Marry him… or end up broke.
It was an obvious choice for me.
Marry me… or lose an entire lifetime’s work.
The choice was pretty obvious for him too.
Never in a million years did I think that I’d be flying to Vegas.
Not to get drunk.
Not for a bachelorette party.
But to get fake married to the man every woman on the planet wants.
He’s hot, he’s smart, he’s… everything except for my real husband.
That’s how long I need to keep my hands and feelings in check.
It’s the agreement. It’s in our goddamn contract.
But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t break the rules.
If I didn’t complicate an already complicated situation.
In other words… I’m pregnant.
He doesn’t know it yet.
Just like he doesn’t know that I broke the 365 days of “no love” agreement a long, long time ago.