THE BILLIONAIRE'S CONTRACT WIFE

THE CONTRACT

I didn't sleep,at 7:59am, I called.

"I'll do it."

"Manor, 10am," he said, and hung up.

Thorne Manor was not a house,it was a castle that forgot how to be happy.

Grey stone,three floors,windows like eyes watching me and an old fountain.

A woman opened the door before I knocked. Plump, rosy, flour on her apron. Grace, 60, the housekeeper.

"You must be Elara," she grabbed my hands. Her hands were warm. "I've worked here since Master Damien was in diapers. That boy tells me nothing, but I knew. Come, you are too thin!"

Inside smelled like old wood and loneliness,a house this big should have noise,it had none.

In the study, Damien by the fireplace like he owned it,Sebastian with folder and on the desk: the contract and a deposit slip.

I picked up the slip, $50,000 paid, Mara Quinn, Surgery scheduled in 25 days.

My knees went weak.

"You paid already?" My heart slammed against my ribs.

"We keep our word," Sebastian said. my

"Why me?" I asked Damien. "You could have any model, why a florist on scholarship?"

His eyes darkened as he studied me. "Because you need money badly enough to say yes and you hate me enough not to fall in love. Rich girls would stay forever,you will leave on day thirty-one."

I read the contract, six clauses and on clause six in bold: DO NOT FALL IN LOVE.

My hand shook holding the pen.

A voice shouted from upstairs "Damien! Is she here? Is my granddaughter-in-law here?"

Lord Alaric Thorne was 80, tall like Damien, white hair, same grey eyes - but his eyes smiled.

He saw me and stopped, then hugged me. He smelled like tea and old books.

"You must be Elara," he whispered into my hair. "Grace told me Damien found a flower girl. I told him, a flower girl will bring life back to this dead house."

Behind him, two women.

Vivian Whitmore, 55, blonde bob, pearls, tight smile. "I'm Vivian, dear, a family friend,I help run this house."

And Isabella Whitmore, 26, model, legs for days, dress that cost my mother's surgery. She looked at my thrift store dress like I was dirt on her shoe.

"Oh," Isabella said, her smile sweet, her words poison. "You are... fresh. Damien, you didn't tell us she was a charity case. Is this from the GoFundMe?"

The air went cold.

Damien's jaw tightened.

Alaric's arm tightened around me. "Isabella Whitmore, in this house we do not speak about charity,we speak about family. Elara is family now. Understand?"

Isabella's smile didn't drop, but her eyes did. "Of course, Uncle Alaric."

Sunroom, Tea.

Alaric held my hand. "Tell me, flower girl, how did my cold grandson convince you to marry him?"

I choked hard, tea went down wrong, my breath cut. I coughed, eyes watering.

Damien's hand was instantly on my back. Warm, big. His thumb brushed my spine.

Alaric laughed loud. "Look! He touches his wife! I've never seen him touch anyone!"

Damien pulled his hand away like I burned him.

Isabella watched, tea spilling on saucer.

"Oops," she said, eyes on Damien's arm. "Elara dear, do you know how to pour tea? Or only cheap roses?"

Grace inhaled sharply.

Damien didn't answer, he took my teacup and lifted it to my lips, his fingers brushed my lips.

"My wife knows flowers," he said, quiet but final. "She knows how to bring a dead house to life, you, Isabella, only know how to take."

He tilted the cup "Drink, Elara. Slowly."

Every hair on my body stood up.

Alaric clapped. "That's my boy!"

Isabella slammed the teapot down, her face red.

Alaric pulled a small velvet box from his cardigan "Elara this is for you it was my wife Eleanor's, she loved flowers too."

Inside: tiny gold ring, daisy carved.

"Grandpa, I can't-"

"You should have it"

Damien leaned towards me so close I could feel his warm breath behind my ears he said. "You are Thorne now. For thirty days or thirty years(with a smirk)."

His grandfather's grey eyes suddenly sharp, like he saw everything.

Then he left with his cane, humming. Vivian followed.

Isabella stayed, leaned down and said "Enjoy his room, flower girl, i've been in that bed countless times."

My stomach flipped not in a good way as Isabella pushed me and walked out.

Damien's voice was ice. "She's lying. I've never touched Isabella, she just wants you to leave."

"Does it matter? It's fake anyway."

He stared like he was trying to read my soul. "No, it doesn't matter" he said as he left.

But his voice said it did,after what seemed like seven minutes, Grace came "Come, Mrs. Thorne let me show you your room."

Thirty days started now.