The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids, #3)(17)

“And . . . this means you need a wife.” She was having trouble connecting the dots. How did someone go from “girlfriend issues” to needing a fake wife?

Sebastian tapped his hands behind his back as he walked, clearly agitated. “Maybe this is a stupid idea. But the show? The Cabral Empire? I’m locked into a contract that says I can be on television if one of the primaries is on screen. Normally I can avoid them when they’re filming, but this time, they’ve decided that this season’s story line is that I should get back together with my ex. And that means she’s going to ambush me at every turn.”

Comprehension dawned. “And if you’re married, you ruin that plot, right?”

He looked grimly satisfied at the thought. “Exactly.” He continued to pace. “The reason I suggested it to you is because we’re comfortable around each other, and we both want the same thing—no romantic entanglements. I’m afraid if I dated someone else, she’d read more into it than there would be. That even though it’s a marriage of convenience, I’d somehow change my mind and we’d become something else. I don’t want that.”

Chelsea shuddered at the thought.

“See?” His eyes lit up and he slid onto the chaise next to her. “That reaction is exactly why we’re perfect for each other. You don’t want me. I don’t want a relationship. We could get married and continue on just as we are, and no one would bother us anymore. If you had a ring on your finger, guys would leave you alone. If I had a wife, Lisa would leave me be, and that damn show could take a hike. What do you think?”

It was a totally outrageous idea. A fake marriage in this day and age? And yet . . . she thought of her empty apartment. Pisa had been gone only a few days, but already Chelsea was struggling. Every noise at night made her spin into panic. A light had burnt out in the bathroom and she’d held her pee until it was daylight again and she’d called her neighbor to change it. Those weren’t rational actions.

Then again, neither was getting married to a guy she barely knew.

She studied Sebastian. He was gorgeous. Dark olive complexion; thick, wavy black hair; piercing green eyes. Great build. Friendly. Handsome. Wealthy. He seemed smart.

But she was pretty much dead inside after her incident. If he thought he was getting more than a friend, he’d be sorely mistaken. “This would be completely platonic, right?”

“One hundred percent,” he agreed. “I’m going to be blunt. If I wanted to get laid, I could walk out into that room and get just about any woman there once she found out how much money I have. I could have a Sexy Cookie Monster and Sexy Elmo sandwich.”

“So modest,” Chelsea said sarcastically.

“Just being truthful,” Sebastian replied. “You think it’s not the truth?”

“No, I think you’re right, and that’s kind of sad.” She grimaced and adjusted her kneepads. “Okay, then.”

“Okay, what?”

Chelsea blinked at him. “I’m saying, okay, we can get married.”

He sat back. He looked surprised. “Really?”

“You’re the one that suggested it. I’m just agreeing with you. I’m game to have a platonic marriage if you are. It might be a relief to not have to worry about being hit on for the next while.”

Sebastian looked blank for a moment, and then a slow, boyish grin spread across his face. “Really?”

“You keep saying that. Really,” she emphasized. “Really, and truly, I’m down for this crazy marriage. But we need to work out details.”

“Of course.” He spread his hand and gestured at her. “Let’s work the details out.”

“Well, for starters, I need a roommate.” Her apartment was nice, but she’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant crashing on someone else’s couch, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone. Plus, her Etsy soap shop wasn’t bringing in the cash that she needed to keep a NoHo apartment. It barely made enough for subway fare and food. Pisa hadn’t minded, but now that Pisa was gone, well . . . she was going to have to step up production and get creative to make more money.

“I have a penthouse off of Park Avenue. Six bedrooms. You can come stay with me.” His big shoulders shrugged. “We’d have to cohabit to make a sham marriage work anyhow.”

Oh, wow. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “Okay, you’re right. We’ll go with your place. Separate rooms I assume?” Her voice sounded prim.

“Absolutely. Once we’re inside, nobody has to know what goes on.” He grimaced. “Well, except for the staff.”

“Staff?”

“I have maids and an assistant.” His smile curled up on one side. “You don’t think I’d clean six bedrooms myself, do you?”

He had a point. Most guys she knew of did well picking up their dirty socks. “I’ll need an extra bedroom for my business, too. Preferably close to a bathroom or a kitchen.”

“There’s two kitchens. You can have one of them . . . after you remind me what it is you do again.”

“I make soaps and sell them online.”

His blank look told her that it was clearly something he’d never considered before. “People buy soap online?”

She chuckled. “Oh, heck yes. Mine are artisan soaps, and I have a vegan line that’s very popular.”