Page 36 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Dom emerges from his home office, looking irritatingly handsome in dark jeans and a charcoal cashmere sweater that hugs his broad shoulders. He gives me a once-over, his expression unreadable.

“New clothes?” he asks.

“No, I’ve had this fifteen-hundred-dollar suit hanging in my closet all along,” I reply sweetly. “Just waiting for the right temporary marriage to wear it to.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face before Camilla walks in, immaculately dressed in a red power suit, tablet in hand.

“Good, you’re both here,” she says, all business. “We have a lot to cover. Your appearance at Marco’s wedding reception yesterday was just the dress rehearsal. You were among friends there. People who want to believe in your relationship. But when you enter high society or face the general public, it will be a lot trickier. People will be scrutinizing your every move, looking for cracks in your story.”

Great. No pressure or anything. Just convince an army of skeptical socialites that I’m madly in love with the man I’m contractually obligated to blow tomorrow.

For the next hour, Camilla drills us on our “whirlwind romance” narrative. According to the story she’s crafted, Dom and I met six months ago at a Blackwell Innovations event, felt an immediate connection, and began dating discreetly.

“The Vegas wedding was spontaneous but not completely out of character,” she explains. “You’d already been discussing marriage, and the moment just felt right.”

Right. Like getting drugged and making impulsive, legally binding decisions ever feels “right.”

“Any questions?” Camilla asks.

“Just one,” I say. “Does anyone actually believe this fairy tale?”

Dom shoots me a look. Camilla smiles tightly.

“That’s why we need to be convincing,” she says. “Which brings me to public appearances. You’ll need to show appropriate affection. Hand-holding, lingering looks, occasional kisses.”

My stomach does a little flip at the mention of kissing Dom. I glance at him and find him watching me with an intensity that makes my cheeks heat.

“I’ve prepared a list of dos and don’ts,” Camilla continues, handing us each a printout. “Study this. Memorize it. Live it.”

I scan the list. It reads like a manual for faking love:

#1. Maintain eyecontact when speaking to each other.

#2. Touch casually and naturally.

#3. Refer to shared experiences or inside jokes.

“This is ridiculous,”I mutter.

“It’s necessary,” Dom counters. “Unless you’d prefer to tank a billion-dollar deal and reveal we were both too drugged to remember our own wedding.”

Camilla winces at his bluntness. “Let’s practice some basic interactions. Dom, put your hand on Tatiana’s lower back as if you’re guiding her somewhere.”

Dom moves closer, his large hand coming to rest just above the curve of my spine. His touch is warm, even through the fabric of my suit. I try not to visibly stiffen.

“Good. Now Tatiana, lean into him slightly, like you’re comfortable with his touch.”

I force myself to relax, shifting my weight toward Dom. His expensive cologne, that woodsy smell mixed with notes of amber, fills my senses.

This is just acting. Like a really elaborate, high-stakes school play.

“Perfect,” Camilla says. “Now, kissing. Nothing passionate in public, but you should appear comfortable with casual affection.”

I turn to Camilla, unable to contain my sarcasm. “You know what? I don’t think casual affection will be a problem.”

“Oh?” She looks surprised.

“Yeah, considering I’ll be sucking his cock tomorrow anyway, I think I can handle a little kiss or a touch on the lower back.”

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