The Billionaire's Gemini Bride

GWEN

"Get your hands off me, you wanker!" I snap at the man dragging me down the bleach-scented hallway.

Still half-asleep, with exhaustion weighing on my shoulders, it dawns on me that I'm being arrested for jewelry theft.

But when did I even have the time or nerve to steal from the high-security jewelry store where I work?

"Oh yeah, who do you think you are?" He growls back, tightening his hold on my upper arm, no worse than the metal handcuffs on my wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

A high-pitched baby cry erupts. I look at the second male officer holding Mikey in his arms. He returns a stern look, as if daring me to speak.

In a matter of minutes, I'm sitting inside a cold interrogation room. My skin turns pale, while my chest pounds.

Was Mikey safe? Or were those idiot cops scrolling through their smartphones instead of watching him?

Finally, a tall man walks in, and I quickly stand.

"You have the wrong person!" I say desperately. "Can you at least let me call a lawyer or anyone?"

He points a finger back at the chair. "Please sit down."

I suck in a deep breath and sink back into the chair.

I stare at him as he flips through an official blue folder. Detectives weren't supposed to be this attractive. My eyes drop to his Rolex. I can't believe a New York detective could afford one like his.

"Now, let's get down to business, Miss Moscowitz?" He asks, raising a brow.

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's not my last name."

He smirks a bit. "Incredible. O'Brien then. We can settle this nice and easy if you tell me who you sold the Ciccotelli's Medallion to."

My mouth drops open. "I haven't stolen anything."

"That medallion is worth tens of millions in the black market," he informs. "So tell me how you could afford that penthouse in Manhattan?"

I quickly blink as I try to process the question. "I don't understand. Are you talking about my sister's penthouse?"

"Don't lie to me, Genevieve." He sneers as he leans forward. "You're not fooling me with your cheap acting skills. You have the choice to confess or spend the rest of your life in jail."

I search his face with confusion; a sudden chill runs through my skin.

Did he just call me Genevieve?

Now that I think about it, he looks sort of familiar; perhaps I'd seen him on a billboard ad in Times Square.

"What did you say your name was again, Detective?" I ask.

Suddenly, the angry police officer from earlier casually strolls into the room and sighs at the other man.

"Mr. Ciccotelli, I thought I told you to let me handle the interrogation," the police officer says. "You've just tampered with the entire investigation."

I widen my eyes at Ciccotelli. "Wait a second, you're the Thomas Ciccotelli?"

Thomas shoots me a look. "Still playing games, huh, Tanya?"

I look behind me, then back to Thomas. Why is he calling random names? "Do you have dementia or something?"

Thomas rolls his eyes and turns to the officer. "I don't care about what you do; just make sure she confesses to the crime so I can get that medallion back."

The officer presses his lips together and faces me.

"It's very vital you tell us where your sister is, Gwendolyn," he says.

I can feel my palms grow moist with sweat, and an empty hole bores deeper in my heart.

So, the police are actually after my sister.

Thomas raises a brow at him. "Her name's Genevieve."

"Apparently, we made a mistake. I just checked this lady's records with immigration and child protective services." The officer hands Thomas another folder, and he opens it and rubs his mouth before breaking into a laugh.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he barks. "Genevieve and Gwendolyn are identical twins?"

While Thomas is suspended in disbelief at the existence of twins, everything that has happened in the last few months comes back to me.

"She's missing," I reveal.

Both men stare at me.

"At the hospital, I just left to get some tea, but when I got back to Genevieve's room, she was gone," I whisper, as water uncontrollably fills my eyes. "She left her phone and Mikey behind. I-"

"Hold on a second," Thomas interrupts in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that all this time, you weren't pretending to be Genevieve?"

Thomas then swings his head at the startled cop in fury and slams the folder to the table. "You amateurs can't even do your job properly!"

"I told you to be patient."

"The hell I will; that medallion has been in the family for centuries. I've been waiting since October for this moment!"

Something clicks in my mind. If the theft happened around October, then Genevieve's sudden wealth and the penthouse all make sense now.

I can't believe it.

She stole the medallion.

My breath slows down upon realization.

"Oh my God, you're him!" I say. "Michael Angelo?"

Thomas eyes me. "What?"

"That's the baby's name." I gasp. "Obviously, Genevieve didn't mean to name him after the artist. It's because Mikey's father is Italian-American."

Thomas's face visibly creases. "What are you talking about?"

"You slept with Genevieve, didn't you?"

Thomas's shoulders shift uncomfortably as his eyes trail away. "I suppose, but it was all part of her grand scheme to steal from me with that fake name."

A snort breaks out of my lips. "You are the most selfish prick I've ever met. She tried to tell you about the pregnancy, but you turned her away. You abandoned your own child!"

His low, bitter chuckle takes me by surprise. "She told you... Or you were actually there?"

I swallow deeply, suddenly feeling foolish. Genevieve just showed me unread texts, and I never even tried to send one myself because I'd been upset.

"Now, why would I spend months searching for Genevieve if she claims I'm the father?" He inquires in a low tone. "You and your sister are the classic terror twins. You won't get a single cent out of me using this fake baby scam."

Leaping up from my chair, I struggle to wrap my hands around Thomas' neck, but the police officer quickly holds me back as I growl with rage, while Thomas backs into a wall.

* * * * * * * *

Around twenty minutes past eight, the police released me from custody. Just before I can threaten to sue the department for unfair breaking, they make it clear: I'm not to leave town until Genevieve is found.

Mikey is thankfully calm and fluttering his eyes to sleep. Unlike him, my body shivers with anxiety.

Suddenly, the loneliness of being in a new country wraps around me, with Genevieve gone and the baby being all that I have left. I wanted to pour my frustrations on someone, like Thomas Ciccotelli, for example.

Looking up, I catch Thomas, who's about to climb into the back of a black Mercedes.

"Oh no, you don't!" I call on him.

He looks at me, and I hurry to his side while breathing hard.

"Stay away from me," Thomas warns.

"Do you have any idea what you've just put me through?" I ask.

"Come on," he sighs dramatically as his eyes move up and down to my worn-out running shoes. "All you need is a hairbrush and a bottle of beer to cheer yourself up-"

"I am talking about your son, you buffoon," I hiss.

Thomas jerks back, his face twists in a wince at the sight of Mikey, like a vampire before the blazing sun.

Then Thomas simply shrugs off his embarrassing reaction with a quick smile and says, "Trust me, Red, this kid isn't mine."

"Hmm," I smile back. "Have you ever heard of a paternity test?"

TOM

"You abandoned your own child."

Those were five words I'd never hoped to hear in this lifetime. Only six years ago, I learned a painful truth about my fertility status.

While sitting inside my cool office, my secretary delivers an envelope to me, watching me curiously before I dismiss her.

For some reason, my fingers begin to shake nervously as I bring out a folded paper from the envelope.

I reach for my water bottle and drink, as I could barely understand the medical jargon, but a single word stands out.

Water burns the back of my throat; I begin to cough violently.

"What the hell?"

I dial the doctor's office; he answers on the second ring.

"Are you sure about this?" I demand.

"Yes, Mr. Ciccotelli," Dr. Meyers replies. "We're one hundred percent sure that the baby's DNA matches the father's."

"So..." I loosen my tie as the air around me suddenly grows thinner. "Hypothetically, what are the chances if the father were infertile?"

Silence, then a crackle.

"I'd say he's a lucky man because one in thirty-three men conceive naturally." Dr. Meyers says. "By the way, we'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone we conducted the test in secret-"

I slam the receiver down, cutting him off.

A rush of excitement swarms me, and a smile slits through my mouth before I catch myself.

I'm the luckiest guy in the world!

Then I slowly frown, remembering the stakes involved here.

"Damn it," I whisper to myself.

The dumbest thing I ever did was check into that hotel with Genevieve and believe she was on the pill.

I straightened my tie again.

I've always been a man of action, taking risks and keeping control; it's how I became CEO instead of my older brother Sebastian.

Gwen O'Brien wouldn't be a problem.

The next day, I sit in her apartment, and Gwen stares at me nervously while holding Michael in her arms.

Her twin kept her skin tan, with a nose ring, but Gwen was fair and looked prettier even without makeup.

Her lips part open, and something warm stirs inside me. God, the way she tried to attack me at the station was very sexy.

No, there was no way I actually liked Genevieve's sister.

"Why did you bring these guys along?" Gwen eyes the three men sitting on her couch. "Friends of yours?"

"My lawyers," I reply.

Gwen stares at me, twisting her body on the dining stool she sits on. "I don't understand. I thought you said the DNA was positive."

"I did, but I prefer to tie up loose ends before taking on a liability," I say, eyeing my son, raising a closed fist.

Gwen narrows her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Twelve million dollars."

"Okay?"

"That's all the money I'm offering for you to disappear from this city and go back to London. I'll handle the police situation."

As expected, Gwen's eyes widen comically, and her mouth drops open. Twelve million was barely a drop in the ocean from what I earn yearly.

She smiles, and somehow I feel a dread that she's going to take the money anyway.

"Crikey, that's enough for a three-bedroom house in Chelsea!" she explains, then presses her lips together. "I mean the city in England, not the one here in New York."

I forcefully roll my eyes. That's the thing with women; you offer them a tiny diamond, and they'll do anything.

Gwen wasn't any different.

How disappointing.

"Are you daft?" She asks.

I frown. "Huh?"

"Sorry, let me rephrase." She clears her throat. "Did your mom perhaps drop you on your head when you were a baby?"

I hear someone snort, and I glare at one of my lawyers, then back at her.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"Do you and your vultures think you can buy me off?"

I smirk. "Ah, I see. Twenty million."

"Can you shut up for ten dollars?" She glares at me. "You're not going to buy me off."

"Anyone can be bought off or bought over, Gwen," I remark, while taking in her messy living room. "Your sister had me with the baby. You must be quite exhausted from looking after him. When Mitchell comes home with me, he'll have a professional nanny."

Her jaw drops at my suggestion; I wonder if I've said something wrong.

"You can't trade a baby's life for money." She hisses.

I break into a dry laugh. "What about during surrogacy or adoption? There's always a fee involved to get a child. You're getting the higher bargain."

From the way she holds the baby's rattle firmly, I can tell I've struck a nerve, and I hope she's not going to throw it at me.

"Thomas, can your money buy you any dignity?" She asks. "Your son's name is Mikey, as in Michael. You didn't even care about him until I suggested a paternity test!"

I give her a puzzled look. "What kind of an idiot willingly accepts the baby of the woman who stole his family heirloom without confirming the DNA?"

"The same idiot who walks around with his family's heirloom in his wallet," she retorts.

The room grows quiet. One of my lawyers suggests we settle this mutually.

I glare at her. "You realize I could take you to court and get full custody, right?"

She places the baby into its crib, and thankfully, it doesn't cry; she picks up her telephone.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Oh, I wonder how the public will feel when they hear Thomas Ciccotelli, a proud billionaire tycoon from an alleged traditional family, suddenly had a son and was trying to bribe his aunt just to keep custody?"

Gwen muses with a devious smile as she pushes the dial button. "Oh man, the media is definitely going to bury you alive. Your stocks will go down, and I hope you have a retirement plan."

I barely have time to think when I hear a female voice on the other end say..."New York Post newsroom?"

I leap to my feet, and in two quick strides, I snatch the phone away from her.

"Are you out of your mind?" I ask angrily.

"Are you ready to listen to my terms?" she counters.

* * * * * * * *

"What do you mean you have a son?" Diana Ciccotelli asks me the next morning in her office, while staring at her tablet. "This headline says rumor has it that a powerful New York dynasty is hiding an illegitimate heir, and while the article doesn't say a name, they mention the father's Italian."

Crossing my arms across my chest, I reply, "Mom, I told you it's just a low-rate website."

"This is the New York Post; they don't publish anything if it's not true," Diana growls. "How could you hide this from your family?"

My voice rises in a deep echo. "Because I just found out?"

She stares at me long enough for me to pull my gaze away, and I drag my fingers through my thick hair.

"She wants me to find her sister."

Diana scoffs. "Oh, great, the thief and the mother of my grandson, God forbid."

"Mama, I don't know what to fucking do about this," I admit. "Okay, let's say I request full custody with the DNA report; it's going to go public and break into a scandal. Gwen has made it clear that money is out of the question; besides, I don't know how long it'll take to find Genevieve.

Diana shuts her eyes. "Let me think about this for a moment."

Two days later, Gwen and I meet again, this time at a restaurant for dinner while her friend is watching Michael.

"I don't want thirty million either, Tom," Gwen says to me.

A knot forms in my gut. "Yes, you're very noble, but have you considered the fact that Genevieve might be dead?"

Gwen pauses midway through taking a bite of her food. "No. If she were, I would probably feel it. Have you hired a private investigator?"

"Sweetheart, the PI says these types of cases could take months or years because she took a huge gamble on stealing a high-profile heirloom. She wanted to leave."

Gwen turns pale, and her eyes become glossy with tears that did not fall. "Then you better hurry it up."

I glare at her. "The press can be unforgiving. Did you at least think about your safety, or Michael's, in the biggest crime city in the country? He could get kidnapped, and I could end up paying double the money I offered."

When Gwen realizes that I'm not bluffing, she closes her eyes, and her skin turns sickly pale.

A thought sharpens in my mind as I feel elated at my triumph. A Ciccotelli never backs down without a fight.

"Until your sister is found, I want you to take her place," I offer evenly, "In exchange for security, I won't even charge your sister unless she returns the medallion. You, Gwendolyn O'Brien, will marry me."

GWEN

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" I whisper in shock while watching Tom go down on one knee.

As if it's not enough, my mouth waters at the sight of the fifty-five-carat diamond-cut ring Tom brings out of his pocket.

After years of selling these to excited men, I was finally on the other side.

Suddenly, a bunch of men and women aiming high-tech cameras swarm around us, taking photos, while my mouth remains open.

If I say no, I'm doomed anyway.

"Fine," I choke out.

Tom smiles at me, knowing he's won this round.

Surprisingly, as the news hit the websites, everyone wanted to know the mystery woman who finally tied down one of New York's most eligible bachelors.

I know I should have taken that money. I really miss sleeping nine hours a day and not daydreaming about a squealing baby at work.

But I can't give up on Genevieve and poor little Mikey.

Within days, I have my first meeting with my soon-to-be in-laws in their Hampton mansion.

I haven't been inside for five minutes when Diana, the matriarch, fires her first words aimed at me:

"If only you were fraternal twins."

The smile on my face instantly freezes, despite the heat rising in my chest.

"Shit," I mutter through my teeth. Tom didn't even bother to tell me his family knew I wasn't really Genevieve.

Tom's exact words about her were, "She demands everyone's respect, yet gives none in return."

I glance at Tom, who's in the middle of texting on his phone.

Diana gives me a stern look. "So, you want to destroy my family's reputation? Good effort, but it will be a complete waste of your time."

Mikey squirms in my arms, and she quickly reaches for him with a fond expression.

"Thank God that conniving woman gave him a Christian name. Is he baptized? Are you even Catholic?" Diana demands.

I cross my arms with disbelief. Who does she think she is? Ah, so this is where Tom's shallowness comes from.

"Yes," Tom says, finally speaking up to defend my honor. "They're Catholic."

"Hurray," I say without humor.

At this point, I know Diana and I will definitely not get along.

I meet with Sebastian and Laura, who both share their mother's distaste for me.

Later, Tom and Diana settled inside an office. My fingers nervously tap my thighs, and then I catch Tom watching me.

"What?" I ask.

He looks at his mother.

"The contract isn't complicated," Diana declares. "You and Tom will remain married for two years and get divorced afterwards. It doesn't matter if Genevieve returns or not."

Diana fans herself as she turns pale.

I know she hated saying every word. "Oh, dear, the church frowns at divorce." I sigh dramatically.

Underneath the desk, I feel Tom squeeze my hand lightly, but it doesn't deter the fire in Diana's hard gaze.

"How about we stay married for six months?" I suggest. "Celebrities stay even shorter than that."

"We're not those kinds of celebrities," Tom replies glumly.

I twirl a strand of my red hair with a finger playfully. "Really? I believe I saw you in a men's knickers ad last month."

He maintains a straight expression. "The contract has already been drawn, and we're not changing a sentence."

I glare at him. "So, you're already making my decisions for me, huh?"

"Don't act like you're getting the best bargain."

I wrinkle my nose and squint at him in disgust. "In what way?"

He leans back in his chair. "You go back to your boring life."

I open my mouth, and a soft gasp escapes, then I remember I'd prayed to be free from the life of changing diapers and singing lullabies.

Two points for Tom, I guess.

Inside my heels, my toes curl. No man has ever gotten on my nerves the way Tom did.

He was an arrogant and disrespectful bastard, yet I'm starting to see that, just like me, he was trapped in this situation too. Except for the fact that Tom thinks money is the key to everything.

"I don't have a good feeling about this contract," I say to him.

"Wonderful," Diana exclaims dryly.

"Okay, I'm sorry I didn't ask before," Tom replies. "But were you dating anyone or even planning?"

I pause for a second. "Well, there was..."

"I did have a girlfriend." He blurts. "Katie."

I roll my eyes, recalling the model he was usually spotted with on the streets. They didn't appear to be serious, considering he changed girlfriends like every other month.

"It was very difficult for me to end things with her for the baby," Tom admits, shifting uncomfortably as he continued. "Look, I'm not planning to cheat on you either, Gwen, and I don't expect you to do the same."

Somehow, I feel his tone implies he wouldn't want me ten feet near another man.

Did Tom really think he sounded like a protective alpha male while letting his mother run his life? The mommy's little boy energy from Tom and Diana was unbearable.

"Fine," I say tightly.

"Fine," he replies equally. "Because if you tell anyone outside this building about the contract, we're going to sue your ass."

* * * * * * * *

It takes ten days for Tom and me to pull off a shotgun wedding while excluding all extended family and friends at a courthouse.

"You may now kiss the bride," the judge instructs.

Hastily, I think of a way to evade, but Tom bends low, cups his face, and captures my mouth with his. His breath is minty.

A hot rush of excitement fills my body; it nearly knocks my breath away. Before I know it, I respond to his kiss.

Tom releases me, and from the strange look he gives me, I finally realize that I was the one who held on to that kiss.

Bollocks.

For the reception, we have dinner, and all they talk about is the furniture company.

I don't join in either; I feel a tremendous weight of tiredness.

After the dinner, I confront Tom on the balcony.

"So, when do we leave?" I ask.

"Leave?" He narrows his eyes. "I thought you didn't want a honeymoon."

A sharp pain pricks in my forehead. Maybe drinking three glasses of champagne had been a terrible idea.

"I don't. When do we move into your home or apartment?"

"Sorry, I'm not following."

"I have a lot of stuff back at my apartment, and I need to get started on the moving process before going back to work."

Tom's lips curl up. "So, move them here, Gwen. This is my house."

My vision blurs, and the entire balcony spins around me.

"But your mom...lives here."

"So?" Tom widens his eyes. "Oh hell, Gwen-"

The rest of whatever he says doesn't come to me, as I see the floor rising to hit my face, and then darkness sets in.

* * * * * * * *

My eyes fly open, and it takes a few seconds for me to realize I'm lying in a bedroom.

"Good morning, Mrs. Ciccotelli." Tom murmurs.

"Hrrnh?" I groan unintelligibly.

I sit upright the second I see Tom lying on a nearby couch, watching me with his arms folded, with a sleepy, amused look.

"You look like a ray of sunshine," he teases.

I squeeze my eyes shut as a headache flashes in my head. "Please... don't tell me that we..."

"Made love all night?" He asks. "No."

I push down the covers to see I'm wearing a blue bathrobe. "Did you really touch me?"

He barks a rich laugh. "Come on, Laura helped you change after you fainted from stress."

"You were supposed to catch me."

"Faint slower next time, and I will."

We look at each other. For two random married people, we were taking the whole thing quite well.

He moves to the bedside and hands me painkillers and the water bottle on the bedstand, which I quickly drink up.

Then I involuntarily cough out the water.

"Where's Mikey?" I ask frantically, searching the room.

"Relax, he's with the nanny," Tom says.

I sigh with relief.

"While you were drooling in your sleep," he says. "I was talking to a realtor."

"Oh, thank God, you're buying a house," I say.

He raises a brow. "Not exactly."

That evening, he drove us to an upscale building.

"Did you bring me in here to murder me?" I ask as I study the interior; there were so many shelves inside.

"No," Tom replies. "I was thinking you can show me your worth."

Tom quickly dodges a fist I aim at his face, staring at me as if I were the crazy one here.

"I thought I made myself clear to you that I'm not going to be a walking doormat," I hiss, while pointing at a huge tarp covering something big. "What is that?"

Tom moves past me, and in a neat move, he yanks the fabric away as the object comes into view. I wonder why, of all things holy in the world, it had to be this.