Page 4 of Reckless Love

“It’s a marriage,” I said. “It’s forever and always. It’s sharing your life with this person until death do you part.”

Mr. Devane’s lips twitched. “I do love your optimism, Sia, but that’s not realistic. The marriage will be a contract between you and the man who selects you.”

“Why does he get to select me?” I asked, even though something about that put me at ease. Somehow it would be easier being chosen than doing the choosing.

Mr. Devane shrugged. “Because it’s how it’s done. Men and women are carefully vetted by staff. Men are given access to a catalog of potential wives, and you’re notified if someone is interested in you.”

“And then what? We date?” I tried to imagine showing up for a blind date and knowing the guy wanted to buy the rest of my life.

Again, Mr. Devane shook his head. “No. You meet on the day of the wedding. It won’t be an elaborate affair, but it will be legally binding. Everything will be laid out contractually ahead of time, and I am more than happy to assist you with that.”

A sad smile twisted my lips. “I think we both know I can’t afford you after today, Mr. Devane.”

“I’ll waive my fee,” he insisted. “Sia, this is the least I can do for you, short of marrying you myself, to get you access to your money.”

“I’m fairly certain Mrs. Devane would kill us both.” His wife was the sweetest woman in the world. She epitomized the word grandmother, and was forever smelling like freshly baked cookies and giving bone-crushing hugs.

His lips quirked up. “Indeed.” He sobered quickly. “I know this isn’t ideal, Sia, but I also know you are trying to save the charity your mother and grandmother worked so hard for.”

“Hope was my sister,” I murmured. “I barely remember her because she died so young, but her illness shouldn’t have meant she should be loved any less than anyone else.”

“Which is why my wife and I have, and always will, support Hope’s Heart,” he vowed. “Alessia, you don’t have to make up your mind right away, but I’ve run the numbers with you. Hope’s Heart will close within six months without a significant cash flow increase.”

I lifted the card, feeling the almost satin-like texture that spoke of sheer wealth and decadence. A shiver rolled down my spine as I leaned back in my seat. “I can change my mind?”

“Up until the moment of your vows, yes,” he assured me. “You aren’t a steed being sold to a butcher, Alessia. You will have a say. And, at the end, your inheritance will be yours and yours alone.”

My eyes slid shut, and I found myself nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Two

Miss May had to be a codename for the woman on the other side of the computer screen. Dressed in a starkly white collared shirt with a red blazer over it and a ruby choker around her throat, her black hair hung in a glossy sheet over her shoulders. Her eyes were lined with heavy kohl, and her makeup was flawless down to the matte red lipstick that matched her jacket. Ruby studs glittered in her ears, and I knew from the color and size alone they must’ve cost a fortune.

Miss May was seated in a chair that appeared to be part of a home office. Nondescript thick legal tomes lined the walnut shelves behind her, and I was left wondering why I’d opted for an oversized sweater and leggings with my dark hair thrown into a messy bun.

Miss May looked exactly like the clientele she represented, and I looked like I was missing a bowl of ramen and a textbook. She was high class while I was giving off major ‘struggling college student’ vibes as I sat on a thrifted sofa in front of a simple white wall background, my laptop perched precariously on a stack of books on the coffee table so my face was in the camera’s lens.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Winters,” she began, the edge of her smile a bit brittle and her voice a smidge too chipper. I’d been around enough people faking it to know when someone was wearing a mask.

Not that I’d be calling her on it. She literally held my life in her hands.

Flipping open a fairly hefty file, Miss May scanned the first page. “Thank you for completing the intake assessments so quickly.”

“Uh, sure,” I stammered. As soon as I’d decided to set the ball in motion for WfH, Mr. Devane had handled all the particulars. Endless nondisclosure agreements were signed, and that seemed to signal the start of this whole adventure.

A black car showed up on my street the very next morning to take me to a physical with an approved physician. The physical covered everything from my height and weight to my sexual history. After that, I moved onto an evaluation with a psychiatrist who asked me questions until my head spun.

Once I’d arrived back home, all I’d craved was a glass of wine and my bed. But there had been an email waiting for me to complete another intake form, and this one covered… a lot. From dietary needs and preferences to sexual experience.

Even though I’d been the only one in the room filling out the form, I’d blushed like crazy at all the sexual questions and my utter lack of experience. As soon as I’d hit the submit button, Miss May had sent me a link to a Zoom call taking place the following day.

It had only taken three days to completely upend my life, and it felt like my brain was in the middle of an endless tilt-a-whirl. This was all happening so fast.

“Miss Winters?” The edge to her tone let me know I’d spaced out during her question.

“Sorry,” I murmured, running a hand over my face. “Can you please repeat that?”

Her lips flattened for a millisecond before her smile was back. “I asked if you had any questions before we begin?”

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