Marry him…or end up broke. It was an obvious choice for me.
Marry me…or lose an entire lifetime’s work. The choice was pretty obvious for him too. Never in a million years did I think that I’d be flying to Vegas. Not to get drunk. Not for a bachelorette party. But to get _fake _married to the man every woman on the planet wants. He’s hot, he’s smart, he’s everything except for my real husband. 365 days. That’s how long I need to keep my hands and feelings in check. It’s the agreement. It’s in our goddamn contract. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t break the rules. If I didn’t complicate an already complicated situation. In other words…_I’m pregnant. _He doesn’t know it yet. Just like he doesn’t know that I broke the 365 days of “no love” agreement a long, long time ago.
