Chapter 4

Rena

"The pleasure is all mine, future wife."

I can't believe I actually said yes to marrying a complete stranger. What on earth was going through my mind last night?

I've always been known for making impulsive decisions, but this takes the cake. I mean, I don't even know this guy beyond his name, Corey Anderson.

I must be the biggest fool on the face of this planet. How did I get myself into a conversation with this guy, sticking my nose where it didn't belong instead of focusing on my work?

And then he goes ahead and offers me millions of dollars to marry him, and like a complete idiot, I accept. Who knows? He could have been some psychopath, and yet I agreed to marry him.

He even paid me ten times more than what I earn at the nightclub, just so we could talk in a quieter place. And greedy as I am, I followed him.

Now, the problem isn't just that I said yes; it's whether or not I actually regret it and if I want to take back my answer.

"I’m getting married, Betty," I announced to Betty Shay, my best friend.

She stared back at me like I had lost my mind. "Hold on a second, Rena. I'm confused. What do you mean you're getting married? You don't even have a boyfriend, you fool," mocks Betty, who clearly didn’t believe a word I said.

Betty and I have been best friends since high school, and she understands me better than anyone else. She has always been there for me during tough times, and she even taught me everything I know about being a nail artist and helped me get a spot at the salon where she works.

"I know it sounds insane, but I swear it's the truth," I tell her, and she furrows her brow in disbelief.

"What the hell have you done this time, Rena? And why does it involve the word 'marriage'?" She hisses, grabbing my arm and dragging me forcefully to the staff room.

I stare at her blankly, wondering how I can possibly explain this absurd situation to her.

How do I even begin to tell her that some wealthy gay guy wants me to be his fake wife for a few years, just to get his family off his back?

Does that even make sense when spoken out loud? And to top it all off, I agreed to be a part of this madness.

"I know that look, Rena, and I already know that whatever you're about to tell me will make me want to beat some sense into you. But don't you dare leave anything out, and just tell me straight up what the hell you've gotten yourself into this time!" She snaps angrily, as if she can read my mind.

Sighing, I reply, "Listen, Betty, I know you might want to throttle me, but please promise me you won't tell anyone else about this." She frowns.

"Enough with the theatrics and start talking, Rena. It's not like many people really care about your business anyway," she hisses, and I roll my eyes at her before I begin to explain everything that happened last night.

The expression on her face goes from bad to good to confused to surprised, and eventually, I couldn’t even decipher the emotions playing across her features.

She stares at me intently, curiosity filling her eyes, as I recount how I was offered three million dollars to be a fake wife for two years. I explained that the three million is just the initial payment, and according to him, I'll receive much more once we're legally married and I become his wife.

"Okay, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to process everything you just said, but let me get this straight: some ridiculously rich man offered you three million dollars just to be his wife?" She asks, and I nod in confirmation.

"Yep, that is exactly it," I confirmed, and her jaw dropped.

"Holy sh*t Morena!" She gasps with wide eyes, and I stare back at her, trying to comprehend her reaction.

"I know it sounds insane, Betty, but when he mentioned such a huge amount of money, I couldn't help but think about how it could change my life. Just imagine receiving that kind of money and more for simply getting married. Normal people get married without any financial gain, and here I am, being paid for it! I don't even have to worry about having children or any of those traditional obligations. Can you imagine the weight that would be lifted off my shoulders?" I blurt it out, hoping to reason with her, but something about my words amuses her.

"What's so funny, Betty?" I ask, puzzled.

"Oh, nothing in particular. I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of this. I can't believe it!" She exclaims, suddenly engulfing me in a tight hug, squeezing the life out of me.

"Firstly, I can't breathe, Betty, and secondly, I assume you're not against my decision?" I mutter the last part as a question, and she quickly releases me from her vice-like grip.

This is what I get for having a really tall best friend who outweighs me by a lot.

"Against it? Do I look crazy to you, sweetie? Why would I be against it? You made a decision that could turn you into a millionaire, my darling, and if anyone tells you otherwise, send them straight to hell! You have three siblings to worry about, dear, and opportunities like this don't come around every day," she says reassuringly, and a wave of relief washes over me.

Getting the approval of my best friend means a lot to me. If she had scolded me instead, I would have felt really awful about my choice.

"I'm so glad you feel this way, Betty. You have no idea how much your words mean to me. I'm still a little unsure about what to do next because, honestly, this whole situation is just so strange. He comes from an incredibly wealthy family, and I'm not sure if I can fit into his world," I confess, and she playfully smacks me on the head.

"Ouch!" I whimper.

"I should smack your head more, but be thankful I'm in a good mood. Who cares if you don't fit in? The idiot asked you to marry him, Rena, and I'm pretty sure he already knows you're not as overly cultured as those rich people. And guess what, sis? You don't even have to be."

"You can both decide to play the love story of the rich guy and the poor girl. Be yourself with them and let them know how much you've struggled all your life until their son showed up. Those rich people love it when their daughters-in-law suck up to them and idolize them, and that, my dear, is exactly how you'll win their hearts," she explains.

Although I understand her point, I'm not entirely in agreement with it.

"I get your point, but I think there's something you're mistaken about. The part where you think they'll actually like my shitty life story. People like them always want daughters-in-law they can brag about. They enjoy having daughters who can match their class so they can show them off, and I'm not that person. I didn't even go to college, Betty, and to top it off, I'm still undocumented in this country," I remind her, and she sighs.

"He knows all of this, doesn't he?" she asks.

"Well, yes. I explained a good part of my life to him, and he assured me that he would take care of everything and that I shouldn't worry myself too much about anything," I reply, and she scoffs.

"If he already said that, why the fuck are you still stressing over it? He already told you that none of that actually matters to him and that he would handle it, so why are you still on edge? Stop stressing yourself and let your rich fiancé take care of everything for you," she says confidently, and I can't help but wonder how she remains so calm and assured while I'm freaking out.

"I'm still nervous, Betty. What if he finds a better girl out there and changes his mind? There are thousands of better-looking girls who would accept his proposal without even thinking twice about it." I express my concerns, and she quickly flicks my forehead with her finger.

"Stop talking, or I'll slap you, Rena. Firstly, you are fucking beautiful; never forget that. And secondly, he already asked you, and you already accepted. I doubt he'd want to go around sharing his story with every girl out there. It's obvious he's desperate, Rena, which means he doesn't have time to play the role of a prince in search of his bride. So stop with the stupid 'ifs,' 'buts,' and 'maybes,' because very soon you're getting married, and you need all the confidence in the world right now," she encourages, and I pull her into a comforting hug.

"Thanks for the encouraging words, Betty." I express my gratitude to her.

"You're welcome, my dear friend. Now, enough of all this, and let's get back to work before Madam catches us. We wouldn't want her to lose her nails in our faces," she jokes, and I chuckle in response before we both resume our work.