me.
I shuffled down lower, letting the blanket cover my nose. Even though I now lay in a smaller, different bed than the one I once shared with my husband, I still clung to the right hand side as though I was waiting for him to slip in beside me.
My eyes drifted shut, remembering the feeling of his warm breath against my ear, his arms tiredly scooping me up against his strong chest.
Lucas. His name was too painful to say aloud. My heart ached just at the thought of him.
It was his memory that forced me away from our hometown. I could no longer bear walking those streets without him, I could no longer bear seeing our friends who refused to blame me for his passing, I could no longer bear staying in that small apartment that still smelled of his sweet musk weeks after he was gone.
It was my fault that he’d died. It was my burden to bear.
And yet, I’d run.
I left both of our families behind when I moved cross country. They knew where I was and that I was safe, but I avoided calls and letters. I’d changed my phone number, even though that hadn’t stopped my own mother from discovering it.
I had no more social media or online presence. I just couldn’t do it anymore.
I’d even considered changing my last name. To share it with the man I had let down, the man I would never lay eyes on again, it was agonizing. I hadn’t yet worked up the courage to cut myself entirely from his presence though.
Lucas was always around, even though I was in a new home in a new city in a new state. When I picked up coffee in the morning, I wondered which he would choose. When I heard a funny ad on the radio, I wondered if he would chuckle. On Sundays, I still tasted the fried chicken he’d cook together for supper lingering on the back of my tongue. I couldn’t even look at a damn chicken anymore.
Why did I torture myself in such a way? Why did I constantly allow myself to dip back into the pain of missing my husband?
I deserved the pain. Perhaps it was Lucas himself that whispered such thoughts into my ear. He would know I deserved that pain too.
It was me who was driving that day. It was me who cut the wheel too sharply. It was me who caused the death of my husband and the unborn child inside of me.