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My smile fades as I make my way to the other wing of the house, my parents' wing. It's late, but I know my father doesn't sleep much these days, and my suspicions are proven correct when I see the light shining under his study door.

He looks up from where he's sitting on the couch, a blanket over his legs and a book in his hand. He sets the book down and gives me a tired smile.

"Xavier. What are you doing here so late?"

I shrug. "I came to see you."

Pops's smile turns wry. "Don't worry, your mother made sure I ate."

My mom has been trying to keep Pops fed and healthy for so long now. She's tried every possible combination of diet and health regimen, but nothing seems to work. "That's not why I'm here. I, ah, have some news, Dad."

He leans back, giving me a look. "Oh yeah?"

"I'm getting married."

My father's eyebrows lift, and there's so much hope in his expression that it makes my chest ache. "Really?"

I nod, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in my throat. "Yeah, Dad. Her name is Maria. You and Mom will meet her tomorrow. We want to get things done fast."

His eyes tear up, and I look away before I lose my shit too. It's been so fucking hard watching him slowly get worse, and as much as I wanthim to get better, I know he won't. The doctors have already given us the prognosis, and it isn't good.

"Thank you, son," he says softly, "for doing this for your old man. It means the world to me."

"It means a lot to me, too, Pops," I manage to reply.

"This girl must be something special." He looks at me with an expression I've seen on his face a thousand times before. It's pride, pure and simple, and I've never felt more like a man than when I see that look from him.

"She is," I tell him truthfully. I might not know Maria well, but I recognize a spark in her. "I think you're going to love her."

3

MARIA

It's weird. There are a million ways I can potentially get out of this sham marriage, and I think there's a pretty high chance of success with some of them—throwing a fit and refusing to go down the aisle, finding some way to call the police and report myself kidnapped, or make an enormous scene in front of the wedding crowd. I can easily make myself the worst sort of bride, more trouble than I'm worth for someone as seemingly put together as Xavier Romano.

But … I haven't made a single move. Not yet, at least. Maybe it's that I'm still in shock from all of this happening so fast, but I haven't left.

And before I know it, I'm being fitted into a wedding gown.

Like most women, I imagined what I wanted my wedding dress to look like from a young age. I keep telling myself that this isn't a real wedding, just something unfortunate I'm being forced into, and I shouldn't care what kind of dress I wear. Still, I turn down four dresses before I slide into the fifth and finally feel a spark.

"Huh," I say, turning back and forth in the mirror of the guest room. Xavier didn't trust me not to leave, so he had a local bridal shop bringme a small selection to choose from, and the attendant who delivered them already looks exhausted. She perks up when I finally display interest. "This one … isn't so bad. I like it, I think."

The dress is off-white and strapless, with a plunging neckline. It's form-fitting through the torso and then flows down to my feet. The skirt isn't big or fluffy, but it does have some volume to it. There are no jewels or crystals, just simple elegance.

"Oh, this one is perfect on you," the attendant gushes, hurrying over to adjust the veil pinned to my hair. "What do you think?"

I tilt my head at my reflection. The dress isn't fancy, but it makes me feel beautiful, natural, and not overdone. "It will work," I tell her after a long moment, feeling my heart clench in my chest. I think about my late mother, the businesses my father is trying to save, and the sacrifices I have to make to ensure that happens. It isn't fair, but life rarely is.

I try to focus on the positives—all the money I'll save, never having to worry about bills. It will be okay. I'll have my real first wedding someday, and this will all be something to look back on and laugh at.

It's hard to feel amused right now, though, when I'm looking at myself in the mirror as a bride, set to marry a man I don't even know.

"Okay," the attendant says cheerfully, unaware of what a mess my life is currently. "Let's get you out of that dress."

Once I've changed back into Xavier's sweats, I head downstairs to the kitchen. My stomach is growling, and it's been hours since I've eaten anything. I was too nervous to go down to the kitchen when I woke up, despite the amazing smells wafting up through the floor. When the wedding dress fitter showed up, there'd been an enormous muffin and bottle of water outside the door, along with a note reading, 'You're not a prisoner.'

I ate the muffin, but I still felt like a prisoner. Still, if I was going to bebrave enough to pick out a dress, I needed to be brave enough to explore the rest of the almost-mansion.

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