The Backpack Bride (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #1)

Chapter Eight

Christian

“ T his feels wrong,” I say into the phone, hoping Chantelle will make me feel less like the horrible person I am for coaxing Roxy into this scheme. Not that it took too much convincing on my part. Her desperation mirrors my own. We both have things we’re hoping for, people we need to persuade, and we’re each trying to help the other to make it happen. Still...since I got home there’s this undercurrent of guilt running through my body, making me so sick to my stomach I can’t relax. “It feels like I’m taking advantage of her.”

“Did she ever, even once, tell you no?”

I try to pull that word from my memory but come up blank. “No. She thought I was joking at first and sort of balked at the idea, but...when I proposed it to her with all its benefits, she eventually agreed.”

“Oh my gosh, Christian, did you actually propose?” Chantelle’s voice raises an octave. “That would have been so romantic!”

“No, I didn’t propose . In fact, that pun is never to be used again.” With my free hand, I flip on the faucet and fill my teakettle up to the brim. This conversation calls for chamomile.

“Aw, bummer. When I write your character into my next story, I’ll definitely be adding a sweet and funny proposal.”

Shaking my head, I turn off the water and set the kettle to boil on the stove. “You do that. But right now, I need you to tell me what I’m supposed to do next. This woman and her nephew will be moving in with me soon. And I don’t even know whether she drinks coffee or tea!”

“Okay, calm down there, big guy.” Chantelle’s soft laugh echoes over the line. “Wow, I've never seen you get so worked up before.”

“That’s because I don’t get worked up,” I say, hating how this has thrown me off-kilter. “But you mentioned romance. Nothing about this situation is romantic, Chantelle. You were the one who said I should look at it like a business transaction, remember? I even drew up a contract like you suggested.”

She sighs. “Fine. I did say that. But you can’t blame a romance author for romanticizing her friends’ lives.”

I’m really glad she can’t see my smile. “I can, actually. Because that same author gave me this ridiculous idea in the first place.”

“Um, excuse me, I think you meant to say genius idea.” A male voice murmurs in the background and Chantelle giggles.

“Can you please tell your fiancé to wait his turn,” I huff. “I’m in the middle of a crisis here.”

“Uh, fine. Hang on.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line. A shuffling sound. “Okay, I’m back. Had to step outside or he’d never stop touching me.”

“TMI.”

She chuckles. “Sorry for annoying you with my healthy, thriving relationship.”

Her relationship isn’t what’s got me on edge. It’s the fact that I listened to her in the first place and now I’m panicking about having a woman and her nephew living with me. Not to mention grappling with my moral compass.

“Whatever. All I need to know is what to do next.”

She hums thoughtfully. “What do you want to do next?”

I lean over the kitchen counter and scrub a hand down my face. “What are you getting at?”

“What. Do. You. Want. To. Come. Next?”

Taking a deep breath, I say, “I want to successfully fool my father and make everyone think that Roxy and I are a couple in love.” Not that I need to convince my father of anything. He basically signed off on me having an arranged marriage when he handed me that contract. But I told him I wouldn’t get married just because he said so. I insisted I wouldn’t do that to a woman. Yet here I am, making a mockery of marriage. “And then I want to take my place as CEO.” Not just for myself, but for all Grandfather worked for. The idea of handing that off to someone else, someone who didn’t know him or spend time with him, makes me physically ill. I can’t throw away all he invested, or all I’ve invested in myself. “And,” I add. “I want to help Roxy in the process.”

“Okay,” Chantelle says brightly. “So we’ve got clear goals. Now you need to think about the steps to successfully reach them. Starting with getting your love story straight with Roxy. How did you two meet? What attracted you to her in the first place? When did you realize you were in love?”

“None of those things actually happened.”

“Duh, Chris.” Chantelle laughs. “That’s why you need to collaborate with her. If either of you gets an important detail like that wrong, it’ll be a huge red flag.”

“So we’ll memorize all the nitty gritty details, got it. What then?”

“When are you two planning to get married?”

“She said next week would work for her.” I think back to the brief text conversation Roxy and I shared earlier. As awkward as it was asking for her phone number, I can’t imagine how much more awkward it will be when we have to say “I do” in front of a judge.

“That doesn’t leave much time for planning.” I barely catch Chantelle’s low murmur over the phone.

“Wait—what’s to plan? We’re getting married at the courthouse.”

Chantelle gasps. “What? No, you’re not.”

I lean back against the kitchen counter with a groan. “What do you mean no ? It’s already been decided.”

“Look. Do you want to convince people that you’re in love or not?”

“I do, but—”

“Then you’ve at least got to have some sort of celebration for this wedding. Even if you want to get married at the courthouse, host a party at your penthouse afterward. Just invite our little crew if you don’t want to make it a big thing. Have Roxy bring whoever she’s closest to. But make it special or no one will buy into this romance.”

I remove my glasses and press my fingers into my eye sockets, exasperated. “I’m not good at things like this, Chantelle.”

“Then let me plan it.”

Hissing a breath through my teeth, I give in. “Fine. I'll send you the details about when we’re going to do it, and you can plan something for afterward.”

“Great!” she chirps. “Wait, could you give me Roxy’s number? That way I can get her color scheme.”

Color scheme ? “I just want to say, for the record, that I regret ever listening to you.”

All she does is laugh. “We’ll see if you’re still saying that in six months.” I have no idea what she means by that, but I’m honestly too afraid to ask. “Okay, I gotta go, but text me her number.”

“Fine. But I’m asking her first. I’ll let you know what she says.”

“You do that.” Chantelle giggles. “Okay, love you, bye!” She’s off the phone before I can tell her that I do not love her, nor do I love her stupid romantic ideas.

The teakettle’s hiss startles me. I pour myself a hot cup of chamomile, hoping it’ll work some magic on my frayed nerves. After a few bolstering sips, I decide to text Roxy.

Me: Hey, Roxy. It’s me again. I’m sorry to bother you. But would you be open to having a little celebration after we officially say I do?

I set my phone on the counter in front of me. I have no idea what she’ll say to this request. It feels like too much to ask. But I have no choice except to trust Chantelle on this one. She is a woman, after all.

When my phone eventually buzzes on the countertop, I take a deep breath and release it.

Roxy: Hey. So...a celebration? Do you think that will drive home what we’re trying to portray?

Me: Chantelle, my friend who suggested this whole ruse, thinks it will. She says we need to be convincing.

Well, she said a lot more than that, but I’m condensing it.

Roxy: That makes sense. Who all will be invited?

Me: I was thinking just our close friends.

As soon as I send the text, I remember what she told me in my office. I don’t have a best friend. All I can do is hope that doesn’t mean she has zero friends. That’s too depressing a thought to even entertain.

Roxy: Okay. It’ll probably be just me and Axel, then.

I hang my head, hating myself for even bringing this up.

Me: We don’t have to have a party if you’re not into it. I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.

Roxy: No, I want to. Your friend is probably right. It would be more convincing if we celebrated our nuptials. Most people do.

Relief courses through me. But it’s short-lived when I type out my next awkward question.

Me: My friend said she’d plan the whole thing for us so we wouldn’t have to worry about it. Would it be okay if I gave her your number? She wanted to ask you a few questions.

Roxy: Sure, that would be fine.

Roxy’s short answers give me very little to go on. Who knows if she’s mad at me or frustrated that I involved another person in all this? I can’t read her tone of voice through text, which stresses me out further. I start to pace when my phone buzzes again.

Roxy: You should probably be worried though.

My anxiety spikes.

Me: Really? Why?

The text bubble pops up several times, making my heart rate spike, before disappearing.

Roxy: Once I have your friend’s number, I intend to dig up all your deep dark secrets. Muahaha.

Roxy: That was my evil laugh, in case you couldn’t tell.

A laugh sputters out of me, and I shake my head.

Me: Dig away, Roxy. Dig away.

One thing no one ever tells you about faking a relationship is that there’s a lot of intensive planning involved before you can even take said relationship public. An hour into my text conversation with Roxy, I begin to wonder if convincing everyone is really necessary. It is, of course, but there’s just so much to learn. Not that I haven’t enjoyed getting to know my future wife.

In many ways, Roxy’s the opposite type of woman than what Dad would want for me. She doesn’t come from money, has no personal prestige to speak of, and doesn’t strike me as someone who would stay silent on taboo topics around a table full of powerful men. She’s stubborn in the areas that matter like her nephew, maybe a bit impulsive at times, and doesn’t seem to fold under life’s many pressures. The one word I’d use to describe her is survivor .

And I realize with startling clarity that she’s exactly the kind of woman I’d want for myself. I’m self-aware enough to realize that I never would’ve considered asking her out under different circumstances. Not only is she the kind of beautiful that intimidates me at first glance, but she works at the office. There’s no rule or policy forbidding co-workers from dating, but Dad would frown upon an inter-office relationship in my case. Especially in my case. I’m to be the CEO, the picture of leadership, professionalism. He’s stressed that I’m to be the highest example of ethics in the workplace only a thousand times over the past ten years.

Which makes my scheming with Roxy feel even more deliciously devious.

If this is my one rebellion, the one area of my life where I take my power back, I will do it exactly like I want to and with little to no remorse where he’s concerned. I’m done being manipulated, as Holt pointed out.

My phone buzzes for probably the hundredth time as Roxy’s next text comes through.

Roxy: Okay, so we’re agreed. We’ll stay as close to the truth as possible. We met in the supply room. You flirted, I flirted. You asked me out and we went to dinner. The rest is history. Well, until you proposed under the stars after a night ride.

She adds a winky face at the end of the text, then sends a motorcycle gif. I smile. The proposal story was her idea. After we went over some basics about each other like hobbies and such, she found out that I ride motorcycles and began to pepper me with questions. I confessed that I had a couple of sport bikes, a favorite cruiser, and that riding is what I do to clear my head. But I didn’t tell her about my social media account where I upload biker content. It's one of the few places I can portray an image that doesn’t have to live up to my dad’s impossible standards, so yeah, I’m a bit protective of it.

Roxy: I’m telling everyone who asks that you hooked me the minute I saw you on your bike. That way our story will have some believable insta-love vibes.

Me: Insta-love?

Roxy: You know, instant love. Love at first sight. Or I guess, love at first ride in our case.

I’m glad no one can see me smiling like an idiot right now.

Me: You really have a thing for bikes, don’t you?

Roxy: That obvious, huh?

Me: I’m not complaining. A guy has to know how to impress his future wife.

As soon as I send the text, I read it back to myself and wince. I didn’t mean for that to sound so...flirty?

Me: I mean just in case we get in a fight or I mess this thing up before it even begins. It helps to know that I can coax you into forgiving me by dangling a motorcycle over your head.

Roxy: Wow, Christian. I think this is our first fight.

Man, her sense of humor is addicting. I could easily banter back and forth with her all night long.

Me: Crap. I knew I’d screw it all up somehow. Can I make it up to you by taking you for a real night drive? I know from experience that Denver is gorgeous at night once you’re a little way up the mountain.

Roxy: Must...not...give in...

I chuckle, then tap out another text.

Me: Aw, come on, wifey. You know you can’t resist the wind in your hair. I’ll even let you pick which bike we go on.

Roxy: Promise?

Me: That was too easy.

Roxy: It’s incredibly humiliating how easily I will allow myself to be lured to my death.

Me: Guess I’d better not tell you that I frequently ride with a group of single guys. You’ll take one look at them and forget all about little old me.

Roxy: I doubt that. But you have certainly piqued my curiosity. Do any of them happen to have tattoos?

She sends me a gif with big eyes shifting back and forth. I could tell her I have tattoos, but she didn’t ask about mine. An uncalled for and totally unexpected sliver of jealousy niggles at me.

Me: Never mind. Forget I said anything. They’re all hideous.

The only thing she sends back is a cry-laughing emoji.

Me: So, tattoos...you into those too?

I bite my thumbnail as I wait for her response. It takes longer than usual.

Roxy: Ya know, I feel like my plan to get you to spill all your secrets is backfiring on me. Am I being psychoanalyzed right now?

Me: Not at all. Just trying to figure out what turns my future wife on.

Okay, that was clearly too flirty, but it’s hard to regret it when the banter is this good. Still, I type out another text to smooth things over just in case.

Me: You know...in case the guys ask.

Roxy: Do guys regularly talk about their partners like that?

Me: Honestly, I wouldn’t know. But I imagine. Maybe. Sometimes.

Roxy: Well, then for the hypothetical guy conversation you may or may never have’s sake, yeah. I’m into tattoos. If they’re not obscene or gross.

I instantly wonder if mine would meet her approval.

Me: Good to know.

Roxy: And Christian?

Me: Yeah?

Roxy: If you ever call me wifey to my face, I’ll tell everyone at work that you’re impotent.

Me: Noted.