Page 3 of Reckless Love

“Perhaps you could throw a fundraiser?” Mr. Devane suggested.

“With what money?” Desperation clogged my throat. And even if I had the funds, who would I invite? It’s not like I had a bunch of rich friends looking for somewhere to blow their money. Nonna had handled all of that. And when she’d gotten sick, Mrs. Peterson had stepped into that role. But Mrs. Peterson had retired to Tampa a year ago, and I’d been trying to do it all myself.

Trying, and failing.

Who knew there were so many children who needed help, and just in New York City alone?

“Alessia—Sia,” Mr. Devane caught himself, “may I suggest something that’s not within the realm of normal?”

I tossed my hands in the air. “Why not?”

“Your problems could be solved quite simply with two words.” Mr. Devane leaned forward. “I do.”

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. “And who, exactly, am I marrying?”

Taking a deep breath, Mr. Devane reached into his suit jacket pocket and withdrew a black rectangle. He slid it across the table to me.

Taking it, I turned it over in my fingers. In silver, embossed letters, it simply stated ‘WfH.’

Frowning, I flipped it again to see a phone number on the back. “WfH? I mean, I guess it would be nice to work from home, but I have a job, and I’m not sure that would help my current state.”

Mr. Devane’s smile was thin. “No, my dear. It’s a company. A very exclusive, very elite company. I’ve had several clients use them over the years, and they have a very good reputation.”

“What’s the company?” I asked.

“Wife For Hire.”

I started laughing, but my laughter faded as I realized this wasn’t a joke and he wasn’t laughing. My mouth went bone dry. “You’re serious.”

He inclined his head. “As you know, Sia, many of my clients look for discretion in all avenues of life, including their personal lives. This may be just what you need.”

“A mail order husband?” I squeaked, dropping the card like it was on fire.

“No,” Mr. Devane emphasized.

I breathed out a slow breath.

“Technically, you would be the mail order bride,” he added.

“What? No!” I exploded out of my seat, flapping my hands like an electrocuted bird, because this was so overwhelmingly not happening. “I can’t—I’m not—” I sucked in a sharp breath and hissed, “I’m not a hooker.”

Mr. Devane reared back like I’d slapped him. “And I would never insinuate that you were. Contrary to the simplistic name, Wife for Hire is a very exclusive, very elite company that caters to a very specific clientele.”

“Let me guess,” I scoffed, “the kind who like to chain women up in their basements and torture kittens for fun?”

“Absolutely not, and I’m offended you think so little of me to believe I would ever mention such a thing to you.” Mr. Devane’s brows dropped with disappointment. “Your grandfather was one of my closest friends. I would never defile his memory by ever causing you harm.”

I sank back into my chair, feeling like a reprimanded little girl. “I apologize, Mr. Devane. I know you wouldn’t… I’m sorry.”

He gave me a stiff nod. “Before you jump to any conclusions, let me give you a bit more information about this company.”

I warily eyed the card, like it was a rattlesnake about to strike. “All right.”

“Everything about your interactions with Wife for Hire will be kept confidential. There are multiple non-disclosures you will need to sign, and you will need to complete physical and psychiatric examinations,” he began, leaning back in the Italian leather chair. “As the title suggests, you will be compensated for your participation.”

“Isn’t that just a fancy way of saying whored out?” I grumbled.

“You’re not a whore, Alessia. You’ll be someone’s wife,” Mr. Devane rebuked lightly. “And, in case it isn’t obvious, the men who utilize this service aren’t the sort of men who are hanging out at a local bar on a Friday night. These men are all elites in their respective fields, which can make finding a wife a delicate matter. CEOs, actors, philanthropists, and men in other positions of power and fame can’t always afford the luxury of random dates. This is, at its heart, a business transaction.”

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