Page 19 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“Oh, honey.” Her voice softens. “Are you sure you... had sex?”

“My body’s giving me some pretty clear evidence,” I mutter, wincing as I shift positions. “Plus there are marks. On my neck.”

She whistles low. “So what happens now? Annulment, right?”

“That’s the plan. His legal team is flying in.”

“Good. And make sure you get money for this, Tati. Lots of freakin’ money.”

I blink. “What?”

“An annulment settlement,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “This is how these things work. He’ll want this to go away quietly.”

“I hadn’t even thought about money.” The idea feels wrong somehow.

“Well, start thinking about it,” Sabrina insists. “He might want you to stay married for a bit longer as well, you know, for optics. That’s normal. Just ask for more money. You have all the power here.”

All the power?

Me?

The woman currently hiding in a bathroom while her accidental husband has a meltdown about his business empire?

“I’ll think about it,” I promise, though the concept feels strange. “I should go. I’ll call you later.”

I end the call and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like hell. My makeup is smeared under my eyes, my hair is a rat’s nest, and there are several purpling marks along my neck and collarbones, courtesy of my night spent with Dominic.

A night I have no recollection of.

This is not my life. This can’t be happening.

But the gold band on my finger says otherwise.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Dom is pacing more frantically.

“They’re downstairs,” he tells me, glancing up. “My team. They’ll be up in a minute.”

“Great.” I’ve managed to find a hotel robe to cover up, but I still feel exposed. “Should I... hide somewhere?”

Dom gives me a look that suggests I’ve said something stupid. “No. This concerns you, too.”

I nod, schooling my features into what my boss Christopher calls my “executive assistant face.” You know, the whole cool, composed, unreadable thing. It’s the mask I wear in board meetings and when dealing with difficult clients.

Right now, it’s the only armor I have.

A knock at the door sends Dom striding across the room. He opens it to reveal a sleek woman in her forties and a distinguished-looking older man, both dressed impeccably despite what must have been a last-minute cross-country flight. Flown over on one of Dom’s spare private jets, no doubt.

“Camilla, Arthur,” Dom greets them tersely. “This is Tatiana.”

“Mrs. Rossi,” the woman says with a nod that feels more like an assessment than a greeting.

“Ms. Cole,” I correct automatically, then wince. Legally, she’s not wrong.

Arthur, the lawyer, sets down his briefcase on the dining table. “Let’s get straight to it. The situation is... problematic.”

You don’t say. Who knew getting drunkenly hitched to a billionaire could be problematic? They should put that on the Vegas welcome signs.

“The press coverage is extensive,” Camilla begins, pulling out an iPad. “Every business outlet is running the story, not just the tabloids. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

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