Page 8 of Bride Bargain

My boss frowns. “Yes, tradition. That’s what you said.”

Shame and humiliation crash over me in a sickly wave, and my legs wobble as I step back. At first, I tread on the train of my wedding dress, the fabric straining, and I stagger to one side to avoid ripping it. Elliot reaches out but I wave him away.

“I’m fine! I’m fine.”

“Claire.”

“We should both shower. Separately!”

“Claire.”

“You can go first. I know how uncomfortable you must be right now.”

“There are two bathrooms. I’m not—”

I never hear what Elliot isnot, because I grab two handfuls of wedding gown and jog out of his kitchen like there’s somewhere I urgently need to be.

But there’s nowhere to run. This isourpenthouse now, our marital home, and as of today, I live here with the man I’ve pined for since puberty first overran my body in high school.

The man I love.

The man Icrave.

The man who married me for PR reasons.

Yikes.

Four

Elliot

Claire Montgomery has always made sense to me. Maybe not her every fleeting mood or impulse decision—god knows Claire makes plenty of those—but broadly, I understand her better than anyone else. It’s the lifeline of my existence.

Or it was.

“Your two-thirty meeting is stuck in traffic, so I bumped them up to four. And there are new contractors for you to approve, so check your in-tray.”

Claire’s wearing a burgundy shirt dress with a belt that accentuates her curves, and her blonde hair is woven into a braid. She frowns down at her notepad as she speaks, drumming the end of her pen against the page.

Even though everything has been digitized for years, Claire still insists on keeping paper notes of everything. She says she finds it reassuring.

I’m no expert on human expressions, but Claire does not look reassured right now. She looks tense, studiously avoiding my gaze.

I do not understand.

“Claire,” I say.

“We leaked the photos from the wedding online, so the information is out there now. The marketing department will keep track of how the masses respond.”

I don’t care how they respond. Maybe that was the original excuse to marry Claire, but I’ve never had much tolerance for lying to myself.

I just wanted her. I still do.

“So far, you’ve had mixed reactions. Some people think it humanizes you; others think you’re a complete jerk for marrying your assistant. There are still rumblings of a boycott, but it’s not as bad as before. The internet has a short attention span.”

“Claire.”

Pale green eyes dart up to mine, then flit away. My thumb taps against my desk, agitated.

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