Marry Rich? Nah. Get Rich.
The day before my wedding, my ex-boyfriend asked me to meet him in a hotel room.
"I heard you're getting married," he said. "Could you meet me, just this once? There's something I need to tell you."
I agreed, and that night I went to the address he gave me.
But the person waiting for me wasn't him. It was my fiancé, his face like a storm cloud, and beside him, his self-satisfied childhood sweetheart, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
"See, Julian, I told you she wasn't being honest with you," she said. "She's finally slipped up."
My fiancé's jaw clenched. He grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise.
"Why?" he demanded.
I lowered my eyes and answered calmly, "Because I don't want