Making It Legal: A Gay Romance

By Luke Jameson and Ian O. Lewis

If you marry me, you’ll never worry about money again.”

Diesel has a problem. He’s been a highly paid escort for years, but he’s nearing his fortieth birthday. In the world of prostitution, that’s when you hang up your jockstrap and find a real job. Unfortunately for him, he has no other skills to fall back on, and he’s spent most of his earnings living beyond his means. He wants to go legit, but when a wealthy man from Brazil makes him the offer of a lifetime, he decides to turn one last trick.
Santiago Bolsonaro moves to the United States in order to escape his arch-conservative political family in Brazil. The first few months are a dream come true, and when his visa is about to expire, he decides to do something extreme in order to stay in the states. He hires an attractive escort to marry him, so he can get his green card. At first it is a simple legal arrangement. But, like most business deals, it becomes complicated. Like, really, really complicated. 

Making It Legal is the story of a disgraced child of political royalty and the escort he falls in love with. It is a trope paradise, including a marriage of convenience, political scandal, and a forbidden love. It is part of the Making It series and can be read as a standalone novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cruz Publishing
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222088457

Book preview

prologue

Santiago And The Ambassador

"Which embassy did you want me to drop you off at again?" 

Brazil. You can’t miss it. It’s the ugly modern building at the end of Embassy Row covered in dark glass. I said, then muttered, I hate my fucking life.

The driver glanced back at me in the rear-view mirror with a gray eyebrow raised. A moment later he turned into the parking lot to let me out. I handed the old man a fifty-dollar bill. Keep the change.

Gracias, Señor. The driver grinned.

Wrong language, dude. I rolled my eyes then hopped out of the cab. Almost everyone I met thought Brazilians spoke Spanish, when we actually spoke Portuguese. At that moment my phone buzzed, so I pulled it out of my pocket and saw a message from my uncle’s secretary.

The Ambassador is running five minutes behind. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Fuck me. I muttered, then stared up to the top floor where my uncle’s office was located. I’d been summoned against my will, and all I wanted to do was get this meeting over with. Reluctantly, I trudged up the marble steps and a guard greeted me.

Senhor Bolsonaro. The man saluted, then opened the door and ushered me inside. He led me to the elevator, pushed the up button, and got inside the elevator with me. Apparently, I wasn’t being trusted to go anywhere in the embassy by myself. We rode up to the fourth floor in silence, and when the doors slid open, he gestured for me to exit first, then he escorted me to my uncle’s office.

Senhor Bolsonaro, it’s a pleasure to see you again. My uncle’s secretary murmured. The Ambassador will be right with you. Would you care for some coffee?

No. I snapped, and was about to bitch about this intrusion on my personal life when the door to Uncle Alfonso’s office opened. My uncle stood there a moment, staring at me, then with a weary sigh he gestured for me to enter his domain. When I brushed past him, he patted me on the back. I flinched.

Santiago, I’m not your enemy. He muttered, then shut the door. Without waiting for permission I sat on the blue velvet antique couch in front of his enormous wooden desk. A huge portrait of my father, the President, hung on the wall behind it. I immediately felt his coal-black eyes on me, and shuddered.

I wish you could cover that up. I muttered, pointing at the portrait. Uncle Alfonso sighed, then sat across from me. He slid a piece of paper across the desk and placed his index finger over his lips.

I picked it up and scanned it.

The walls have ears. Agree to everything I say, then I’m taking you to lunch where we can speak freely.

Of course, my uncle took me to Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian steakhouse. I was vegetarian, from a country filled with cattle ranches, and over the years had grown accustomed to subsisting on puny salads while my dinner companions filled up on meat. Just once, I’d love it if we could go someplace where I could get a decent meal too.

The hostess led us to a private room, where a waiter took our order then left. The walls were covered in a thick dark wood that reflected my mood.

Santiago, I’ve never told you this, but you are my favorite nephew, almost like a son to me. We have more in common than you think. Uncle Alfonso lifted his glass of merlot toward me, then grimaced. I don’t like having to do my older brother’s dirty work.

What’s the big deal? Can’t you work something out with the US government? I mean, if I stay in the states, everybody back home will forget about me. I shuddered, remembering what my uncle had officially told me at the embassy.

I had to move back to Brasilia, the capital, and marry a woman my father had chosen for me.

I wish it were that simple. My uncle placed the black cloth napkin in his lap and took another sip of his wine. You were sent away in disgrace, and now your father thinks you are enjoying yourself too much here. He says he has big plans for you, and even mentioned a Senate seat.

But…

Shut up, and listen. Uncle Alfonso shook his finger at me. I get it, I really get it. I’m going to share something with you, and if it ever gets out I will forget my love for you and deal with you accordingly.

Jesus, why are…

I’m gay.

My hand jerked, spilling my water glass in my lap. Shit. I hissed, then mopped up my lap with a napkin. What the hell? What about Aunt Fernanda, and my cousins?

Your grandfather was a powerful Senator before he passed away. He made it perfectly clear that in order for me to succeed in politics, I’d have to take a wife. So, I allowed him to arrange a marriage between me and Fernanda. We had our two children, and now we live happy lives apart. My uncle leaned back in his chair, a grim smile stretching across his face. Fernanda’s assistant, Maria, is much more than her assistant, if you get my drift.

My mouth dropped open.

It hasn’t been so bad. My uncle grinned. She goes her way, and I go mine. Whenever we have a big function in DC, she flies in, acts like the dutiful wife, and then goes back to her real life. She makes me look respectable, and I do the same for her.

But you are a respected man, and being gay shouldn’t have any bearing on that. Are you even remotely happy living such a massive lie? 

Child, my work means everything to me. He said, then began to speak again but the door flew open and two waiters came in, delivering our food. 

Usually my gaydar was spot on, but somehow my aunt and uncle had both evaded it. When the door shut behind the waiters, Uncle Alfonso resumed speaking.

Unfortunately, you got caught red-handed. Jesus, Santiago, why the hell did you have to fuck one of the presidential guards? Uncle Alfonso glared at me, then he shook his head and chuckled. I would’ve been tempted by that man too. The thing is, you got caught, and not just by your father, but by a reporter.

I felt myself blushing at the memory. It had been quite the scandal, but only for a minute. Within a week of the incident I’d been sent to the states in disgrace. At first I’d been angry, and bitter. But after a few months I’d grown to love my freedom here. Outside of the embassy, nobody knew me in Washington. For the first time in my life I felt free, and the thought of going back to my country where I’d have to live a lie repelled me.

I'm not going back to Brazil. I stabbed a cherry tomato with my fork. Maybe you can pretend to be something you aren’t but I’m…

If you don’t, your parents are cutting you off. Uncle Alfonso stated, then poured himself another glass of wine. And anyhow, what’s the big deal? He shrugged. The woman you marry will know the truth. She’ll give you a child or two, respectability, and soon everybody back home will forget seeing those naked pictures of you online. The two of you can have your own, discreet lives apart from one another. Santiago, you don’t even have to consummate the marriage. There are excellent doctors here in the states who can take care of the pregnancy for you. That’s how your aunt and I did it.

Oh my God. My fork clattered onto the small salad bowl. 

I’d never dreamt of having kids before, and now my family was arranging this whole thing like it was no big deal. I couldn’t even imagine how my cousins felt about their parents, living two separate lives, both based on lies. 

Uncle Alfonso reached across the table and patted my hand.

You are almost forty years old, and have lived the life of a playboy, spoiled rotten. Now it’s time to do right by your country, and your family. Just imagine how proud your parents will be when you are sworn in as a Senator, or you could do as I did, and become an ambassador. If you think…

As my uncle droned on about doing the so-called right thing, my brain went into overdrive, trying to figure out an escape plan. 

Wait, wait, wait. I held my hand up. What about my trust fund? The one grandfather left me. Papa can’t touch that.

Uncle Alfonso sighed, then steepled his hands under his chin. He shut his eyes, and spoke. I knew you’d never accept it. I told your father you would never make the sacrifices I made. His dark brown eyes popped open. Let’s figure this out together, Santiago. But you must…

Oh God, thank you.

Don’t thank me yet, son. Your visa is expiring in less than six months, and your father will pressure the state department not to renew it. He wants you back home, where he can control you, the way he controls me. My uncle pushed his plate to the side, having barely touched the food. I’m an old man, and I had no options when I was your age except to do as I was told. Times have changed, for the better I hope.

Yes. I breathed. I don’t want to go back to Brazil. This is my home now.

Uncle Alfonso leaned across the table and whispered, You must get married to someone here, and then you can be divorced after a suitable length of time has passed. I know several eligible ladies who…

Hell no. I’m not marrying a woman.

one

Diesel Races From The Knife

"Now remember, you must keep your head elevated for the next forty-eight hours. The nurse said to the woman limping out of the plastic surgeon’s office. We recommend sitting up in a recliner for the duration, or at the very least use two fluffy pillows so your head is elevated. Also, keep the skin greased up with petroleum jelly, and don’t forget to wear sunscreen!"

The woman’s face was covered in gauze, and I noticed little pink spots where blood was seeping through the bandages. There was no way she was showing her face to the world for a long time.

Laser resurfacing. A man murmured as he sat next to me in the waiting room. I can almost guarantee that’s what she had done. He inclined his head toward the lady who was now being led out of the office by a woman in a black and white maid’s uniform. How have you been, Diesel?

I turned and looked at him. He had bleached blond hair and was dressed head to toe in Armani, from last year’s collection. The voice sounded familiar, but his face was unrecognizable. 

Don’t remember me, huh? The man smiled, and I noticed his forehead hadn’t moved. He also had very full cheeks, like a chipmunk, and his skin was super tight. It’s me, Blaze.

I stared at him for a moment longer, then felt my cheeks burning. He looked nothing like the man who’d first introduced me to the world of hustling. Wow, it’s been a long time. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other. Richmond’s a small place and…

That’s because I live in Norfolk. If you want to keep it a secret, you know, about getting procedures, it’s best to do them out of town. Blaze crossed his legs and grinned. I know a skilled surgeon a few blocks from where I live. If you want, I can give you his number.

Oh, thanks. I mumbled, and realized Blaze had to be approaching fifty years old by now. In the world of escorts, that was close to a hundred. But, damn, he didn’t look a day over