Page 32 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

She turns to look at me. “Because you were too busy accidentally marrying me.”

“Exactly. So I need this to be convincing. We need to look like a couple swept away by passion, not two strangers who fucked up.”

“I can play my part,” she says. “Just don’t expect me to hang all over you like some trophy wife.”

I feel my lips curl into something like a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

There are photographers outside Marco’s venue too, though not the full-scale media circus we left at the hotel. I quickly scan the perimeter, a habit ingrained after years in the spotlight. Maybe two dozen of them, cameras raised like weapons. Amateur hour compared to what Tatiana and I just experienced.

Jake and Ric form a human shield as we approach the entrance, their movements synchronized and efficient. These guys earn their exorbitant salaries in moments like this, creating order from chaos without breaking a sweat.

“Stay close,” I tell Tatiana, leaning in so only she can hear me. “Security gets nervous when there’s too much space to cover.”

The reception is in full swing when we arrive. The security team stays in the background as we enter.

Heads turn immediately. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire.

Dominic Rossi and his surprise bride.

Marco spots us from across the room and breaks into a broad grin. I make my way over to his table with my “wife.”

“The runaway groomsman returns,” he says, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “And with his own bride, no less.”

“Sorry about this morning,” I say. “Things got a bit complicated.”

“No shit,” Marco laughs. “One minute you’re doing shots with us, the next you’re married.” He turns to Tatiana, his smile widening. “Hello again.”

Tatiana offers her hand with a polite smile. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Thank you,” Marco says, holding her hand a moment too long for my liking. “Though I think congratulations are in order for you two as well.”

Tatiana leans into me slightly, playing her part perfectly. “Thank you.”

“I always thought Dom would be the last of us to fall,” Marco says. “But here he is, married the day before me. I always knew when it happened that it would happen hard and fast.”

Tatiana laughs, the sound surprisingly genuine. “That’s one way to describe it.”

Marco introduces us to his wife and the other members of his table.

Before we go, Marco tells her: “Save a dance for me.”

“I’d be delighted,” Tatiana says.

I force myself to smile, even as something uncomfortable twists in my gut at the thought of Marco’s hands on my wife.

Mytemporarywife, I remind myself.

We make our rounds, accepting congratulations and deflecting questions with practiced vagueness. Tatiana is surprisingly good at this.

“You’re a natural liar,” I murmur in her ear as we pause near the bar.

“I prefer to call it creative storytelling,” she whispers back. “Besides, I learned from the best. Christopher doesn’t know I handle half his excuses for missing meetings.”

The mention of Christopher pulls me back to reality. My best friend, her boss. Another complication in this mess we’ve created.

The band transitions to a slow song, and I see an opportunity.

“Dance with me,” I say, taking her hand.

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