My Forced Husband Is A Billionaire
This was way above our league.
We ordered, and while we waited, he kept the jokes coming, each one dumber than the last. “What do you call cheese that isn’t yours?” he asked, his grin wide.
I rolled my eyes. “Nacho cheese. Come on, Liam, I’m mourning, not a five-year-old.”
“Right, right. My apologies, ma’am. I’ll stick to the sophisticated ones. What did one plate say to the other?”
“I have no idea,” I said, rolling my eyes.
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