By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

Anger doesn’t even begin to explain the eruption within me when I stalk back into my hotel room with a tray in my hands.

“Fucking Grinch juice. Fucking Kingston Callahan,” I mutter darkly as vivid images of all the ways I could cause him pain for this emerge in my mind.

I dump the tray on the nightstand and glare at the green gloop as it sloshes from side to side.

Nothing about it is tempting. Not a fucking thing.

With a sigh, I snatch the bottle of water from the tray and twist the top.

The coolness might be refreshing as I swallow, but it has nothing on a nice strong cup of coffee.

“Asshole,” I mutter, going in search of my cell again.

I decide against replying to Lori’s messages. Way too much has happened—or not, I don’t know—to attempt to explain it over the phone.

I flop back in the bed, my stomach rolling horribly as I bounce before the line connects and starts ringing.

“Ah, here she is,” Lori sings happily.

“Why are you so cheerful?” I groan, wincing at the lightness in her voice.

“What isn’t there to be cheerful about? I had an epic night, as I’m assuming you did, and now I’m on the way to have a fucking awesome Saturday.”

“Hmm,” I hum in response to her assuming my night was awesome. “What are you doing today that’s so incredible?”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re funny, Tate.”

“Am I?”

I stretch my legs out and sigh as my muscles relax.

She laughs again.

“Room 1008, right?”

I squeeze my eyes closed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

But before she can answer, there’s a knock on the door.

My anger surges immediately and I jump up faster than my head can cope.

“Can I call you back?” I ask, hanging up before she gets a chance to respond.

Once I’m confident I’m not about to collapse, I grab the glass of green shit, ready to tip it over the motherfucker’s head the second I open the door.

My hand trembles with a mixture of anger and anticipation as I pull it open. I’m poised and ready to attack when I’m interrupted.

“What the fuck are you doing?” a very familiar, very female voice shrieks a beat before I tip the stuff over her head.

“Lori?” I ask, confusion fogging my brain.

“Yes. What the hell?” She snatches the glass from my hand and hesitantly sniffs it. “How is it possible that it smells worse than yesterday’s?” she mutters with her top lip peeled back in disgust.

“Why are you here?” I ask as she slips past me and into the hotel room.

Without saying a word, she takes the glass to the bathroom and tips it into the sink.

“That’s the only place that deserves to be. Why aren’t you ready?’ she asks, looking me up and down as I stand in only my Callahan Enterprise shirt.

“Ready for what?”

She shakes her head, smirking at me.

“Kingston called me earlier. Invited me to come and spend the day in the spa with you.”

“H-he what?” I balk.

“I know, right? I was surprised too. But he said⁠—”

I tune her out as I snatch my cell up and call his number, immediately putting it on speaker so Lori can hear.

“Kingston Callahan,” he answers like a douche. He knows it’s me. My name—or some version of it—just flashed up on his screen. Why be such a pretentious dick?

“What the hell are you playing at?” I snap.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, faking concern.

If he’s doing it for Lori’s benefit, he can cut the act. She isn’t going to be fooled by him, free day at his fancy spa or not.

“Wonderful, thank you. Why is my best friend standing in front of me ready for a spa day?” I demand.

“Because I’ve booked you both in for all the works. Thought you’d need the relaxation after last night.”

I roll my eyes at him and when I look up, I swear that Lori is swooning.

I frown at her.

She’s smarter than this.

“Why?”

“Why not? You’re there. The spa is there. Did you have any other plans for today?”

No. “Maybe.”

“Well, if you did, cancel them. I promise you’ll have a better day with what I have organized.”

“You wanna bet?” I mutter under my breath.

“Make the most of it. The salon is expecting you as well. You’ll be ready for next Friday’s gala.”

“Gala?” I parrot.

“Have you not looked at the diary I shared with you this morning?”

The red haze of anger begins to descend again.

“No, Kingston. I have not looked at your diary.”

“It’s not mine. It’s ours, baby.”

My teeth grind.

We have a joint diary. Of fucking course we do.

“What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not. I’m expected to attend, and in turn, so are you. It’s the perfect night to confirm what everyone will already know by then.”

My hand begins to tremble as I picture him making a spectacle of our relationship in the middle of some swanky gala with all of Chicago’s elite watching.

My stomach knots.

I might have grown up attending these kinds of events, but I have never, ever wanted to be front and center.

Before me, Lori lifts her left hand and wiggles her ring finger.

Oh my god, no.

“I’ll check my schedule.”

Kingston chuckles as if he knows more than I do.

To be fair, he probably does. Nothing about this situation has been a surprise to him.

For all I know, every single minute of my life from the second I signed that document yesterday has already been mapped out.

I’ve probably got a wedding dress waiting for me somewhere with my name on it.

“Spend the day with your friend, Tatum. Relax. The next few weeks and months are going to be hard. Take the time while you can.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

It’s the last thing I’d expect if my hazy memories of the night before are correct.

“Just enjoy yourself, yeah?”

I’m about to respond, but the line cuts dead.

“Please don’t tell me that you’re going to refuse all this?”

“Lori,” I warn, already picturing myself walking out of the room and then the hotel with my middle finger held up to the security camera so he can see it.

“What? He’s playing games.”

“So? We’ve got a spa all to ourselves. A salon. Take what you can get while it’s on offer. Make him hurt for playing games later.”

“To ourselves?” I ask, ignoring most of what she said.

“That’s what he said to me.”

“He can’t shut the entire spa on a Saturday so we can have it to ourselves. That’s insane.”

“He’s Kingston Callahan; he can do anything his heart desires. And right now, he wants to make you happy, so take it.”

There’s another knock on the door, but I’m too lost in all this to move, so Lori is the one who answers it.

“Thank you,” she says softly before returning with a massive black box with a silk gold ribbon tied around it.

I glare at it, wishing I could see what’s inside before pulling the lid off.

She sets it down on the bed and places her hands on her hips.

“Go on then. I’m dying here.”

“What did he say to you this morning?” I ask, studying her closely.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You’re very Team Kingston right now,” I accuse.

Her chin drops. “What? That’s insane. I’m Team Tatum, always. I just…I agree that you could use a day of relaxation. You’ve got the funeral next week. Now this gala. Him. It’s just what you need.”

Unable to argue with her reasoning, I reach for the box and pull the ribbon loose.

Inside, everything is covered in gold tissue paper.

I pull out the parcel and inside, I find a tiny gold swimsuit.

“Wow,” Lori breathes as I hold it up against my body.

“He has seen me before, right? I have boobs. Like…real boobs.”

She laughs.

“And…” I turn the bottoms around. “Where is the back of these?”

“I guess this explains why he shut the spa,” Lori muses. “What else is in there?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand.

“He won’t want anyone seeing you in that.”

“You will,” I point out.

“Babe, I’ve seen you in way less many, many times. I don’t think it’s me he’d be worried about.”

I shake my head and drop the offending swimsuit onto the bed before returning to the box.

“That’s it,” I say. “This massive box, for that.” I point at the scrap of fabric.

Lori shrugs.

“Put it on then. We’ve got nothing but pure relaxation waiting for us downstairs.”

I want to argue. To tell Kingston where to go and cut this stupid swimsuit up into tiny bits and mail it back to him. But then I see the excitement in my best friend’s eyes and I swallow it down.

I’m not the only one who needs this.

I’m not the only one with issues right now. She needs to take a step away from life and just be for a few hours. Maybe it’ll help her figure her shit out. It sure isn’t going to fix any of mine.

Muttering my unhappiness over this whole situation, I snatch the swimsuit from the bed and stomp through to the bathroom.

To my astonishment, when I inspect it closer, I find that it’s actually my size.

That bit of knowledge raises just one too many questions about how well my soon-to-be husband knows me.

Ignoring everything, I pull the fabric on, astounded to realize that for such a small thing, it holds the girls up pretty well.

But while I might be happy with that, the ass is an entirely different situation.

Twisting around in the mirror, I stare at my practically bare behind.

I’m fairly body confident. I mean, I’m no size zero. I have curves and some cellulite in all the normal places. I try and take care of myself and ensure that my curves are as toned as they can be. But standing in only this tiny swimsuit pushes me right to the edge of my comfort zone.

If I didn’t know that the spa was going to be empty, I’d be questioning my life right now.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Kingston Callahan,” I promise before re-twisting my hair up into a messy bun, splashing my face with water and pulling the door open.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Oh holy hell, Tate,” Lori says, her eyes widening as she takes in my outfit—or lack thereof.

“The fuck are you doing?” I shriek when she holds her cell up like she’s taking a photo. ‘No. Delete that right now.”

“Oh, whoops,” she says with what I’m sure she’s hoping is an innocent smile.

“What do you mean, ‘whoops?’”

Snatching her cell from her hand, I stare down at the screen to see a photo of myself in a message chat with… Kingston.

And he’s already read it.

“I hope you suffocate in the sauna,” I hiss, thrusting it back at her as the dots bounce with his reply.

I don’t want to know what he has to say to that.

I don’t.

I don’t.

I—

Lori’s smile grows.

Damn it.

“What did he say?”

She looks up at me and smirks.

“Maybe you should ask him.”

She makes a show of putting her cell to sleep and then sliding it into her purse.

“Grab a robe, Tate. The spa is calling,” she sings before walking toward the door.

Unable to do anything but follow orders, I pull the thick toweling of the Callahan-branded robe around myself, slip my feet into the slippers, and follow her, muttering, “There had better be coffee down there.”

Problem is…I already know there won’t be.

And I’m proved right when we emerge in the spa to find glasses of green juice waiting for us.

Wonderful. Just freaking wonderful.