billionaire arranged marriage romance novels

AURORA.

“You won’t have to see him again for the rest of your life, Bonita.” My Abuela’s words rang in my ear for the hundredth time. “You just have to marry him.”

If only it were that easy. I tapped my stiletto against the tiled floor, keeping my face downwards. The quicker we got this done, the quicker I could get on with my life. On a normal day, I would have run in the other direction. I mean, I still wanted to, but after my parents died a year ago, my Abuela thought starting a new life would be the best for me.

However, I did not see how marrying a man I didn’t know would help me achieve that.

I tried not to think about the fact that I was seconds away from signing my life over to some stranger I'd only just met today, and instead focused on the ridiculous amount of people going in and out of the marriage registration office at City Hall. For goodness’s sake, I was only twenty-five. Why was I making such a mistake? I swallowed again, my throat dryer than the freaking Sahara.

It’s not real, I told myself, it’s just a fake marriage—

“Mr. Quan? Miss García?” a voice called out and I raised my head to it. “We’re ready for you.”

Next to me, my husband-to-be stood. Thane Quan. I hadn’t even looked at his face. My Abuela had assured me that after today, I would never have to see him again so what was the point of looking at his face? It was all fine and good that he hadn’t uttered a word as well or I would never get the sound out of my head.

I stood as well, my eyes firmly on the ground, staring at his well-polished shoes. I vaguely remembered Abuela saying something about how rich he was. Seemed like she had been telling the truth. He didn’t look fat from the size of his torso, no pot belly either. His tan suit was pressed to perfection, his slim build impressively accentuated. Maybe he was an old man who kept fit.

Regardless, I didn’t care about his money.

I only wanted the Green Card.

Being an American citizen would be the end of all my problems. At least, according to my Abuela. She was still in our little town in Mexico. Though she didn’t know it yet, I was partly doing this because of her. Once I became an American citizen, I could bring her to live with me here as a dependent.

Quietly, we marched into the office. The entire ordeal was a blur actually and in a good twenty minutes, we were done.

I was officially Mrs. Quan.

Oh, God.

Shaking, I left the office, marriage certificate in hand, my cheeks hurting from how wide a smile I’d worn. I flexed my jaw, cursing. So, what now? Wham bam, thank you, ma'am? Did we just go our separate ways?

“Here, I want you to have this,” my newlywed husband said, stopping in his tracks. I knew he was facing me because his shoes were pointing in my direction. His voice sounded rough, like he didn’t talk much and was rusty from lack of practice. Definitely not the voice of an old man. But really, who knew?

I raised my head but only to look at his hand. He was holding out a card, a bank card. “What’s that?”

“My debit card,” he said, clearing his throat. “You can uh… in case you need… stuff.”

Absentmindedly, I reached out and took the card, fingering the plastic. He must be really arrogant about his wealth if he didn’t care that he was giving a stranger his bank card that I was sure had no limit. What if I really was a gold digger?

Come to think of it, I knew why I was doing this. But why was he?

I was about to ask when I glanced up to see that I was alone. He had left.