One year. Separate bedrooms. Zero chance either of them makes it to the end.
I've been planning Dax Lexington's wedding for six months.
To another woman.
I know how he looks at my mouth when he thinks I'm not watching.
The way his hands flex when I lean across the table. How his voice goes rough when I stand too close.
I've been falling apart for him while building the perfect day for his bride.
Then she elopes.
Seven days before the wedding, his grandmother makes me an offer:
Marry him instead.
One year. Save my father. Walk away with enough money to forget I ever wanted him.
I say yes.
But I've been his since the moment he asked what I would do if this were mine.
He doesn't know that. He thinks I'm here for the paycheck.
One year of sharing his penthouse. Separate bedrooms that won't stay separate.
One year of his hands on me while he thinks this is just business.
He's wrong.
It stopped being business the day I said yes.
