Chapter 1 - 1
The billionaire grabbed my hand before I even knew his name.
One second, I was standing beside the dessert table on the most expensive cruise ship I had ever seen, balancing three miniature cheesecakes on a plate and wondering whether taking a fourth would officially qualify as theft.
The next, a tall man in a black tuxedo stepped directly into my path.
He took the plate from my hand.
Set it down.
Then wrapped his fingers around mine.
“Smile,” he murmured.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Please smile.”
“Why?”
His dark blue eyes shifted toward a group approaching us across the ballroom.
“Because in approximately ten seconds, I need you to act like my wife.”
I almost laughed.
Then I realized he was serious.
“You need me to act like your what?”
“My wife.”
“You have the wrong woman.”
“I know.”
“That somehow makes this worse.”
He tightened his grip—not painfully, but firmly enough to keep me from disappearing into the crowd.
The stranger leaned slightly closer.
“I will explain.”
“You have about eight seconds.”
“Seven now.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Smile.”
I smiled.
Not because I wanted to.
Because an older man in a tailored gray tuxedo had just reached us, accompanied by a stylish blonde woman around my age who looked at me as if she had already subpoenaed my birth certificate.
The stranger beside me instantly transformed.
His shoulders relaxed. His expression warmed.
“Richard,” he said.
The older man grinned.
“Ethan. There you are.”
So that was his name.
Ethan.
Excellent.
At least I knew the first name of the man kidnapping my evening.
Richard looked at me.
Before I could speak, Ethan placed one hand gently at the small of my back.
“I’d like you to meet my wife, Claire.”
I stopped breathing.
Wife.
My name was Claire Donovan.
I was thirty-one years old.
I lived in a one-bedroom apartment outside Tampa.
I ran the front desk at a boutique hotel while trying to save enough money to open a small bakery.
I had never met Ethan in my life.
And apparently, I had just married him.
Richard’s eyebrows lifted.
“Your wife?”
Ethan didn’t blink.
“We prefer keeping our private life private.”
The blonde woman’s eyes narrowed.
Richard laughed warmly.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I found my voice.
“Yes. Thank you.”
The blonde woman extended her hand.
“Olivia Mercer.”
I shook it.
“Claire.”
“I heard that part.”
Wonderful.
She was delightful.
Olivia glanced between Ethan and me.
“How long have you been married?”
My heart stopped.
Ethan answered immediately.
“Eight months.”
At exactly the same moment, I said, “Almost a year.”
Silence.
Olivia smiled.
Not a friendly smile.
The smile of a woman who had just smelled smoke.
I recovered.
“Eight months legally,” I said. “Almost a year since he started acting married.”
Richard burst out laughing.
Ethan looked down at me.
There was amusement in his eyes.
“You complained that I was overprotective.”
“You bought me pepper spray in three colors.”
Richard laughed harder.
Olivia did not.
For the next six minutes, I invented the strangest marriage in modern American history.
According to me, Ethan hated cilantro.
According to Ethan, I stole blankets.
According to me, we had spent our first anniversary weekend in Charleston.
According to Ethan, we hadn’t reached our anniversary yet.
I corrected that one by reminding everyone I had been speaking metaphorically.
By the time Richard finally excused himself to speak with another guest, sweat was forming between my shoulder blades.
Olivia lingered.
She looked directly at Ethan.
Then at me.
Then at our joined hands.
“I’m sure I’ll see both of you tomorrow.”
The threat beneath the sentence was unmistakable.
When she walked away, I yanked my hand out of Ethan’s.
May you like
“What,” I whispered, “was that?”
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