Chapter 1

ADRIAN(pov)

"You look like someone died," Marcus said, sliding into the seat across from me.

"Worse. My brother got engaged."

Marcus whistled low. "James? The same James that thinks commitment is a similar to murder?"

"Apparently love conquers all." I drained my glass. "Or desperation does."

"What's that got to do with you looking suicidal?"

I leaned back, letting my head hit the cracked leather. "My father's made a new rule. Whichever son gets married first will become the CEO. The other one gets nothing."

"That's insane."

"That's Richard Blackwell." I pushed my glass toward him. "Another."

Marcus didn't move. "How long do you have?"

"Seventy-two hours. Well, sixty-eight now."

"And you need to find a wife in sixty-eight hours."

"I need a wife, period. The timeline is just a bonus complication."

Marcus poured me another drink, then one for himself. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. James announced his engagement at dinner tonight. Smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing. My father practically salivated. Said whoever gets married first takes over the company. I have until Friday."

"It's Tuesday night, Adrian."

"I can count, thanks."

We sat in silence. The bar was nearly empty. Just us and an old man at the counter who looked like he'd been sitting there since the nineties. Music played softly, something bluesy and depressing that matched my mood perfectly.

"So what's your plan?" Marcus finally asked.

"I don't have one fully. That's why I'm here getting drunk instead of at home getting drunk."

"Solid strategy."

"I'm open to suggestions."

Marcus swirled his drink. "You could try actually dating someone."

"In sixty-eight hours? I don't even like those attention seeking girls."

"You like me."

"You're different. You own a bar. That's basically a public service."

The door opened. Cold air rushed in along with the sound of traffic. A woman stumbled through, and even from across the room, I could tell she was wasted. She made it three steps before catching herself on a table.

Marcus started to get up. "I should handle this."

"Let her be," I said, watching her. She was young, late teens maybe. Dark hair falling out of what had probably been a neat bun. Mascara smudged. She looked like she'd been crying for hours. For a second, something twisted in my chest  a sense of déjà vu I couldn’t place. I ignored it. Grief did strange things to the brain.

She made it to the bar and collapsed onto a stool. The old man didn't even glance at her.

"Vodka," she said. Her voice cracked. "The whole bottle."

Marcus walked over. "I think you've had enough."

"I haven't had nearly enough." She put her head on the bar. "My parents are dead."

Marcus looked back at me. I shrugged.

"When did they die?" Marcus asked gently.

"Two weeks ago. Car accident. And today I found out their debt is mine now. Forty thousand pounds. The bank wants it in thirty days or they take the house." She laughed, but it came out strangled. "The house where I grew up. Where my mum taught me to bake. Where my dad read me bedtime stories. They're taking it."

Something clicked in my brain. Something dark and opportunistic that I should have ignored but I decided not to ignore it.

I got up and walked to the bar. Sat down next to her. She didn't look at me.

"Forty thousand?" I said.

She turned her head slightly. Her eyes were red, swollen. "Are you a loan shark? Because I can't pay you back either."

"No. I'm something better."

"Nothing's better right now."

"I could clear your debt."

That got her attention. She sat up, swaying slightly. "What?"

"Your debt. Forty thousand pounds. I could pay it off tonight."

She squinted at me. "Who are you?"

"Adrian Blackwell."

Recognition flickered. "The Blackwell family. Hotels. Real estate."

"Among other things."

"Why would you pay off my debt?"

This was it. The moment where I could walk away, go home, figure out something else. Something that didn't involve taking advantage of a grieving, drunk woman at her lowest point.

I opened my mouth."I need a wife," I said.

She blinked. Once. Twice. "What?"

"I need a wife. You need money. We can help each other."

"You're insane."

"Probably. But I'm also serious. Marry me tonight. Stay married for eighteen months. I'll clear your debt, give you a place to live, pay you a monthly allowance. When eighteen months are up, we divorce. You walk away with enough money to start over."

She stared at me. Then she started laughing. Hysterical, broken laughter that made Marcus wince.

"This is a joke," she said. "This has to be a joke."

"It's not."

"You don't even know my name."

"What's your name?"

"Elena."

"Elena." I held out my hand. "Marry me."

She looked at my hand. At my face. At Marcus, who was carefully studying the bottles behind the bar.

"How much money?" she asked quietly.

"Beyond clearing your debt? Five thousand a month. Plus all living expenses."

"For eighteen months."

"Yes."

"And then we divorce."

"Clean break."

She laughed again, but this time it was sharp. "Just like that."

"Just like that."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch."

"There's always a catch."

I should have stopped there. Should have let her walk away. But I was desperate, and she was desperate, and desperate people make terrible decisions together.

"No dating other people during the eighteen months," I said. "We maintain the appearance of a real marriage in public. You live with me. Attend events with me. Play the role."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"And after eighteen months, I'm free."

"Completely free."

She picked up the vodka bottle Marcus had left on the bar. Poured herself another glass. Downed it.

"You're serious," she said.

"Completely serious."

"You want to marry me. Tonight. A stranger."

"Yes."

She poured another drink. "Why me? You could marry anyone. Why a drunk mess you met in a bar?"

I could have lied. Should have lied. But something about the way she asked, like she genuinely couldn't comprehend why anyone would choose her, made me honest.

"Because you're desperate enough to say yes," I said. "And broken enough not to ask too many questions."

Her laugh was bitter. "At least you're honest."

"I try to be."

She downed another drink. Then another. I watched her. Watched her trying to drink away the decision she was about to make.

"If I say yes," she said, words slurring now, "you pay the debt tonight?"

"Tonight."

"And I get to keep my house?"

"You keep your house."

She reached for the bottle again. Marcus moved it away.

"I think you've had enough," he said gently.

"I haven't had nearly enough for this." But she didn't fight him for it. Just sat there, swaying on her stool.

I reached into my jacket. Pulled out the contract I'd had my lawyer draft three days ago. Just in case. Just in case I got desperate enough to do something like this.

"Read this," I said, sliding it across the bar.

She picked it up. Squinted at it. The words probably weren't making much sense to her anymore.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Marriage contract. Terms and conditions."

She laughed. "Terms and conditions. For marriage."

"For business."

"Right. Business." She tried to focus on the pages. Gave up. "I can't read this."

"Then trust me."

"I don't know you."

"I know."

She looked at me. Really looked at me. And whatever she saw there made her shoulders slump.

"Where do I sign?" she asked.

I showed her. She picked up the pen I offered. Signed without reading. Her signature was messy, barely legible. But it was there.

"Done," I said.

I pulled out my phone. Transferred forty thousand pounds to the account number she'd scrawled on a napkin earlier.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out. Stared at the screen.

"It's real," she whispered.

"It's real."

"I just sold myself."

"You just saved your house."

She laughed. It sounded broken. "Same thing."

She reached for another drink. Marcus had already poured it. She downed it. Then another. And another.

"Easy," I said.

"Don't tell me easy. I just married a stranger for money. I'm allowed to get drunk."

"You're already drunk."

"Not drunk enough."

She kept drinking. I let her. What else could I do? I'd already destroyed her life. Might as well let her numb the pain.

Marcus cleared his throat. "So what now?"

I looked at Elena. She was barely holding herself up.

"Now we get married," I said.

"What?" Elena's eyes tried to focus on me. "We just signed."

"That's the contract. Now we need the ceremony."

"Ceremony?" She giggled. "Like a real wedding?"

"Like a legal wedding."

"We can't. We need a license. And a priest. And flowers." She giggled again. "I always wanted flowers."

"Marcus is ordained," I said. "Aren't you, Marcus?"

Marcus sighed. "I got ordained online to marry my sister and her husband. That doesn't mean I should marry you two."

"But you can."

"Adrian, this is insane."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

Elena was swaying now. Eyes half-closed. "Are we getting married or not? I can't remember."

"We're getting married."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Okay." She giggled. "This is crazy."

Marcus looked between us. "You're both insane."

"Probably," I said. "But will you do it?"

He threw up his hands. "Fine. But when this implodes, don't come crying to me."

He went to his office. Came back with a certificate and his laptop. The old man at the bar turned around.

"I'll be your witness," he said. "This is the most entertainment I've had in years."

"Perfect," I said.

Marcus positioned us in front of the bar. Elena could barely stand. I had to hold her arm to keep her upright.

"You okay?" I asked.

She looked at me with unfocused eyes. "Everything's spinning."

"Just hold on a bit longer."

Marcus started reading. Standard vows. Love, honor, cherish. All the things this marriage would never be. Elena's eyes kept closing. She was barely conscious.

"Rings?" Marcus asked.

I reached into my pocket. Pulled out the ring. Simple gold band. I'd bought it years ago. Never used it. Been carrying it around ever since. Just in case.

"Do you, Adrian Blackwell, take Elena Hart to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

I looked at Elena. At this drunk, broken stranger I was binding myself to. This woman I was using. This terrible decision I was making.

"I do," I said.

Marcus turned to Elena. "Do you, Elena Hart, take Adrian Blackwell to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Elena's eyes were closed. She was swaying badly now.

"Elena?" Marcus prompted.

Her eyes opened slightly. "What?"

"Do you take Adrian to be your husband?"

She looked at me. Or tried to. Her eyes wouldn't focus.

"Sure," she mumbled. "Why not. Already signed the thing."

"I need you to say I do," Marcus said.

"I do." The words were slurred. Barely audible.

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Elena started to sway. I caught her. Her eyes rolled back.

"She's passing out," Marcus said.

I lifted her into my arms. She was completely unconscious now. Head lolling against my shoulder.

I looked at the ring in my hand. Then at her left hand hanging limp.

I slid the ring onto her finger while s

he was passed out. It fit perfectly.

"Did you just put a ring on your unconscious wife?" Marcus asked.

"She's my wife now. She should have a ring."

"Adrian, this is dark. Even for you."

I looked down at Elena. Unconscious. Drunk. Married to a man she'd met an hour ago. Ring on her finger that she didn't even know was there.

"I know," I said.