I found myself wondering if Miles was close to his siblings. One of the articles said that both Lila and Robert had recently married, and both still lived in Massachusetts near their parents’ home. It made me wonder why Miles had chosen to move thousands of miles across the country to begin his new business—in a state that was as different from his home as the desert is from the Bahamas.

As I made my way through the links, I found many, many pictures of Miles with a variety of women. He seemed to have a type—tall, rail thin, blond women. Like Lisa. As opposite from me as possible. And each one seemed to have a name that meant something, if the way they were written in each article meant something. A few of them I recognized. There were a couple of actresses and the daughter of a well-known business man. And then I stumbled across an engagement announcement:

Miles Thorn, son of Jackson and Elena Thorn, has just announced his engagement to Claire Watson, daughter of Stanley and Amelia Watson.

I knew who Claire Watson was. She was a supermodel who’d appeared in everything from Vogue to Sports Illustrated to a multitude of album covers and internet ads. Lisa always pointed out her pictures, claiming that Claire was the perfect woman and we should aspire to be like her. I never really saw it, personally, but I always agreed with Lisa to appease her quiet obsession. If she knew that Claire Watson’s fiancé had just asked me to marry him…

But why would he want to marry me when he had someone like Claire?

None of it made sense to me. He was a man who could have anyone he wanted. Why would he need to get himself trapped in a marriage of convenience? What could be happening in his life that would require a wife of a certain type? He’d said that I was perfect for his needs—I was intelligent, quiet, unassuming. Essentially, I was boring. And he thought that was something he needed right now? It just didn’t make sense.

But who was I to argue when a man wanted to hand me a million dollars and the right to use his influential name for the rest of my life? I mean, hell, it was a win-win situation for me. I marry a hot man for six months and I’m set for life. Well, at least for a few years.

I couldn’t see a good reason not to do this. If he could save my aunts’ house and give me the money I would need to make sure they were never alone, that was worth six months of my time. But there was this side of me that still felt the sting of the realization that he hadn’t asked me out on a date and that he wasn’t really interested in me as a romantic partner. He wanted me to play a role, and then he was going to toss me aside like it didn’t matter. Even though I didn’t know him, even though I knew he was out of my league, that idea still hurt.

Could I do this and remain emotionally whole? Could I spend six months pretending to be something I wasn’t and not lose who I am?

I wasn’t confident I could. Yet, I kept coming back to the idea that this would fix everything for my aunts and I couldn’t walk away from it. I couldn’t turn my back on the one solution to all my problems.

I set the computer aside and curled up against my pillows. It was insane. But how could I make my aunts go to an assisted living facility when I had the opportunity to keep them in their own home for the rest of their lives? After everything they’d done for me—giving up so much to care for a child—the least I could do was give up six months of my life for them.

I would do it. But he had to live up to his end of the bargain first.

Chapter 4

“What does this mean?”

Miles leaned close to me to look at the documents I had spread out in front of me on the conference table. He smelled like wood and spice, his expensive cologne washing over me every time he moved. And he was so close to me that I could feel his breath against the back of my neck when he spoke.

“It just means that you agree to live in my house during the course of the marriage.”

“Then why doesn’t it just say that?”

“Lawyers can’t just say things out straight. They have to wrap it up in complicated language so that we have to go to them to explain it to us.”

“Then how do you know what it means?”

“I went to law school.”

I looked up at him as he moved away, crossing the room to his desk. It was late. Most of his office staff were gone before I arrived, which is why I suspect he asked me to come after my shift at Starbuck’s. He was dressed, as always, in jeans and an old t-shirt, mud splattered on his pant legs despite the fact it hadn’t rained in weeks. He picked up a bottle of soda off his desk and took a long drink, sighing when he set it down again.

“You’re a lawyer?”

“No. I went to law school. There’s a difference.”

“Why didn’t you finish?”

He glanced at me, his expression tightened. “I never said I didn’t finish.”

“But if you’d finished—”

“I just didn’t take the bar exam.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Because it was what my father wanted. And I try very hard not to do what my father wants me to do.”

I turned back to the legal papers laid out in front of me, trying not to ask why that might be. It was obvious he didn’t like talking about it, but it seemed to answer a few questions, like why he’d moved so far from home.

I ran my finger over the words on the page, searching for the section I had been reading. He came back over—I could smell him again—and settled in a chair beside me.

“It’s all very straightforward,” he said, a touch of boredom to his voice. “It basically just says that you agree to marry me and act as my legal wife for as long as I need you to. Then, I agree to pay you a million dollars, as long as you don’t contest the divorce or the prenup.”

“I have the option of fighting the divorce?”

He shrugged. “Everyone has options. But I wouldn’t recommend fighting it. My father’s lawyers would keep you in court for so long that you wouldn’t get anything.”

I brushed a piece of hair from my face and turned back to the contract. To be honest, none of it really made much sense to me. Yet, I felt compelled to read it from beginning to end, just to be sure I knew what I was getting myself into.

After a few minutes of silence, Miles sighed quite heavily.

“Look,” he said, gathering the papers and shuffling them together, “there’s no reason to read the whole thing. If you agree to be my wife, I’ll pay you. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why?”

His hands paused for a minute. “Why is that so important to you?”

“Because I want to know what I’m getting myself in the middle of. Clearly you have a reason for doing this. If I know what the reason is, maybe I can avoid making a mistake that will make everything worse.”

“Don’t worry about that. Nothing can make this any worse.”

He stood up again, crossing the room in two, quick strides. He grabbed a pen from his desk and came back, setting a single piece of paper in front of me.

“Sign this.”

I took the pen he held out to me, but I didn’t open it. I just stared at the paper for a long minute, then sat back.

“What?”

“I need to know more about you.”

He practically growled, clearly annoyed with me. He practically threw himself into a chair and stared at me with what I’m sure he thought was an intimidating looked. However, I didn’t turn away; I didn’t even drop my gaze for an instant. My aunts always said I was the most stubborn person they knew. When I wanted something, there was nothing in the world that could drag the thought from my mind. That was something Miles was going to have to learn about me.

“Why do you need to know about me?” he asked.

“Because people are going to ask about us. How we met. What our first date was like. How you proposed. And they’re going to expect me to know about you.”