Page 20 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Dom rubs his temple. “The Costa Rica deal.”

“Exactly,” Arthur confirms. “Mr. Chung called me directly. The conservative investors are... concerned.”

“I don’t understand,” I interject. “What does our”—the word sticks in my throat—”marriage...have to do with a business deal?”

Three pairs of eyes turn to me, and I immediately regret speaking. There’s nothing worse than feeling like the dumbest person in the room.

Camilla’s expression softens slightly. “The Costa Rica resort project is a $1.5 billion deal that requires investor confidence in Dominic’s stability and judgment. A drunken Vegas wedding followed by an immediate annulment projects exactly the opposite image.”

“It confirms their worst fears about me,” Dom adds grimly. “That I’m impulsive. Unreliable.”

“So what’s your proposal?” I ask, straightening my spine. I immediately think of the ‘delay’ Sabrina talked about on the phone.

They want us to stay married longer.

Arthur clears his throat. “We recommend delaying the annulment. Present this as a whirlwind romance rather than a drunken mistake.”

Yep. Just as Sabrina predicted.

“For how long?” Dom demands.

“Six months,” Camilla says. “Minimum. Long enough to secure the deal and start construction.”

The room goes silent. Six months. Half a year pretending to be Mrs. Dominic Rossi.

“That’s insane,” I finally manage. “I can’t—we can’t—”

“We’ll compensate you generously,” Arthur interjects smoothly. “And draw up an agreement detailing every aspect of the arrangement.”

Sabrina’s words echo in my head.

Just ask for more money. You have all the power here.

But do I?

If I refuse, Dom’s deal collapses.

If I agree, I put my life on hold for six months.

My career, my independence, my hard-won professional reputation, all of it shoved into a box labeled “Dominic Rossi’s Trophy Wife” for six months.

No thank you.

“Thirty days,” I announce, finding my voice. “That’s my offer. One month, not a day more.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Mrs. Rossi... Ms. Cole, I don’t think you understand the complexities—”

“Thirty. Days.” I enunciate each syllable like I’m explaining schedule changes to an irritating client. “That’s non-negotiable.”

Look at you, negotiating with fancy lawyers like you’re not sitting here in a hotel bathrobe with yesterday’s mascara sagging beneath your eyes. Power moves only.

Arthur exchanges a glance with Camilla, who taps one perfectly manicured finger against her lip.

“If we expedite everything...” she muses. “In theory, we could secure preliminary investor approval within that timeframe. It would be tight, but possible.” She turns to Dom. “We’d be sacrificing the construction phase optics, but if thirty days is her limit, can you make it work?”

Dom sighs and stands, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “More than okay with me. The less time we’re forced to stay married, the better. I’ll close the deal in thirty days or less.”

His words hit with an unexpected sting.

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