Page 31 of Fairy Tale Husband

Alarm appeared on the lawyer’s face. “What happened? Wouldn’t she sign the prenuptial agreement?”

“She signed it.”

“She knows the marriage is temporary? Is she going to create a scene when it’s time for a divorce?”

“She’s agreed to the divorce, and she won’t kick up a fuss.”

“What about fulfilling the conditions of the will? You two are... ah... wedded and bedded, right?”

Jake gritted his teeth, pushing the words out with an effort. “It’s been taken care of.”

“And she’ll admit as much? In open court?”

Jake’s mouth tightened. “We haven’t discussed it, yet. But knowing Wynne, she’ll do anything I ask.”

Peter stared, nonplussed. “Even a real wife wouldn’t do that. Where’s the problem? Your bride sounds damn near perfect to me.”

“She’s...” He searched for the appropriate word. So many occurred. Sweet. Adorable. Innocent. Sexy as hell. He didn’t dare use any of them. He settled for the blandest suitable description, even if a wholly inadequate one. “Nice. She’s nice.”

“Hell. That is a problem.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm, Bryant,” Jake growled. “I’m serious. I’m in a real fix here.”

“How? You wanted a plain, practical and levelheaded woman who’d agree to a temporary arrangement. Isn’t that what you got?”

Jake frowned. “She isn’t exactly plain,” he admitted.

“No? You roped a pretty one, huh? What did you say her name was? Wynne?”

“Wynne Sommers. And she’s...” He pictured her on their wedding night, reaching for him, eyes drugged with passion, lips full and ripe and moist, her body trembling with desire.

“Practical?”

Jake couldn’t help smiling. “Not that I’ve noticed.” Determined. Whimsical. Adorable. Astarry-eyed dreamer.

“But at least she’s levelheaded.”

When her head wasn’t in the clouds—arare occurrence he suspected. “She’s hard to describe.”

Peter didn’t bother to hide his confusion. “Uh-huh. Give it a shot, anyway.”

“She’s...”

“Nuts. Wait a minute, boys. We have another problem.” Wynne opened her purse and thumbed through her wallet, counting the last few dollars she had to her name. “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Fifteen dollars and sixty-seven cents. That’s not going to go very far.”

“Can you write a check?” Buster asked, ever practical.

“I closed my Maryland bank account. But maybe we can get some help.” She grasped the boys by the hand and marched toward the front of the store. “Excuse me,” she said to the woman behind the cash register. “Is the owner here?”

“You’re speakin’ to her, honey. Belle Blue’s the name. What can I do you for?”

“I’m Wynne Hondo. And these are my nephews, Buster and Chick. We just moved to Chesterfield and I came shopping while my husband ran errands and—”

“Did you say Hondo?” Belle repeated sharply.

“That’s right.” Wynne smiled in delight. “Do you know Jake?”

“Black hair, aheart of stone, and the devil’s own eyes? Sure, Iknow him.”

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