Page 80 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

The man who ran away immediately after the kiss and has been avoiding you ever since.

Great life choices, Tatiana.

Really stellar work.

I smooth down the front of my emerald silk gown, trying to focus on the charity gala ahead instead of the memory of Dom’s hands in my hair. The dress cost... well, a lot. It’s another extravagant purchase courtesy of my temporary husband’s advance. The bodice hugs my curves before flowing into a graceful skirt that whispers against my legs when I move. It’s the kind of dress that makes a statement, which is exactly what Camilla Thorne instructed when she called this morning.

“Tonight is damage control,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. “After the investor lunch debacle, we need to project unity and stability.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that “unity” was the last thing Dom and I were projecting after he fled the penthouse following our kiss. He’s barely spoken ten words to me since, most of them in terse text messages about his schedule. As for the “investor lunch debacle,” I actually have no idea what happened. Dom hasn’t exactly been what I’d call forthright lately, when he’s talking to me at all.

The car slows to a stop, and I take a steadying breath. Nichols opens my door, his expression professionally blank as he helps me out. The red carpet leading to the Metropolitan Museum’s entrance is lined with photographers, their flashes already popping as celebrities and socialites make their way inside.

“Ready, Mrs. Rossi?” he asks quietly.

No. Not remotely. But what choice do I have?

“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, plastering on my best professional smile.

Dom is waiting at the top of the steps next to Jake. My temporary husband is devastatingly handsome in that black tuxedo of his. It emphasizes his broad shoulders just right.

His expression when he sees me shifts subtly. Surprise, appreciation, and something... hungrier... that makes my stomach flip.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low as he takes my hand.

“Thanks.” I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds. “You look pretty good yourself.”

His thumb brushes across my knuckles, and for a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to mention the kiss.

Instead, he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Camilla briefed me. Tonight’s important. We need to sell this.”

Right. The façade. The performance. Just business.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper back, flashing an overly sweet smile. “I’m an excellent actress.”

His jaw tightens, but he says nothing as he guides me inside with his hand at the small of my back. The familiar weight should irritate me. Instead, it sends a flutter of unwanted awareness through my body.

The Metropolitan Museum’s Great Hall has been transformed for the gala, with floating floral arrangements and subtle lighting that casts everything in a golden glow. The air smells of perfume and champagne. A string quartet plays something classical that I probably should recognize but don’t.

Careful, Tatiana. Your Queens is showing.

“Drink?” Dom offers, snagging two champagne flutes from a passing waiter.

“God, yes,” I reply, accepting the glass and taking a larger sip than is probably appropriate for a billionaire’s wife. The bubbles hit my empty stomach, making my head spin slightly.

Dom’s eyes narrow. “When did you last eat?”

“I was busy,” I say with a shrug. “Christopher had an important call, then I had to get ready, and—”

“You need food,” he interrupts, guiding me toward the hors d’oeuvres. “The last thing we need is you passing out from low blood sugar in front of New York’s elite. Or getting accidentally drunk.”

Just like how I got accidentally married?I want to add, but bite my tongue.

Still, his concern, however practical, makes something twist in my chest. I accept a tiny tartlet from his hand, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact shouldn’t affect me. It’s nothing compared to the kiss we shared. And yet...

“Dom! Darling!”

The honeyed voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife.

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