Becoming Mrs. Lockwood Read online

  Becoming Mrs. Lockwood

  Copyright © K.I. Lynn

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

  Cover image licensed by istockphoto.com/ © Lorado

  Cover design by L.J. Anderson/ Mayhem Cover Creations

  Editor

  Manda Lee

  Vanessa Bridges

  Marti Lynch

  Publication Date: January 30, 2017

  Genre: FICTION/Romance/Contemporary

  ISBN-13: 978-0997514049

  ISBN-10: 0997514043

  Copyright © 2017 K.I. Lynn

  All rights reserved

  Acknowledgements

  First, thank you to anyone who is reading this. It means so much to me.

  Deb, you were such a huge pillar, my support and guide on this journey. I can’t thank you enough for all you have done.

  Massy, you’re my girl. My wifey and BFF. You’ve been with me from the beginning of my journey, from the very first story. I love you!

  Kaylee for being by my side and giving me the strength to publish this.

  Raeshelle, you helped to calm me in a time of chaos and I can’t thank you enough for your insight.

  Manda . . . you rock.

  To my hubby, thanks for not getting pissy when I had a lot of work to do over the holidays and for always being by my side. You’re why I can do what I love, so even though you’ll never read this, know how much I appreciate it.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One – Our Chance Encounter

  Chapter Two – Our First Outing

  Chapter Three – Our First Date

  Chapter Four – Our Mess

  Chapter Five – Our Predicament

  Chapter Six – Our Trip Home

  Chapter Seven – Our Home

  Chapter Eight – Our First Night

  Chapter Nine – Our Name

  Chapter Ten – Our Family

  Chapter Eleven – Our Desire

  Chapter Twelve – Our First Argument

  Chapter Thirteen – Our Full Garage

  Chapter Fourteen – My First Day

  Chapter Fifteen – Our Binding Reunion

  Chapter Sixteen – My Confidant

  Chapter Seventeen – Our Cheesy Quotes

  Chapter Eighteen – His Life

  Chapter Nineteen – Our Family Expanded

  Chapter Twenty – My Confessions

  Chapter Twenty-One – Our Awkward Thanksgiving

  Chapter Twenty-Two – Our Lance and the Diva

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Our Cracks

  Chapter Twenty-Four – Our Downfall

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Our End?

  Chapter Twenty-Six – His Loneliness – Weston

  Chapter Twenty-Seven – Our First Christmas

  Chapter Twenty-Eight – Our New Beginning

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – Our Betrayer

  Chapter Thirty – Our Vindication

  Chapter Thirty-One – His Parents

  Chapter Thirty-Two – Our Countdown

  Chapter Thirty-Three – Our D-Day

  Chapter Thirty-Four – Our Fallout

  Chapter Thirty-Five – Our Vacation

  Chapter Thirty-Six – My Composition

  Chapter Thirty-Seven – Our Happiness

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Works by K.I. Lynn

  For my fall break I wanted to go see the Grand Canyon. I wanted to take a helicopter ride to see it from above or a mule ride inside. Instead, my mom convinced me to go to Las Vegas.

  She went on and on about all the sights we’d see and the shows we’d go to.

  Tourist stuff.

  Maybe even drive out to see the Hoover Dam.

  We were going to make our way down the strip one casino at a time, starting at Mandalay Bay, and I was excited to see all the lights. After two days, we had yet to make it out of the Mirage’s front door.

  Secret Garden? Done by myself. The pool was boring after a few hours of reading and tanning alone.

  It’d been “five more minutes” for the last two hours, and I was beyond aggravated.

  Bored out of my freaking mind.

  It wasn’t the great girls’ getaway I thought it would be. It would’ve been better if my stepdad, Mike, was in my place, and I had just stayed home. Instead, I was being used as an excuse to get drunk and gamble.

  Yay.

  Vegas was not for the under twenty-one crowd, at least by myself, and at eighteen, I was a few years shy of being able to do all of the stuff I had little to no interest in doing anyway.

  I wanted to visit the aquarium in Mandalay Bay, the wax museum, ride the coaster at New York New York, see the fountains at the Bellagio, and go see a Cirque du Soleil show.

  I was really wishing my best friend had been able to come.

  Closing out of my Kindle app, I decided to head over to Starbucks for a pick-me-up and a chance to stretch. Checking my phone, I found a new text message. Five more minutes, she said. More like five more hours.

  I was stuck in limbo. I should have just abandoned her and gone out on my own, but we were there together, so I resigned myself to wait.

  Grabbing a coffee, I found a comfy chair and opened my phone back up to my book.

  “You have me curious,” a voice said as I moved to put my earbuds back in.

  I blinked and looked up at a man sitting across from me, his blue eyes locked on mine. He had a coffee cup in one hand, his phone in the other. He was handsome. Very handsome. Medium length brown hair, striking blue eyes, and a strong jaw. A slim and fit physique was noticeable under his crisp suit.

  And he was talking to me.

  “What’s so curious about me?”

  Normally, I didn’t stick out in a crowd.

  Overall, I was pretty average—at least in a class of over a thousand. I didn’t go out of my way, spending an hour to get ready with full hair and makeup in the morning, all in an attempt to look older. I liked sleep.

  I didn’t have the time, nor did I care that much about that stuff. My black hair was long with a slight wave, and the same colored eyelashes framing my sea blue eyes. Ninety percent of the time, I was a jeans and T-shirt girl, or shorts and a tank top. Plain vanilla with no flashy decorations.

  “Why that”—he pointed to my phone—“has so much more of your attention than everything out there.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

  He seemed to think that I was an exception, because I was sitting in a gigantic hotel lobby and I was the only person reading a book instead of gambling in the huge attached casino.

  I glanced back down to my book, and the play button my thumb was hovering over and shrugged my shoulders. “Reading and music are good ways to pass the time.”

  His fingers stopped typing, and he quirked his brow at me. “You’re in Vegas to pass the time?”

  “My mom’s in the casino.”

  “Ah, not a gambler?”

  I shook my head. “No, for a few reasons.”

  “Well, I’m curious again,” he said with a smile, and leaned forward.

  “I don’t see you in the casino.” I tried to deflect because it was nice to talk with someone, but I knew when my age came out, he would be long
gone.

  He smirked, and I wondered if he knew how good he looked when he did that. “I play a little, but I’d rather put my money toward a bigger gamble. So, why aren’t you in there or out and about like everyone else? Why here?”

  I sighed. “Various reasons, including lack of funds and . . . I’m not allowed.”

  “They kicked you out? Are you the counting cards type?” He narrowed his gaze on me, but he was still smiling.

  “Do I scream MIT?” I shot back, and attempted not to fawn over his sexy smile. How did one smile sexy? I had no idea, but the man in front of me was a sexy smile master.

  He laughed. “No, but I’d put you at above average.”

  “Now, I don’t know how to take that. Either you’re insulting my intelligence when you find out I actually do go to MIT.” I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Or I’m flattered that I don’t come off as average.”

  He held his hands up: coffee, phone, and all. “I believe I need to apologize. I didn’t mean to insinuate you had below-average intelligence . . . as smarter than average is below for MIT standards.”

  “Well, you’re off the hook. MIT didn’t want me,” I said and leaned back into the chair. Even if I’d applied, chances were high that I wouldn’t get in. Good grades, but not good enough for them.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Okay. Harvard? You seem Ivy League.”

  “Too pretentious.”

  “All right, so where do you go?”

  I grimaced. “Umm, I go to Zionsville High School just outside of Indianapolis. Next fall I’ll go to USC.”

  He stared at me, stunned. “Wow, I honestly thought you were in college . . . Over eighteen.”

  “Eighteen exactly,” I said, for some reason, wanting him to know I was of legal age. Who was I kidding? I was still in high school, a virgin, and in Vegas with my mom, while he looked like he had expensive taste, was very intelligent, and was obviously placating me.

  “USC’s a good school. I live not too far from the campus. It’s expensive,” he said with a nod.

  “Yeah, I think my mom is trying to win my tuition, but knowing her luck, I’ll still be paying off student loans when I’m dead.”

  He nodded, his fingers tapping on the side of his cup. “Yeah, loans are brutal,” he replied, before moving to stand. “Well, I need to get to a meeting.”

  My stomach dropped, and I attempted to smile up at him. “Yep, I knew I lost you. Even though I’m only eighteen, we can still talk, you know?” And I can stare at you a little bit longer.

  His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head as he smiled. “You didn’t scare me away, but I have an eleven o’clock meeting to get to. Promise,” he assured me.

  “Oh.” I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

  “I forgot the introductions. My name is Weston,” he said, stuffing his phone in his pocket before holding out his hand.

  “Wren.”

  There was a humming that moved up my arm when I took his hand, a vibration I felt down to my bones. Odd, but I chalked it up to nerves.

  “Good luck, Wren.” He smiled and placed a light kiss on the back of my hand.

  Heat flooded my face at the romantic gesture. I didn’t know guys still did that. “You too, Weston. Have a fun meeting.”

  Laughing, he released my hand. “Oh, these meetings are never fun. Merely a necessity.”

  With a wink, he left and I returned to my book and tried to forget about the good-looking man who I would probably never see again. Which sucked, because I think we could have talked for hours. He could have saved me from my torment.

  “Wren! There you are!” Mom’s voice called from the Starbucks entrance a few minutes later.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said as I watched her walk over with a glass in her hand.

  Her eyes, the same color as mine, were bright and wide. At only thirty-seven years old, she looked more like twenty-eight with barely a wrinkle on her face. Her long brown hair was up in a ponytail, and she was wearing my hoodie.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She help up a small stack of bills and I understood what her excitement was about. “Are you ready for some lunch?”

  I wanted to roll my eyes. I was ready to do anything that involved leaving the hotel.

  “How much did you win?” I asked as she set the stack in my hand.

  Her smile grew as she held her arms out wide. “Enough to have lunch wherever you want to go.”

  “Nice. Can we do some sightseeing after?” I asked, practically begging. I hoped her doing well in the casino could get her out of it for a little while.

  “Sounds like a good idea. What do you want to see?”

  We talked about how to spend our afternoon, but I knew no matter what we saw, the only thing I would remember from the day was Weston.

  It was the same as the day before—rinse and then repeat. It wasn’t even ten and Mom was already in the casino, while I was in the lobby reading. We only had one more night left before heading home, and there was still so much I wanted to see.

  Sadly, it looked like I would be going home unfulfilled. It was a complete waste of a trip for me.

  “Did she leave you alone again?” a familiar, smooth voice called, coaxing me to look up from my book.

  I quirked my brow. “That obvious?”

  My jaw wanted to drop at that sight of him, but that would be too conspicuous. If I thought he looked good in the suit from the day before, it was nothing compared to how sexy he was standing in from of me in the low-rise jeans and fitted button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that he was sporting.

  What God did I need to thank for seeing him again?

  “Fairly.” He chuckled and took the seat next to me.

  “Dang, and here I was trying to look all important and above it all, instead of the lonely girl waiting to be rescued from her boredom,” I said and let out a high-pitched sigh for emphasis.

  It got him to smile and let out a little laugh, so I found my attempt at humor successful.

  “Did you get to see all the sights you wanted to see yesterday?”

  “A few,” I said with a real sigh this time. “But everywhere we went, she spent time in the casino. Overall, we didn’t see nearly as much as I’d hoped.”

  “Is she spending all day in the casino again?” He looked toward the entrance.

  “Possibly.” My gaze also moved toward the entrance. There was no sign of her.

  “Could you leave her behind?” he asked, turning his attention back to me.

  I shrugged. “I don’t think she’d notice either way.” Where is he going with that?

  “Then why not go out with me?”

  I stared at him in shock. So much so, it took my brain a second to light up and compute his questions. “W-what?”

  He turned to face me and began his explanation. “You want to see the sights, and I want to see the sights. I’ve spent the last three days in meetings, and I only get one day off. I want to go out, but it’s boring on my own.”

  “You could be a serial killer.” I narrowed my gaze on him in a teasing fashion.

  He pursed his lips. “This is true. I suppose you wouldn’t go traipsing about with a strange serial killer. No, that just won’t do.”

  Turning off my screen, I stuffed my phone back in my purse and stood up. “So, where are we going first before you kill me?”

  He smirked and let out a laugh. “Well, we could start across the street and work our way down the strip.”

  “The wax museum?” I asked, my lips curling up into a smile and my widening eyes giving away my excitement. It was near the top of my list, I’d always been curious how the celebrities looked in person.

  “Perfect.”

  “You won’t turn me into a wax doll or anything, will you?” I joked as we headed out of Starbucks and toward the casino front door.

  He laughed. “No. You’re much better looking when you move than when you’re standing still.”

  “But if I was still, you could do all
sorts of sordid things to me,” I said. Did I just flirt? I think I did.

  He stopped, and I turned to look at him. He was smirking and I swallowed hard, my body heating up. What was I doing going around Vegas with a guy that attractive?

  “I’m fairly confident I wouldn’t need to dip you in wax to accomplish that.”

  “So sure of yourself?” I tried to sound confident, but my voice wavered. Yeah, I’d probably let him do anything to me. Virgin or not. What I lacked in experience, he was helping me make up in desire.

  “Yes. Now, I want to check out some creepy, realistic looking bits of wax.” He slid his fingers around my hand and pulled us out the door and across the street.

  I was going to have some stories to tell my best friend when I got home.

  Weston paid for the tickets, and while he was doing that I sent a text to my mom, which included an on-the-sly picture of Weston.

  Met a tourist buddy and we’re checking out the museum across the street.

  It took less time to peel her vision away from the spinning wheels than I thought.

  Have fun! Don’t get in too much trouble. Keep me updated. xo

  I think she was happy not to have to entertain me, and was all for it, even though I’d told her I was going out with a stranger. At least I sent her a photo in case I went missing. My mom wasn’t irresponsible or anything, otherwise I wouldn’t have made it as long as I had, but she did have an open mind. Plus, she knew I was smart, and at the first sign of trouble she knew my ass would be running and screaming bloody murder.

  “Ready?” he asked, his hand outstretched.

  The sight of him like that basically told me that I had nothing to worry about. He looked excited, happy to have an adventurer at his side as excited to see the sights as he was.

  The wax museum was a trip. We moved through each room, looking at some of the biggest stars in my lifetime and before. Weston kept saying how so-and-so didn’t really look that good without her makeup, or how another actress we’d stopped to admire was a bitch, or how an actor that I ogled was a poser. He seemed to speak from experience, though, not as a hater.

  “Where do you get all this knowledge? Or are you just spiteful?”

  His head tipped back in laughter. “It’s experience. I live in L.A. and I’ve met a lot of them.”