Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)

by Lauren Asher

“Trevor Ludlow is the best choice—even if he’s new to the job. His family has run the city council since it was founded, so I trust him to uphold our values and traditions.” A woman with pink stripes in her hair nods. “And he’s one of us.” People easily forget or ignore how I spent the first decade of my life growing up in this town until I became an orphan.

“Doesn’t anyone find it strange how he came out of nowhere two years ago and decided to run for mayor? It’s not as if he has deep ties to the town, and he isn’t like Trevor, who has a legacy he wants to protect, so what’s his deal?” Revenge. Simple as that. I look forward to dismantling life as the Ludlows know it, and it all starts with removing them from their century-long position of power. For a family who values their pride, reputation, and social status, losing the election will be a huge blow they probably won’t recover from.

“Maybe it’s for the best. We don’t need him bringing his family’s mafia business here,” the forty-year-old man with a blue ball cap on says. Another person chimes in with “Oh, I heard about that. Do you think that’s why he sold his shares of the family company?” “He did?” someone else asks. “Yeah. A random article I read online mentioned how he and his uncle would get in arguments during board meetings. Nearly came to blows once.” Yes, while that is accurate, I would’ve put up with my uncle if it weren’t for how he hid the truth about my parents’ accident. After I found out what really happened, I quit my job as the director of operations, sold my Vittori Holdings shares, and walked away without looking back.

“Apparently his uncle hired a hitman to kill Lorenzo’s father, which is why they never found the person responsible for the hit-and-run accident.” Yet another lie. “I always thought it was strange how the Vittoris mostly kept to themselves. Lorenzo’s mother was nice and involved in the church, but there was always something…off about his father,”

If by off he means diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, then fuck him very much. My father was a good man, although his struggle with OCD could be downright debilitating—a daily mental battle...

No, I don’t hate children and No, I’m not involved in the mafia, although I can’t say the same for my uncle and cousin...

After spending the last year campaigning on ideas like preserving the town’s historic character and improving local services for the youth and elderly townspeople alike, it’s frustrating to be typecast as something I’m not. If I don’t find a way to improve my image and give people the confidence to vote for me, I’ll never be able to catch up to Trevor Ludlow. And if I don’t do it soon, my nightmare scenario will quickly become an unbearable reality.

LILY

In the middle of organizing my closet, I send a cardboard box toppling off the top shelf. Colorful clothes fly past me and land in a scattered mess at my feet, a mix of fabrics ranging from frilly and impractical to vibrant and eye-catching. Ruffles and bows galore, satin skirts in every shade of the rainbow, neon athletic clothes that can be spotted a mile away in the dark, and shoes with hand-painted flowers and butterflies. My heart painfully clenches as I shove everything back into the box and return it to the shelf before checking my vibrating phone.

Dahlia, who never responded to the group chat, waltzes into my room. “I’ve got some new ideas for the expansion!” My stomach drops, and my smile along with it, when I see the thick binder in her arms. It’s full of design ideas for Rose & Thorn’s spin-off business—a venture I dreamt up with her a few years ago. She jumps into big sister mode as soon as she notices the look on my face. “What’s wrong?” Everything, I want to answer, but the thought of talking to her about the condemnation notice feels impossible, and not because of the NDA. The pressed-flower business has been on my vision board for three years, ever since I created an art piece for a client who wanted to preserve the bridal bouquet I made her, but it finally became an achievable goal once Rose & Thorn’s sweet, elderly neighbor offered to sell me her shop last month.

“I’m stressed.” “About the car?” So she did see our messages. I nod. She places the binder on top of my desk before leaning against it. “If you want, we can go visit some dealerships together this weekend. It could be fun to take a few out for a joyride…” “I don’t want a new car.” “No, but you need it.” My gaze drops to the carpet. She talks when I don’t. “If it’s about money⁠—” “It’s not, and even if it was, it’s your money, not mine.” I make a good salary managing Rose & Thorn, and I live at my mom’s house, where I only need to chip in for groceries and utilities, so I save most of my income. “I want to help you.” “I appreciate it, really, but I love my car.” She grimaces. “But you know Dad would want you to have a new one if he was still here.” But he’s not, I want to say. Similar to Rose & Thorn, the car he bought Dahlia and me is one of the last memories I have of him, so replacing it isn’t an option, even if it’s firing on its last cylinder.

“Fine.” Dahlia heads back to the desk to grab the binder. “Let’s talk about the Pressed Petal.” “I never agreed on an official name.” “We’ll keep workshopping it.” She flips the binder open to the first page. My eyes mist as I check out the mock-ups she created of a showroom full of pressed-flower art pieces. Her design brings the gallery idea I had to another level, telling a visual story of how I turn wedding bouquets I design into works of art for newlyweds.

“I still need to figure out what floor and paint samples you like best and what kind of wood species Julian will use for all the custom frames he’ll make, but it’s starting to all come together.” She smiles, and I match it with a much weaker one. It’s hard not to feel guilty about the entire project given how invested my family is in making it happen. I try to brush the feeling off, but doubt lingers in the darkest shadows of my mind, never letting me fully enjoy my sister’s hard work. Tomorrow you’ll figure it out, I tell myself. But today… Today, I can’t.

It’s not a long drive, but it quickly becomes an annoying one when I can’t go more than thirty seconds without being reminded of the mayoral race.

Many lawns are adorned with signs supporting either Lorenzo or Trevor Ludlow. Trevor’s signs outnumber Lorenzo’s, and he probably used his dad’s connections to hang a particularly large banner across the most popular street in the Historic District. To be honest, I don’t like either candidate for different reasons, although Lorenzo has a lead over Trevor since the former isn’t trying to tear down my shop and all the history that comes with it.

“Did you forget where you parked?” Dahlia asks. I sit up and look out the window. “No?” I’m confused by the vacant spot where my car was parked earlier this afternoon. “Don’t tell me your car got stolen.” She sounds a bit too excited at the idea. “I doubt it,” Julian mutters. “Hey!” I poke him in the shoulder. “I’ll have you know my car made it onto the Top Ten Most Stolen Cars list.” “In the nineties?”

So here I am, a witness to everyone else’s love story after spending so long wishing for mine.

“We’re only here to report that Lily’s car was stolen,” my sister says with a grin, clearly enjoying the way Julian tries to make himself look smaller. Best of luck since the man is built like a linebacker. The sheriff’s white brows crinkle in my direction. “Where did you last see it?” “Outside Rose & Thorn.” Using the radio strapped to his shoulder, the sheriff relays the information to his deputies before asking us a few more questions. “You two aren’t playing a prank on her, are you?” Suspicion bleeds into his voice.

“Your car is at Manny’s shop?” I blink twice. “How did it get there?” The sheriff asks his deputy to get more information, and we all wait to figure out what the heck is going on. It takes the deputy a few agonizingly slow minutes, but he returns to let the sheriff know the car was being repaired at Lorenzo Vittori’s request.

“Would you like to press charges?” “What?” I ask, completely taken aback by the question. “Yes,” Julian answers for me. Dahlia tugs on his shirt. “Julian.” “He stole Lily’s car without her permission.” I rub my temple. “He didn’t steal my car.” “Technically, he did take it without your permission,” the sheriff clarifies. “You’re not helping,” I mutter before speaking louder. “He was trying to do something nice for me.”

LILY

Julian slowly turns his body away from the front desk and faces Dahlia and me. “Since when does Lorenzo care about your car?” “He saw me struggling with it and came over to help,” I answer. My sister rubs her forehead in confusion. “Which led to him sending it to the mechanic without you knowing?” “Yes. It’s a sweet thought, right?” Her mouth presses into a flat line, as if to say No. “What was he doing at Rose & Thorn anyway?” She switches up her interrogation, and I scramble to keep up. “He comes by every week to pick up his flowers.” “What flowers?” I look down at my shoes. “The two bouquets he orders.” “Oh my God.” Her eyes bulge. “He’s still doing that?” “Yes?” It comes out like a question rather than a fact. “Why?” “I don’t know.” “Are they for another woman?” “They’d better not be.” My tone is a hint too icy, and my sister frowns.

Dahlia’s nails dig into the flesh of my arm until we’re standing by Julian’s truck. “Okay. Spill. What’s going on between you and Lorenzo?” I look at her with raised brows. “There’s nothing to spill.” “You’re hiding something.” She crosses her arms. I do the same. “I’m not.” Outside of keeping our situationship a secret, that is. “Then why can’t I say Lorenzo’s name without you turning two shades pinker?” “It’s nerves.” “Since when do you get nervous?” I shrug. “Do you like him?” she asks without any prelude. “No.” I sound genuine, but my incriminating face doesn’t help matters. “Hm,” she says unconvincingly. “Does he like you?” I can’t help laughing at the absurd question. “Isn’t that the million-dollar question.”

“Can you go calm your boyfriend down before he strains a neck muscle or something?” She doesn’t move from her spot. “He can wait.” Great. “If you’re interested in Lorenzo, you can tell me. I won’t judge you.” Consider me surprised. “Really?” “Of course. I want you to be happy.” “Even if I’m happy with Lorenzo?” She doesn’t look too excited when she nods, but maybe her strained expression has more to do with Julian drilling a hole into the sides of our faces. “Don’t worry.” I spare her from answering my question. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“But what about Lorenzo being involved in the mafia?” “That’s a dumb rumor the Ludlow family made up because they want to scare people into voting for Trevor instead of him.” My sister’s mouth falls open. “What?” I ask. “For someone who claims they aren’t interested, you are quick to defend Lorenzo.” “I dislike the Ludlows for lying. That’s all.” “Fair enough.” “Are you done interrogating me now?” She clears her throat. “Perhaps I came off a bit…strong before⁠—”

Lorenzo might’ve hurt me once, but I’ll never give him an opportunity to do it twice. I’m sure of it.

I exit our chat and check my thread with Lorenzo, wondering if he answered, only to be disappointed when I find out he never replied. Are you really surprised after he ghosted you? No, but it still sucks. I carry on with my morning routine, only for it to be derailed when my mom asks me about my car, which she saw outside. I’m shocked to find it parked in our driveway with a note tucked under the brand-new windshield wiper. Keys are hidden by your favorite place. PS: Like your car, it’s in need of some repairs.

The handwritten note crumples underneath my fingers, and I toss it into the trash before walking over to the small fountain my dad installed. My mom has had it fixed a few times over the years, but she gave up on it a while back, so I took over the responsibility. The fountain located in a corner of our yard was my dad’s labor of love because it broke down more often than it worked. So much so, it became a running joke between our parents, with my mom threatening to get rid of it and my dad convincing her not to.

I follow the winding path toward the fountain. The mostly dry basin is full of stagnant rainwater, disgusting muck, and an endless number of leaves. A few quarters sit at the bottom of the bowl too, but it’s the gold coins that catch my attention. “Make a wish.” My dad offered me a golden coin from his satin drawstring bag after tossing his into the fountain. I crossed my arms and raised my brows. “Those never come true.” He cracked a smile. “I used to think that way too.” “Really?” I asked, surprised. “Yes.” He nodded. “Then one day, I made a wish and then I met your mom, and I never stopped wishing ever since.”

“I wished for you.” He bopped my nose. “I wished for Dahlia. 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.”

“Julian’s only annoyed Lorenzo got involved.” She doesn’t crack a smile. “Manny’s mother texted me to tell me how sweet it was of Lorenzo to cover your repair bill.” This is news to me. She continues, “Apparently Lorenzo asked Manny to give it a full workup.” “Maybe Manny should practice mechanic-client privilege.” My mom makes a face. “I don’t know if that’s a thing.” “Well, it should be with how much Manny and his mom like to talk,”

“Who is Julian to talk? Half the town still dislikes him for tearing down heirloom homes and turning them into gray boxes.” “Liliana!” “What? You know it’s true.” “He had good intentions.” “Okay, so let me get this straight—if Julian does something wrong or unlikeable, it doesn’t matter because he had good intentions, but if Lorenzo does something nice, he must have some secret motive?” Perhaps deep, deep down, part of me feels protective over Lorenzo because once upon a time, I did like him, and people judging him makes me wonder what would’ve happened if we had become a real couple. At least you’ll never have to find out.

My mom continues looking at the fancy piece of paper. “Liliana…” “No,” I immediately say. Her gaze darts back to the paper. “I think we should sign the NDA.” “What?” I screech. “Are you joking?” “We could split the money⁠—” “I don’t want anything to do with it.” “But you can use your half to open the Pressed Petal somewhere else in town.” I’m upset she would even suggest such an idea, seeing as I rejected Julian’s, Dahlia’s, and Rafa’s offers to loan me money. I shake my head. “Absolutely not.” “Why not? I’m getting closer to retirement, and then you’d be free to chase your own dream.” Angry tears spring to my eyes, coming in hot and heavy. “Rose & Thorn is a big part of that.”

“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. She brushes my hair out of my face before cupping my cheek. “Even if we lose Rose & Thorn, I want to say I’m so very proud of you, mija. You took our legacy and made it even better, and if your father was here, he would be just as proud of the successful woman you’ve become.” I frown. “Why does it sound like you’re quitting?” “Because…I don’t know if I have the fight in me anymore. I’m tired, and hiring a lawyer sounds stressful. Way more stress than it’s worth.”

“If the buyout wasn’t an issue, would you keep Rose & Thorn?” “Of course. I love that shop.” Her voice cracks. “I know you’ve taken on more responsibility, but my heart will always belong there. Your father and I…we put our heart and soul into it, and it will always feel like home.” Which is why I’ll save it one way or another. “Please. Give me a chance to figure this out before you throw in the towel.” My mom takes a few deep breaths. “Okay. How about this? I’ll schedule a meeting with Mayor Ludlow to discuss the letter and voice my concerns while you think of some solutions.” I might not like it, but I think I know exactly where to start. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and his name happens to be Lorenzo Vittori.

LILY

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, completely forgetting about me altogether as she scrolls through some PDF with charts and graphs. “He’s going to go ballistic when he sees this.” I’m about to say something when her phone starts ringing. “Called it.” She grimaces. “Do you mind if I take this?” “No. Not at all.” She leaves the kitchen, but her house is less than a thousand square feet, so despite her disappearing into one of the rooms, I can still hear her side of the conversation. “You saw for yourself how people want someone with connections to the town, and your charity events aren’t enough.” Safe to assume she’s speaking to Lorenzo, then.

“You’re the one who refuses to find yourself a wife.” I choke on my wine. A wife?! Willow groans. “Fine. I meant a fiancée. Are you happy now?” There is a pause before she says, “I can only do so much. A ten-point lead is going to be difficult to overcome.” Silence follows, although my rising heart rate fills the quiet while I wait for whatever Willow says next. “I didn’t say impossible, just difficult. Whether we agree with them or not, people associate stability and values with family, so either you pick one of the women I vetted for the job or you can say goodbye to ever winning this election.”

I take another small sip before saying, “So…fake fiancée?” She squeezes the bridge of her freckled nose. “I had hoped you didn’t hear that part.” “I assumed as much, but your walls are kind of thin.” She rubs her forehead. “He’s going to kill me.” “It’s not your fault.” “I know, but…” She takes a deep breath. “Since you already overheard the conversation, will you let me vent for two minutes? I swear to shut up afterward so we can focus on whatever it is you came here to talk about, but I need to speak with someone. Ellie’s out of town, and I don’t want to burden her⁠—”

She takes another sip of her wine before beginning. “You’d be shocked to know how difficult it is to set two people up.” “Coming from someone who has spent years of her life navigating different dating apps, I believe you.” “At least you want a relationship. Lorenzo is the complete opposite, even if it’s all fake.” “Hm.” I can’t say much more with the way my throat tightens. “I’ve vetted a ton of options and interviewed a few candidates who I thought were real contenders, yet Lorenzo rejected them all.” “How long has he been looking?” “It’s been a more recent thing,” she answers vaguely. “Although about a year back, he used a dating app to try to find a fake fiancée on his own⁠—” No. I don’t realize I said the word aloud until Willow looks at me for clarification. “He used an app?” The question comes out as a half squeak, half wheeze.

“I never heard of the Eros app before, but based on how much Lorenzo hated it, I assume it sucked.” “He said that?” My heart feels like it was punctured with a thousand thorns. “Yes.” She nods with pinched brows, only for them to dart up toward her hairline. “Wait. You just said you used dating apps too, right?” “Yeah.” The word slides against my tongue painfully. “Did you try Eros?” “Briefly.” “What did you think?” she asks. “Wouldn’t recommend it.” “He said as much too.” She laughs while I wish for a hole to open up underneath me. “So he wasn’t looking for a real relationship?” All that time I spent talking to him, imagining a future together… God. You’re so stupid. “No, and the experience made him shy away from the idea until a month ago.”

He realized finding someone on an app was a bad idea. Someone or me? The pang in my chest becomes unbearable, the throb impossible to ignore. After spending all this time wondering why I wasn’t good enough to make him stay, I feel devastated. Deceived. And most of all rejected twice over, because for some reason, I wasn’t an ideal choice for his plan.

I do my best to ignore all thoughts about Lorenzo, the dating app, and my daunting future. It takes a few glasses of wine, but now that I’ve got a good buzz going, I’m no longer worried about anything but what song Willow wants to play next. Or I wasn’t until someone knocks on Willow’s front door. “Who’s that?” I ask, my brows rising at the sound of the heavy pounding. She gets up from the couch and checks the peephole. “Shit!” “What?” I ask. “It’s Lorenzo,” she whisper-shouts.

“I know you’re in there, Lily, and yes, I can hear you,” Lorenzo says on the other side of the door. “He’s so annoying,” I say. “I heard that too.” His voice is muffled by the door between us. I roll my eyes. Willow snorts. “Open up,” he commands. “Say he needs to come back tomorrow,” I push. “We’re having a girls’ night.” “And I’m having an emergency,” he replies.

“With the amount of wine you drank, I’d feel responsible to stop you.” Willow opens the door with a laugh. “Lorenzo! Fancy seeing you here.” “Lily,” he says, his gaze instantly connecting with mine like we’re the only two people in the room. It does something funny to my stomach, and I welcome the warmth that comes with his attention, right until it turns to a boil when I remember I’m supposed to hate him right now. My common sense must have disappeared along with my inhibitions because I stupidly ask, “Are we back to pretending we know each other tonight?” Willow stares at me with wide eyes. “What?” “You’re drunk,” Lorenzo replies. “Not nearly enough to deal with you at this hour.” I hold my glass up higher. The wine sloshes around, sending a few droplets down the side of the glass. I’m quick to lick them up, all while locking eyes with Lorenzo. He holds my stare for a second before his hot gaze drops to my mouth, and I soak up his desire with a smirk.

“I’m taking you home.” Lorenzo reaches for the glass, but I pull back. “No. I’m not ready to go yet, but when I am—which I’m not—I’ll request a rideshare.” That sounded much clearer in my head than out loud. His laugh has an edge to it. “That could take at least an hour.” “Better than suffering through ten minutes in your company.”

“Remember that fake fiancée Lorenzo was looking for on the Eros app? You’re looking at her.” Willow’s eyes go wide with shock. Shit. Did I say that? One glance at Willow has me thinking, Oh God, you totally did. Lorenzo’s cold stare makes me shiver.

“You know what? I think Lorenzo’s right.” She turns to him. “You should take Lily home because she’s clearly had way too much to drink.” With a half smile, half flinch, she snatches the wineglass from my hand, passes me my purse, and pushes me outside before shutting the door behind me. Damn. The last person I want to drive me home is Lorenzo, but if it means fixing my slipup and saving Willow’s job, I’ll do it. Here’s to hoping I don’t break down crying in the process.

LORENZO

Lily, who seemed mighty confident only a minute ago when she brought up the Eros app, stares at the ground, looking unusually pale. The moonlight reflecting off her skin doesn’t help matters, nor does the beige running outfit she has on. The color doesn’t suit her, and neither does black or white, which she seems to prefer as of late. How is this the same woman who once told me her favorite neutral was pink? I can’t make sense of what happened to the confident person I’ve watched from a distance since I first laid eyes on her. What did she do with the pearl clips in her hair, or what made her no longer tuck flowers into her face-framing braids? And where did her range of pastel clothing go, or the collection of sneakers she wore with ribbons for shoelaces?