Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)

by Lauren Asher

I’ve wished for so many different things in my life because to wish is to hope, and that’s the one thing no one can take away from you.”

“I can’t lose this place, Mami.” It’s Papi’s and her legacy, and I desperately want to be a part of it. My sister always had dreams that were bigger than this town, but Rose & Thorn…it was the beginning of mine.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and his name happens to be Lorenzo Vittori.

“If my actions said anything, it was that I liked you too damn much, Lily. That was my problem. Never you.”

“I wasn’t looking for anything real when I joined the app, but meeting you made me consider it.”

“I wanted you to tell me why you loved bees enough to create a garden for them or what made you want to buy a cottage versus some big house. I wanted to know you, and in the process I realized I could never ask you to play the part of my fake fiancée. You deserved someone who could give you that thirty-year plan, and he wasn’t me.”

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.” “Why not?” “You wanted a fake fiancée?” She jabs me hard in the chest with a manicured finger. “Now you’ve got one.”

I tuck my head against Lorenzo’s chest—a genuine reaction that makes his hold on my hips tighten. Reluctantly, I lift my head, and Lorenzo’s gaze connects with mine. It’s the heat in his eyes that has me questioning how much of this is real, but then I remind myself how I made that mistake before and where it got me.

If he keeps clenching his jaw, he won’t have any teeth left to grind. “She doesn’t need to find out.” “Ah. Well, that’s a problem, then, because we don’t keep secrets from one another.” “But you have no problem keeping them from us?” he snaps. “Seeing as I’m not in love with you, no, I don’t.” My calculated reply only makes him twitchier.

ik its fake rn but i still love it

I thought I was done, but I can’t help myself as I say, “And Julian?” He lifts his chin in silent acknowledgment. “There is absolutely nothing you can offer me that would convince me to leave Lily—whether it be money, endorsements, or a guaranteed election victory. So bring up the idea again and I’ll show you what it’s like to be my enemy.” I get into my car and drive away, ignoring Julian glowering in my rearview mirror as I head home.

If Lily’s the people’s princess, then I’m the petty prince, living in a house I dislike strictly because it pisses the designer off. It was so much more satisfying to outsmart him by purchasing the lakefront property through a trust before transferring the title over to myself—even if I loathe everything about the mid-century modern mansion. All the clean lines, warm wood tones, and floor-to-ceiling windows remind me too much of my uncle’s home in Vegas, but I didn’t have the luxury of being picky. If I did, I would’ve chosen my parents’ older but modest home. But oh, wait, Julian tore it down before I had a chance.

omg no

She barrels into my home like a hellhound, banging into the entryway table and nearly tipping over the vase with one of Lily’s bouquets. The pink clashes with all the earthy tones in my house, but it reminds me of my mom and all the fond memories I have of my father surprising her with weekly bouquets.

“Do you mind taking off your shoes?” I look down at my sandaled feet and grimace. “Floors were cleaned this morning,” he says when I don’t move right away. With the way it gleams, I’m inclined to believe him, but that’s not my issue. “But my feet get cold.” “Let me get you some socks.” He heads upstairs and disappears without waiting for me to deny his request.

oh this is sooooo soft

“I’m more of a ruffled-sock kind of girl.” “A what?” “You know, cute little socks with ruffles? I’ll show you a photo later.” “Ruffles…on socks?” “Bonus if they have bows or something fun embroidered on them.” The comment slips out before I remember myself. “Noted for next time.” Something flutters in my stomach at his use of next time.

“I’m still angry with you, but I’m less so now.” “What changed?” “I went to go visit your father at the cemetery.” You will not cry, I chant repeatedly, but my eyes won’t cooperate. “Spending time with him always calms me down.”

My mom has taken a liking to him, although I can’t expect her to be as comfortable around him as she is with Julian or Rafa, whom she has known since they were little. The way she is with Lorenzo is different, but then again, so is he. He’s patient, polite, and intent on helping my mom with whatever she needs in the kitchen. My mom gives him a few tasks, including washing the buckets’ worth of strawberries, and Lorenzo does it without a single complaint, following every request with a “Sì, signora” that makes me giggle.

I shouldn’t miss him touching me. Shouldn’t so much as think twice about why he even bothered to do so since we don’t have an audience present. And I most definitely should not, under absolutely any circumstance, think about when he will do it again.

“How’d you get into cooking?” She speaks low so no one hears us. “My parents.” Hopefully my short answer wards her away from asking more questions about it. Cooking is more about control than enjoying the art. My first and last therapist told me as much, along with how control was one of the reasons I most likely developed OCD. Sometimes when a child is ripped away from their life like I had been, they feel the need to establish control over every aspect of their environment. Which is why tonight is that much more difficult for me. In my own kitchen, I know exactly where and when the food was bought. I can double- and triple-check expiration dates without anyone noticing the compulsion, and I’m able to wash my fruits and veggies until it feels just right without anyone judging me.

Lily slips her plastic apron over her head, making her dark hair stand up in all different directions. Before I think twice about it, I reach behind her head and fix her hair so it’s no longer catching on the plastic.

“Are you okay?” I reach for Lorenzo’s arm, but he takes a step back and crosses them against his chest, adding a physical barrier between us. Someone without any context might interpret it as a brush-off, but it seems more like a self-soothing hug than a defensive maneuver, and it makes my heart hurt for him.

It’s strange to comfort someone who causes me so much sadness, anger, and self-doubt, but when I see Lorenzo like this—lost, lonely, and paralyzed by some invisible adversary I know nothing about—I can’t leave him to drown in his own demons. I wasn’t raised to be heartless, even if that’s all he’s known for most of his life.

I thought Trevor kept his dirty little DUI a secret between him and his father, but the Ludlows are a tight-knit family, so I’m not surprised that Richard knows all about what his brother did the night he decided to get behind the wheel and kill my parents in the process.

oh my god

“You know, I am capable of being silent sometimes.” “Doesn’t mean I want you to be.” My comment is followed by a pause full of crackling tension. Lily’s gaze is hot on my face. “Why not?” “I’ve come to enjoy your rambling.” “Is this your discreet way of telling me you like the sound of my voice?” “Depends. Is this your discreet way of asking if I do?” She cracks a smile. It’s the first one I’ve seen all day from her, and it fills me with a relief I have no business feeling in the first place. “Maybe.”

Selfishness has always been my default setting, but tonight I am choosing to put someone else first while receiving nothing but their company in return. All because Lily is right and I am tired of being alone. And I have no idea what to do with that new piece of information about myself.

“I can’t get angry at them for something I’ve been guilty of. So let them look. Let them stare. Let them wish they were going home with the most beautiful woman in this bar—in this town—for all I care. I’ve been there. Many times, in fact, when it comes to you. So if anything, I sympathize with them because they can want you, but they’ll never truly have you.”

The compulsion to assess every nook and cranny is proof enough that I’m slipping, but instead of being concerned over my safety, I’m preoccupied with Lily’s. That much I can confirm as I assess the dipstick—despite having my oil changed last week—and the serpentine belt—looks brand new, because it

“If you say so…principessa⁠*.” Her eyes roll. “Not a fan? Okay. What about cucciola⁠*?” “Immediately no.” I choke on a laugh. “We’ll have to workshop some options.” “I like the classics. Like baby. Babe. Love, but only if you’re British.” “What about amore mio⁠*?” Her cheeks flush, and I officially have her new nickname.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and me offering to help Lily find a car is the first step down a dark, obsessive path. I can’t say I’m sorry about it though. At least not yet.

Becoming reliant on Lily feels like a fork in the road, where one wrong step could lead me down a path of no return. A path riddled with complications, an expiration date, and, worst of all, love.

He pulls his hand out of his pocket and grabs mine. I roll my eyes. “You don’t need to hold my hand without an audience.” “Maybe I like the way your hand fits in mine.”

Lorenzo walks through it, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He looks like one of Michelangelo’s statues, meant to be ogled at from behind a red velvet rope. Fitting, since I can look but not touch.

She eventually lands on an old rerun of The Silver Vixens, and I don’t protest despite finding the outdated laugh track annoying. Eventually I stop noticing it because I’m paying more attention to Lily’s laughs instead. I could get used to this, I admit to myself.

I start counting my underwear because why did I pack ten pairs for a two-night stay? Did I plan to shit myself multiple times?

I try not to think too much of the basket of socks that appeared after my first visit to his house, but when Willow tells me she was amused by Lorenzo’s selection, I’m pleasantly surprised to hear he was the one who purchased them. They may vary in color, style, and pattern, but they have one element in common. They all represent things I love. Some socks are more surface level with flowers, hearts, and bows embroidered or printed onto the material, while others remind me of conversations we had on the app—like Halloween-inspired socks for my true crime obsession or my very favorite, The Silver Vixens–themed socks.

i love a man who LISTENS

Can I really tell Lorenzo that Hey, maybe we should put everything on pause because there is a slight chance I might want him to propose for real one day?

reach for her left hand and intertwine our fingers. Her diamond tracking bracelet catches my eye, and I smile to myself. If I were less…well, like myself, I’d tell her about the hidden microchip disguised as one of the diamonds, but I don’t want to run the risk of her taking it off. It’s not like I plan on stalking her location constantly—I do have other important things to do with my day—but the ability to check on her at all times fills me with relief.

idk how to feel abt this

I slowly sink down to one knee. I’m not sure she is breathing as I pull out the velvet box and pop open the lid. The pink emerald-cut diamond ring is as close to perfect as one can find, and the two smaller diamonds on either side of the main gemstone highlight its beauty.

How did I end up being fake engaged to a guy I’m interested in, and how are we ever supposed to have a real chance at a relationship if half of it has been built on lies?

“How would you know if you haven’t even tried?” “Because people like me—people like my father—we don’t love. We don’t know how to. Instead we obsess, to the point of making ourselves sick over someone else.” He teases the chain of my bracelet, and goose bumps spread up my arm from a simple brush of his thumb across my pulse point. “Love is obsession. They go hand in hand.” “No.” He shakes his head. “Love is good. It’s pure. What goes on in my head…it’s the complete opposite.”

Maybe I’ll meet someone while traveling, she mentioned, tempting me to pull some strings to get her on a no-fly list.

I’m not going to stop talking about the future I want, so if you have a problem with it, then you need to do some soul-searching as to why that’s the case.

It becomes clear where my heart is at—or rather who has it. But accepting the truth? That’s a whole other issue.

Lily reads my text and opens the front door with a yawn, stunning me into silence as I take in her outfit. I was hoping last night’s colorful gown wasn’t a one-time exception, and thankfully it seems like my confident Lily is here to stay, and I couldn’t be happier.

Her shoes are beyond impractical for the amount of walking we’ll have to do, but they’ll force her to rely on me for stability as we walk across the grassy parking lot, so I won’t be complaining. On the contrary, I’ll buy a pair in every color to encourage such behavior.

“Are you…threatening to send the mafia after me?” I pick a piece of invisible lint off his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He exhales slowly, right before I rip his false sense of security away. “I’m promising to, should you so much as take a breath within a hundred feet of my future wife again.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say because I don’t know what else sounds good in this situation, although I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth. “You know, people always say that, including myself, but I didn’t truly understand what it meant until I had to go through it personally.” I feel my throat getting scratchy as she continues, “Every time I’m reminded of my husband, it feels like I’ve lost him all over again.”

I never understood why my father gave up his entire life for my mother, but right now, I can see it clearly. Because when you find the one person in the world who sees you—who takes the time to collect every broken piece of your spirit and helps you put it back together—you don’t let them go. I made that mistake once, but I won’t repeat it again. That much I can promise.

“Thank you,” he says as he parks in the lot. “No need to thank me. This is what friends do.” I reach for the bouquet. “Lily?” He reaches for my hand before I can escape the car. “Yeah?” “I don’t want to be your friend.” My heart takes a brief intermission. “Why not?” He cups my cheek. “I’d much rather be your boyfriend, if that’s an option.”

I join them because there is no way I can resist at least thirty more minutes of their company. Lorenzo wraps an arm around my waist, tucks me against his side, and passes me a remote. “Put something on.” “What kind of mood are we in?” “Whatever makes you laugh.” I dip my head so he can’t see the goofy little smile on my face because there can only be one reason why he wants that, and damn if it doesn’t make me fall in love with him a little bit more.

He snatches my hand before I can escape. “Kiss me like you mean it.” “Then I’ll never leave.” “If it were up to me, you never would.” Even if I could manage to get my legs to cooperate, there is no way I can go home after he spoke those words into existence.