Page 70 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“Love has a way of changing people,” I offer the rehearsed line.

“So I’ve heard.” She sets down her glass. “Tell me, how did you and Dominic meet?”

I launch into the sanitized version of events. Working for Christopher, occasional business interactions, a connection that suddenly “blossomed” during a chance Vegas encounter. Each word feels like a tiny betrayal, like I’m selling off little bits and pieces of my soul.

“And your background?” she asks. “I understand you’re from...”

“Queens,” I supply. “Yes. I worked my way through business school before joining Blackwell Innovations.”

Her eyes sharpen. “Quite a leap from Queens to Tribeca.”

The familiar twinge of inadequacy burns my stomach. I’ve worked twice as hard as most people in Dom’s circle to get half as far.

“I believe in earning my place,” I say evenly.

“Admirable.” She smiles, but it feels like a test. “And what are your thoughts on the Costa Rica project? I imagine Dominic consults you.”

Be careful. This is where they expect the trophy wife to stumble.

I take another sip of champagne, buying a second to organize my thoughts. “The Serenity Shores concept represents sustainable luxury at its finest. I’ve been reviewing the vendor contracts recently, actually.”

Her eyebrows rise slightly. “Oh?”

For the next ten minutes, I outline key aspects of the project’s sustainability initiatives, careful to show knowledge without overstepping. I can feel her reassessing me with each detail I correctly cite.

Our salads arrive, giving me a brief reprieve.

“You’re not what I expected,” Anya says finally.

I spear a piece of arugula. “What did you expect?”

“Someone less... substantial.” She dabs her lips with her napkin. “Dominic’s...previousrelationships haven’t been known for their intellectual depth.”

Was that almost a compliment?

“I appreciate your candor,” I say. “Investors should be thorough.”

She laughs, a genuine sound that transforms her face. “Indeed we should. Now, tell me about your wedding. Vegas, correct? I imagine it was rather spontaneous.”

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. This is dangerous territory.

“It was intimate,” I manage. “Just us, in the moment.”

“How romantic,” she murmurs. “And your family? They must have been surprised.”

The memory of my aborted wedding flashes unexpectedly, and I clearly see my parents’ faces when I told them Rylan wasn’t coming.

“They’re happy I’m happy,” I say, the words sour on my tongue.

The questions continue through the main course. Subtle probes about my intentions, my career aspirations, my understanding of what being married to Dominic Rossi truly means. By dessert, my cheeks hurt from maintaining a professional smile.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, needing a moment alone. “I’ll be right back.”

In the elegant bathroom, I lean against the marble counter and exhale slowly. The woman in the mirror looks controlled, poised. It’s exactly the image I’ve cultivated. Only the tightness around my eyes betrays the strain.

Twelve more days. Just twelve more days of this charade.

I’m reapplying my lipstick when I hear raised voices outside the bathroom.

---