Fake Marry Mr. Rich Rich

Chapter 01

Ellie

I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock playing one of my favorite songs. Turning it off, I stand up to stretch and look at the calendar to check what day it is.

Oh, right.

Today marks the first death anniversary of my husband, Derrick. I still can’t believe it’s been three years. It seems like it only happened yesterday.

I miss him so much.

I start getting ready for work. When I finish, I go to each of my twins’ bedrooms to check on them and help them get ready. I go to my son, Rory’s room, and see him struggling to put on his shirt.

“Here, let me help you with that,” I say as I start walking toward him to help.

“Wait, Mommy! I can do this,” he informs me, his voice muffled by his shirt.

“You sure? Come on, let me —” I tell him, but he quickly cuts in. 

“I can do this, Mommy!” He successfully pokes his head through the neck hole of his shirt.  “See? I told you I can do it! I’m a big boy, Mommy,” he tells me proudly.

“Yes, you’re a big boy,” I reply with a smile.

“Yes, I’m five and five is a big boy,” he answers. “That’s what Daddy used to call me,” he adds.

I smile as I hug him. “Even when you get old, you’ll still be Mama’s little Rory.” I poke his nose. “Do you need help with anything else?” I ask.

“No, Mama. I’m Mama’s big Rory now!” he exclaims.

“Okay. I’ll go check on your sister,” I reply. “Make sure you’re by the door in ten minutes okay, big boy?” I add as I leave his room.

“Okay, Mommy!” he answers.

I head to my daughter’s bedroom next. Her name is Nadine, which means “hope”, but I call her Dini. I make it a point to check on her more frequently since my husband died. She’s always been a Daddy’s Girl and Derrick’s death has been particularly hard on her.

  I enter her room and see her standing by her dressing table while she plays with a little trumpet figurine Derrick gave her as a gift on her third birthday... Her last birthday with Derrick. 

“Hey, sweetie. It looks like your hair’s still messy,” I tell her. “Forgot how to tie your hair again?” I ask.

“No, Mommy,” she answers.

“Okay, let me help you,” I say as I start fixing her hair.

“I miss Daddy,” she says tearfully.

“I know. I miss him, too, sweetie,” I reply.

“Mommy, what was he like?” she asks me. “You always tell us we’re too young to remember him.”

“Yes, you were. You and Rory were just three years old when your Daddy died,” I remind her.

“So, what was he like, Mommy?” she asks me again.

“Well, he’s German. He loved jazz... we both do. That’s how your Daddy and I met and —” I tell her, and she butts in quickly. 

“And that’s also how you and Daddy made me and Rory?” she blurts.

“What in the name? Dini!” I exclaim as she looks at me and laughs. “Sweetie, you’re five years old! Where did you hear that?”

“Mommy, a Mommy and Daddy make babies! I know that!” she explains. “I’m a big girl now!”

“Yes, you are a big girl,” I assure her. I’m relieved that’s all she knows. She may be precocious but she’s still only five.

“Okay, sweetie. It’s time to go. Your brother’s waiting,” I tell her as we both leave the room.

Nadine and I walk to the front door where Rory’s waiting. 

Rory opens the door and they both step outside, standing beside the car as I grab my keys. I lock up the house and open the door for them, hopping inside the pick-up truck Derrick used to drive and which I inherited after his death. A few minutes later, we’re finally on the road.

I insert a jazz CD as we go on our way. We always listen to jazz during drives. Both twins are happily listening to the music from the backseat.

On the road, I notice through the rearview mirror that Rory’s asthma is flaring up again. I reach over the glove compartment to pull out his inhaler, asking Dini to give it to her brother. She then hands it to him, and Rory finally sprays it into his mouth. A couple of puffs somewhat makes him better.

“Mommy, I think my inhaler is almost out,” Rory tells me.

“Okay, thanks, honey. I’ll go to the drugstore right after I drop the two of you off to buy you a new one,” I say to him.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at the daycare. My twins hop off the car as they wave goodbye to me before the daycare assistants take them inside. I drive away and head to the drugstore to get the medicine for my son’s asthma.

I ask the pharmacist for the inhaler, showing her the prescription from the pediatrician. She then shows me the price and I’m surprised it’s gotten much higher than what I usually pay for.

“I’m sorry, you must have gotten the wrong brand,” I inform the pharmacist.

“No, ma’am. I got the right one. Here, take a look,” she tells me, pointing out the brand name. It’s correct.

“Well, I guess you’re right. They raised prices again?” I ask.

“I’m sorry but I can’t answer that question, ma’am. I’m new here and I just got this job yesterday,” she says.

I hesitate to purchase the inhaler because the price is out of my budget. The rent for the music store is due today, but, at the same time, my son needs his medicine. Oh well, I guess the rent can wait.

I decide to pay for the inhaler. Health first, of course. After paying, I return to my truck and head on to the store.

I play jazz to calm myself. The breeze coming in from the window calms me down even more. This little town has always soothed my nerves. It’s where Derrick and I met and decided to put down roots. It’s where my children now call home. 

I arrive at the store fifteen minutes later. 

I turn on the lights as soon as I enter and tidy everything up before switching the sign to ‘open’ and playing some jazz music for ambience.

Ahh. Yes. Good ol’ jazz music for a good ol’ music store.

I stop for a moment as I’m assailed by memories of Derrick. We had fun even when there were no customers coming, listening to lots of jazz music together. He would even play his trumpet while I sing along to the songs as well.

I sigh and close my eyes, remembering all the nights Derrick and I worked at jazz clubs together. We met in one of them, in fact. I moonlighted as a singer at night and I also gave piano lessons during the day. Derrick was a member of a touring jazz band and he saw me singing one night at one of the clubs.

He quit the band and chose to stay with me, so after we got married, we decided to open our own music store. He and the twins are all I’ve got for the last five years. My parents were immigrants from St. Thomas and they always encouraged me to make a name for myself. It’s why I work so hard, booking singing gigs and teaching music. 

For the last two years, since Derrick died, all I have are my lovely twins and this music store with the rent due today and my wallet not having enough money. 

I can’t afford to lose the store. Derrick and I worked so hard to save the money for the deposit, scraping together everything we earned to have something of our own. 

I sigh deeply and open my eyes to see a man coming in. I quickly stand behind the counter.

“Good day! Welcome to Music and More. How can —” I start, but I stop when I recognize the man’s face. Oh, great. It’s Chris Watson.

“Hey there, Ellie Parker,” he greets.

“Hi, Chris,” I answer monotonously.

“I believe your rent is due today,” he tells me.

“Look, I actually had the money, but something came up,” I sigh. “My son’s asthma kicked in, so I spent some of it for his medicine. I’ll pay you next week, I promise,” I explain.

“Sorry to hear that, Ellie. Really. But I’m under orders to inform you, if you miss one more rent payment, you’ll lose the store,” he tells me reluctantly. “The company can’t keep delaying your rent, I have my own boss and he has his own bills to pay.”

I sigh deeply. To be honest, I don’t know what to do nor where to get the rest of the rent money. Everything was so much easier with Derrick by my side. I wish more than ever he was still here.

Oh, God, please help me.