Alpha Santa

Husband for Hire, Boyfriend for Shame

Piper

The garden is breathtaking. I step through the wrought-iron gate, and it feels like I've walked into another world. Twinkling fairy lights drape from trees, their golden glow illuminating a cobblestone pathway lined with vibrant flowers. The air smells like roses and jasmine, and a soft breeze carries the chirping of crickets. I stop in my tracks, my mouth slightly open.

“How does a waiter have access to… this?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice. My eyes dart to him, but he simply smirks, gesturing toward a small table in the center of the garden.

“Have a seat,” he says, his voice smooth, yet carrying an edge that leaves me unsettled. He pulls out the chair for me, and I sit down, feeling the weight of his gaze on me.

He takes the seat across from me, leaning back casually, like he owns the place. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you?”

I take a deep breath, my palms sweating despite the coolness of the evening. “I’m not going to waste your time.” My voice is more confident than I feel, and I think the champagne from earlier might be fueling my boldness. “You’re poor.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. My eyes widen, and I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean—”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his striking blue eyes. “Go on.”

I blink, surprised he isn’t offended. His calm demeanour gives me the courage to continue. “Look, I have a deal that could change your life. It’ll make you rich—very rich.”

His brow lifts, skepticism written all over his annoyingly handsome face. “I’m listening.”

I lean forward, clasping my hands together to keep them from shaking.“I need a fake husband. Just for two years. Once it’s over, I’ll pay you generously. You’ll have a house, food, everything you need. You won’t have to lift a finger. And I’ll even help you find a better job once it’s done. All I need is for you to cooperate. I need you to be my husband.”

His expression changes—he looks like he’s processing every word. Slowly, he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re offering to provide everything I need? Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be taken care of? I’m the man who’s going to be your husband. And your mate.”

I freeze. “My… mate?”

Why does he keep calling me that? What does mate even mean?

He nods, his gaze intense. “That’s what I said.”

I blink rapidly, struggling to make sense of his words. “This isn’t real,” I say, dismissing his statement. “This is just a fake relationship. You’ll be my fake husband. I think you’re perfect for the role, so don’t get confused. My parents will love how you look, and honestly, your appearance more than makes up for your… circumstances,” I finish, alluding to his poverty.

His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. Does he think I’m crazy for asking him to be my fake husband?

“Wait,” I say abruptly. “What’s your name? I don’t even know your name.”

He chuckles, leaning back. “I don’t know yours either. Fair’s fair.”

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. “I asked first.”

“Elijah,” he says, his name rolling off his tongue like a secret.

“Elijah,” I repeat, tasting the name on my lips. It feels… right, somehow.

A low rumble makes me jump. “What was that?” I glance around nervously. “I heard there are wild beasts around here. You don’t think they could get into the hotel, do you?”

His brows furrow, his face darkening. “Wild beasts, huh? What makes you think I’m not one?”

I blink, confused by his sudden offense. “I didn’t mean you,” I say quickly, waving my hands. “Why would you think—” I stop, shaking my head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He watches me intently, his gaze making my skin prickle in a way I can’t explain.

“How long have you been working here?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.

“A while,” he says nonchalantly. “But this place is temporary. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

His words make my heart race, though I don’t understand why. “Right,” I say, brushing it off. “Well, enough about you. My name’s Piper. Piper Redding.”

“Piper,” he says, my name a whisper on his lips. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I hate that I like it.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice soft, almost reverent.

My cheeks burn, and I duck my head. “You’re lying.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “I don’t lie. And for the record, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

My heart stumbles in my chest. “You’re probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His grin is boyish, his excitement lighting up his face. “You think I’m handsome?”

I nod, biting my lip to hide my smile.

His happiness is contagious, and I can’t help but laugh softly. But my laughter dies as my eyes drift to his lips. They’re plump, inviting, and before I can stop myself, I imagine what they’d feel like against mine.

“I wouldn’t mind you tasting my lips, mate,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

My head snaps up, my eyes wide. “What?”

He smirks. “It’s part of the deal, right? Being your husband and all.”

“Fake husband,” I correct, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “And no, that’s definitely not part of the deal.” I stand abruptly, smoothing my dress in a futile attempt to regain my composure. “I’ll send you the contract with the rules. Think about it.”

“You don’t have my number,” he points out, his grin widening.

I groan, too flustered to argue. “I’ll get it later.” Before he can respond, I turn on my heel and hurry out of the garden, my heart pounding as if I’ve just run a marathon.

When I reach the bar, I slap my cheeks lightly, trying to cool the heat that refuses to leave them. “Get it together, Piper,” I mutter under my breath. “This is business. Strictly business.”

But as my gaze flickers back toward the garden’s entrance, my heart skips a beat. No matter how much I try to convince myself, I know I’m lying.

I return to the table where I’d left Zoe, my heels clicking against the polished floor as I try to shake off the strange encounter. When I reach the table, my stomach sinks. Of course, Zoe isn’t there. I’ve been gone too long, and she’s probably wandered off. Or worse—found something else to occupy her attention, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts.

With a sigh, I drop into my chair, grab a glass of wine, and take a long, steadying sip. The warmth spreads through my chest, dulling the frantic beat of my heart. I let out a shaky breath and shake my head, trying to erase the memory of those piercing blue eyes and that maddening smirk.

Focus, Piper. Focus on Zoe, I think, scanning the room for any sign of her.

But then my eyes land on something that freezes me mid-sip. My throat tightens as I lower the glass, blinking like I’ve seen a mirage. It’s him. Zoe’s boyfriend. Except he’s not staggering back to his room like Zoe claimed. No, he’s on the dance floor, and not just with one woman—but two.

The shock prickles through me, my grip tightening around the stem of the glass. Both women cling to him, their laughter loud and drunken, their hands roaming freely over his chest. His hands, meanwhile, are planted firmly on their asses, squeezing like he owns them.

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from anger. My jaw clenches as I watch him pull one of the women closer, his lips grazing her ear, while the other presses against his back, grinding to the music. My stomach churns with disgust.

What the hell is he doing?

The women aren’t strangers, either. I recognise them—wives or girlfriends of other men on this trip. Their drunken giggles and flushed faces tell me they’re far past the point of caring about their actions. And him? He looks like he’s having the time of his life.

I lean forward in my seat, trying to decide what to do. The right thing would be to tell Zoe. She deserves to know. But another part of me hesitates. What if she doesn’t believe me? What if I ruin her night, only to have her brush it off?

I set the glass down with a soft clink, my fingers trembling. I can’t just sit here. My heart pounds as I push my chair back and stand, the decision forming in my mind. Whether she believes me or not, I can’t keep this to myself.

But just as I take a step toward the dance floor, one of the women stumbles, giggling, and grabs onto his shirt for balance. He laughs, steadying her, and the sight makes my stomach twist. He’s so casual about it, so shameless, like he doesn’t care who sees him.

Does he think Zoe’s an i***t?

I whip out my phone and snap a quick picture. My hands shake as I focus the lens, but I manage to capture the incriminating scene. Evidence. If Zoe doesn’t believe me, at least I’ll have proof.