Page 1 of The Wrong Husband

Chapter 1

Emilia

Iwas married.

My husband a.k.a. my sister's ex-boyfriend, was sleeping next to me in a bed in a suite at the Bellagio in Las Vegas.

Initially, we were having a good time. He was drunk and I was a little tipsy.

Next thing I knew we were saying, "I do" and Elvis pronounced us husband and wife.

I was in love with Damian Archer. Had been since I was a child and my father started to work for Archer Galleries. I'd been five and Damian had been fifteen. Love at first sight. Instalove. Crazy about you kinda love. I'll die for you love.

I decided I'd wait for Damian. Eventually, he'd notice me and fall in love with me.

It didn't work out that way. Damian did fall in love but not with me. He fell madly in love. 'Balls deep, I will fuck you until I die' kind of love with Bianca.

My sister and Damian were together for three years. There were ups and downs. They broke up and made up right away. This time they had been broken up for over a month and there was no sign of reconciliation.

I didn't know what happened. I never knew what happened with my sister. Bianca and my mother were a team; and I was on a need to know basis…and I needed to know nothing. My father was an island unto himself.

I was the loser sister, the Invisible Miss Winters. So, when Damian paid me attention, what was I supposed to do? My knees went weak, and I was a slobbering mess. When we wandered off onto the strip and ended up at Silver Bells Wedding Chapel, Damian joked (on his knees), "Marry me, Emilia. I'm heartbroken. Heal me, babe."

Babe? Yeah, so wrong thing to focus on. I should've focused on the heartbroken part. My sister had broken his heart. I should've had better sense than to say what I did.

"Of course, I'll marry you."

There was no excuse. I wasn't that drunk, but I pretended, even to myself, that I was. This man was giving me everything I had ever wanted in my twenty-three years—I couldn't say no.

I shouldn't have done it. He was drunk, still sore about Bianca. I took advantage of him.

God! Why did I have to marry him?

Because you're a horrible person. You stole your sister's boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend. No stealing was involved, I told myself petulantly.

I hadn't expected to see Damian in Vegas. I was here for a meeting. I worked for my mother and Bianca, they were co-CEOs of Make Me Beautiful, a chain of salons that catered to the rich and famous. Chain was maybe inappropriate—they had three salons, one in San Francisco, one in Oakland, and the third in Santa Clara. I didn't think they should've opened the two salons, which they did in quick succession, burning through money.

This was why I was working for them—helping them because they couldn’t afford to hire a proper buyer.

I was in Vegas to meet with distributors and while I was getting a drink at the Bellagio, in walked Damian Archer and my panties melted away.

Now, he lay on his stomach, his face turned toward me.

He was beautiful. Steel-gray eyes. Long lashes. Olive complexion, thanks to Marcela, his Spanish mother who had a temper to match. I wanted to touch him but didn't feel I had the right even though we were now married, even though last night we had sex.

I had sex with Damian Archer!

I was mortified and thrilled all at the same time.

I'd given him my virginity. Now, I'm not one of those girls who thinks her virginity is some gift. I wanted to offload it years ago, but the Invisible Miss Winters simply couldn't get her act together and date, couldn't find a man to be interested enough in her to fuck her.

The sex with Damian had been amazing. Or maybe this was how sex was supposed to be. What did I know? What I did know was that I hadn't expected to have one orgasm the first time I had sex and instead I had three. Count with me: one, two, three.

One with his fingers. One with his tongue. One with his cock.

I had expected pain and there was some of that but honest to God, this was sex that romance writers write about. The kind of sex that makes readers reach for their vibrators.

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