Page 6 of Reckless Love

“In order for you to retain the full amount you receive on your wedding day, you must agree to give the marriage a fair chance. Should you elect to divorce before the first year, you will be required to pay back the five million dollars. The only clause that would protect you and prevent that is if there is just cause for the union to be dissolved—cheating, abuse, etcetera.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Okay.”

“That goes both ways, Alessia,” she said. “If you cheat or abuse your spouse, you will still be expected to pay back your marriage stipend.”

“I understand,” I answered.

Miss May gave a sharp nod. “Wonderful. And all of the questions you answered in our online questionnaire were correct?”

“Yes.”

She made a soft humming noise. “I must admit, we don’t get many women like yourself utilizing our services.”

“Desperate?” I half-joked.

“Virgins,” she clarified. “There is an expectation that the marriage be consummated the night of the wedding, as is tradition. Will that be a problem?”

I slowly shook my head. “No.” My fingers curled into fists, my nails biting into my palms as my heartbeat quickened. I’d never expected my first time to be part of a contract, but it wasn’t like I’d had a lot of luck in the romance department on my own.

I’d always wanted it to be special, and what was more special than your wedding night? Even if you had no clue who the groom was, where the ceremony was taking place, or what your lives together would look like.

“When is the wedding supposed to happen?” I asked softly.

“A week from tomorrow,” Miss May replied.

My heart freaking stopped. “That’s… soon.”

She smiled. “I’m aware.”

“I have to find a dress, and?—”

“Your fiancé has indicated he will select the dress. The event will be a private affair, with just the two of you and a witness apiece of your choosing. A car will be sent to collect you the evening before your wedding. You’ll stay at a hotel and have a team on hand to help with the dress, makeup, and your hair,” Miss May informed me.

“Where will we live?” I glanced around my tiny loft apartment.

“You’ll move into your husband’s home. He’s requested you have your belongings packed as well. A moving team will collect them after you leave for the hotel,” she replied. The easy way she answered each question told me she’d done this countless times. That I wasn’t the first woman who’d contracted out her marriage.

Somehow that made me feel a little better. A little less like a freak.

“Any other questions?” she pressed.

All I could do was shrug helplessly.

“I’ll send all the paperwork to Mr. Devane,” she told me, her tone softer. “He’ll walk you through all the steps, but you can reach me by email if something comes up between now and the wedding.”

“Thanks.” The word barely left my lips before Miss May ended the call.

I stared at my reflection in the black screen for a beat before closing the laptop and standing up. I eyed my little apartment and tried to imagine packing it up.

I didn’t have a lot. The loft had come with the furniture, which was good because I sold most of what my grandparents owned to try and earn cash to keep Hope’s Heart alive.

It was mostly clothes and toiletries, which was sad, and a far cry from how I’d grown up.

But I was resilient. I would get through this, and, more importantly, the charity that my mom and Nonna had loved would survive. As soon as I was able to access my trust fund, I could make Hope’s Heart everything it was ever meant to be.

And in the meantime, I’d pray my future husband wasn’t a total asshole. At some point, Murphy had to run out of laws and things had to go my way.

Right?

---