Everyone deserved a little adventure in their lives, didn’t they?

Claire had only three seconds to revel in the fact that her life-adventure was about to begin, when it did. Or rather, when it erupted around her.

“Cathy,” Ian started.

“Claire,” she corrected.

“Get Dan Masters on the phone. His number should be in the—”

The melodic ring of a cellphone cut through his words. Both men reached into their suit pockets, Tristan coming out with the ringing device. “It’s mine.”

She sank down into the seat next to Tristan and started shaking.

Ian picked up the receiver from the desk and dialed. “This is Ian Anderson. I—”

Dumbfounded, Claire sat in the leather chair and resisted the urge to pinch herself. It was simply unbelievable. She was marrying Tristan McFarland. What was her life going to be like married to a man like him? Even if it was a fake marriage. And what if she were really married to him?

And he came home every night. And—

“Claire?”

She jumped to her feet at the sound of her name, nervously running her hands down the sides of her conservative dark blue skirt. She faced Ian. “Yes, sir?”

“What are you doing just sitting there? Get Dan Masters on the phone. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” As she scurried toward the door that led to the outer office she heard Ian say into the phone, “I need a new secretary right away. No, no, the one you sent this week is just perfect. But it seems she has a…more pressing engagement.”

Fifteen minutes after Claire called the law firm of Masters, Masters, and Landry, she was once again seated in the big leather chair in Ian’s office. Across from her sat Dan Masters, a distinguished man in a perfectly fitted gray suit that perfectly matched his perfectly graying hair.

Even though the leather of the chair beneath her felt warm, and she could feel the cool air from the air-conditioning unit, even though she could smell the rich aroma of the coffee she’d brewed earlier, she still couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a dream. A wonderful, impossible dream.

Claire sank back into the chair and closed her eyes. How many nights had she lain awake in her tiny, tiny room in the clapboard house she’d shared with her grandmother, wondering if anything special would ever happen to her? She knew that as long as she remained in small town Dunham, Texas, nothing good would ever come her way. She’d been in Dallas only three months and …wow!

“This is the pre-nuptial agreement.” Masters’ voice crashed her back to reality. Her eyes popped open as he pushed the document into her hands.

“What?” She looked from the papers to the older attorney.

“It’s a prenuptial agreement. Forgive me,” he said with a regal nod. “But I insisted that this document be drawn up shortly after the reading of the will.” He smiled kindly, but the gesture didn’t reach his cold gray eyes. “I’ve known Tristan his entire life, and I had a feeling that something like this—”

“What Mr. Masters is trying to say, Claire,” Ian interrupted. “Is that the document is straight forward and without specifics. That’s why we’re here right now.”

“It is?” She blinked. She felt as if her whole life was out of focus. Blinking didn’t bring everything in bright and clear again, but she did it once more—just in case.

“We’re here,” Masters stated, “to ensure that the wishes of my client are carried through.”

“Your client?” Claire looked back to the gray headed man. “Tristan…I mean, Mr. McFarland?”

“Mrs. McFarland,” he corrected. “Tristan’s Aunt Patricia. I wrote her will, and I will be the one to make certain the terms are met.”

“Terms?” Heaven help her, she was out of her league. Why hadn’t she taken some law classes at school instead of living vicariously through haphazardly selected geography courses? “I don’t understand.”

“It’s all very simple, my dear.” Masters braced his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Mrs. McFarland dictated that her nephew must marry within three months of her death. These gentleman—” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand— “have informed me that you are to be the bride. Before you is the financial agreement that must be signed before such a union can take place.”

So that’s why he’s in such a hurry to get married. Claire looked at the papers, then to Ian. “May I read it?”

“By all means,” he replied.

She started scanning the words but lost her way shortly after the party of the first part and the party of the second part. She placed the papers neatly on the desk. “I think I need counsel.” She couldn’t afford counsel, but she needed it. “Can this wait a couple of days?”

“No!” Her prospective bridegroom exclaimed.

Ian shot him a chilling look, then he turned his attention back to her, a smile warming his features. “What Tristan means to say is bringing in outside counsel isn’t a good idea. We don’t have much time, and it’s very important to keep the terms of this marriage away from the press. I will serve as your counsel. What do you need to know?”

“Aren’t you here as Tristan’s counsel?” She turned in her seat to face her future husband. “May I call you Tristan?” What was she saying? Ian told her to call him that. They were to be married. What was she supposed to call him other than his given name?

He shrugged one shoulder. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally this obtuse. It’s just that…” She trailed off unable to say what really bothered her. It’s just that when you’re near me I can’t seem to think at all. “It’s just that all of this is very new to me.”

“That makes two of us.”

Once again Tristan’s gaze focused on her nose. He picked up the pre-nup and handed it to her. “Look this over and ask when you come to something you don’t understand.”

Claire nodded, then read the paper carefully, trying to make sense of the legal mumbo-jumbo. It seemed pretty standard to her—not that she had any experience with pre-nuptial agreements.

The document stated that after she and Tristan were married, they were to retain all of their current assets separately. After the terms of the will were met, she would be compensated for her time as Tristan’s wife and would be free to file for an uncontested divorce. And he would inherit…

She looked up to the man she had agreed to marry. “You’re going to inherit 6 billion dollars?”

Tristan gave her a solemn nod. “6.3 actually.”

“Most of which is the company,” Masters stated coldly. “His aunt’s company.”

“My family’s company.” Tristian’s voice was edged with a thread of steel.

Somehow Claire got the impression that both men were telling her not to get any ideas about money above the agreed upon amount. She could barely fathom the million dollars that would be hers after a year. 6.3 billion was completely beyond her comprehension.

“Can we get back on task here?” Masters’ words crashed through her thoughts. “We still have a great deal to cover if this wedding is to take place tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She glanced at Mr. Anderson, then turned her gaze on Tristan. He didn’t make eye contact. “We’re supposed to be married tomorrow?”

“Is there a problem?” Tristan lifted one brow to punctuate his question.

“Well, no. I guess not. But…”

Ian pushed his way in front of Tristan and glanced down at Claire. “What Tristan means to ask, Claire, is, do you have someone you need to call to attend the wedding?”

“No.” Now that Nanie was gone, she had no family left. “But…”

“But what?” Ian asked gently.

“What about the three day waiting period?” It was Texas law. Everybody knew that. You got your marriage license and then three days later you could get married.

Ian shot her a smile that made her glad they were on the same side. “There are ways around such things.”

She shook her head. This all seemed to be moving way too fast, but she had dreamed of adventure and that was its nature: fast-moving, hard-going, out-of-control. That was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?

“It’s all set then. Claire, sign those papers, and we’ll have the ceremony tomorrow afternoon. Say, one o’clock?”

Tristan pulled out his phone and thumbed open his calendar. “I can’t make it then. How about one-thirty? That should give me plenty of time to finish with my morning appointments, then make it to the courthouse and back before the afternoon board meeting.”

“Fine.” Ian clasped his hands together. “Is one-thirty okay with you, Claire?”

She was about to remind the men that she had to work tomorrow, when she remembered that Ian had already arranged for her replacement. “I suppose that’s okay.”

“Do you have any questions about the pre-nup?” Ian asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then we’ll need you to sign it in triplicate.”

Her fingers trembled as she penned her name. It was only a business deal and for no more than one year. It was her adventure. Her chance of a lifetime to be someone exciting and glamorous. So why did she feel as if she had just signed away her entire being?

Tristan signed his name to the last copy of the pre-nup and resisted the urge to sigh. It was done. Now all he had to do was say “I do” tomorrow and the money was his. Well, almost.

“Everything’s in order,” Masters said, stacking the papers neatly in his briefcase. “I’ll be going now. I expect a notarized copy of your marriage certificate in my office no later than tomorrow afternoon.” He shut his briefcase with a decisive click and left the office.

“Well…” His bride-to-be hesitantly stood. Force of habit brought Tristan to his feet as well. “I guess I should get back to work.” Was she for real?

“That won’t be necessary, Claire,” Ian said.

Tristan was certain Ian was thinking the same thing, but he was a pro at hiding his emotions. Whereas these days Tristan’s seemed to simmer just below the surface.

She nodded, then wiped her palms down the sides of her simple navy skirt. “I guess I’ll just go then…?”

She turned and started toward the door. Tristan watched her go, wondering just how he’d gotten himself into this one.

“Claire.” Ian jumped to his feet and headed around the side of his desk. “Where are you going?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Home, I guess. I mean, I have one more night there.” As Tristan watched, her cheeks turned pink, and she ducked her head. “I need to find something to wear tomorrow. Unless you need me here…”

“As a matter of fact,” Ian said. “We do.”

“We do?” Tristan asked. They had signed the papers and agreed on a time, what did they need her for now?

“We’ve made some…arrangements for you for the evening.”

“Arrangements?” Tristan echoed as his medium bride did the same.

“Arrangements,” Ian reiterated. “Tristan…may I speak to you in private?”

“I think that’s a very good idea. Would you excuse me, Candy?”

“Claire,” she corrected, a tiny frown on that medium brow of hers.

“Claire.” Tristan nodded. “Right,” he said as he stepped to the far side of the office to conference with Ian. “What  are you talking about? And make it quick. I’ve got a meeting in exactly forty-five minutes.”

“I’m talking about not leaving your bride alone until tomorrow. About making sure that the press doesn’t get to her—or she to them. And not giving her any room to change her mind. You can’t let her out of your sight. Too many things could go wrong.”

Tristan nodded and looked back to where his medium bride stood, weight evenly distributed on both feet, hands folded demurely in front of her. “What am I supposed to do with her?” He’d never asked that question of a woman before. Then again, he’d never had a medium bride before.

Ian glanced over to …Claire. “I don’t know. Just don’t leave her alone.”

“I can’t stay with her. I don’t want to stay with her. Who can I…”

“Gladys,” both men said in unison.

“It’ll cost me double time,” Tristan commented.

“But it’ll be worth it.”

“Do you think it’s tax deductible?”

“Don’t push it.” Ian smiled then nudged Tristan back over to where Claire was still standing, weight still evenly distributed between both feet, hands still demurely folded in front of her.

Tristan cleared his throat. “It seems we have some arrangements for you tonight.”

Ian nodded. “This is a very special day in a girl’s life. There are a lot of choices and decisions to be made. Tristan and I feel that you should spend it surrounded by your family and friends.”

She gave him a small little smile. “I don’t have any family.”

“Then surely…”

She shook her head. “There’s no one.”

Tristan was almost shocked at the grin that spread its way across Ian’s face. Tristan had seen that grin only a few times in the past, but it had always spelled trouble for whomever received it. “But that’s where you’re wrong, Claire, my dear,” Ian said. “You are marrying into a wonderful family, full of love and caring.”

Tristan choked.

Ian pounded him on the back with more gusto than was really necessary. “Gladys will be with you tonight.”

“Gladys?”

“Tristan’s…aunt.”

“Aunt?”

“Aunt Gladys.” Tristan solemnly nodded feeling a pang of conscience. What was his problem? He’d lied bigger lies to secure smaller mergers. Why did this one matter? “She’ll help you tonight.”

“And in the morning,” Ian added. “To uh…get ready and make it to the courthouse on time.”

Claire nodded. Then her face broke into the most beautiful, most un-medium smile that Tristan had ever seen. “Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot to me. Thank you both so very much.”

“It’s the least we could do,” Ian said.

“We’ll have Gla— I mean, Aunt Gladys come over and check you into your suite at the Adams Mark.” Right after she books it for you, Tristan silently added. And calls my publicist for media damage control. “Then you’ll have the whole evening for girl talk.”

Guarded, that’s the only way Claire could describe how she felt. She had been so excited when Ian told her that he and Tristan had booked her one of the finest suites at the downtown Adams Mark Hotel. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would ever stay in a place as nice as the luxurious hotel. She had been excited at the prospect of a night in a hotel with a friendly female cohort.

Claire stole a quick peek at her companion. Tristan’s Aunt Gladys turned out to be a stern, dour faced woman no taller than five foot including the two-inch-thick crepe soled sensible oxfords she wore. She had pure white hair that might have been as fine as cotton if it hadn’t been so severely pulled back from her wrinkled forehead. Claire hadn’t had a chance to see the woman’s hands. Ever since she had arrived at the hotel, Tristan’s aunt had kept her arms folded over her tiny chest in a military fashion—if there was such a thing.

When Claire had left Ian’s office, she hadn’t known what to expect from the evening. But it certainly hadn’t been sitting on the sofa and staring at his aunt.

She sighed and stood, then made her way over to her bags. Might as well get out her dress and hang it up. Hopefully the wrinkles would fall out before morning. Or rather one-ish tomorrow.

She slipped the coat hanger over the hook on the wall that she could only assume was there for this very purpose and smoothed her hands down the front of the dress.

She couldn’t say it was truly a wedding dress, but it was her favorite. A delicate pale blue that seemed to suit her complexion and show off her eyes. Though she wished she had brought some of that spray wrinkle removal stuff. Even after just a couple of hours in the suitcase the delicate fabric looked as if it had been wadded in a ball for years.

Her actions finally snagged the attention of the serious aunt. “What are you doing?” The question came without any inflection, and Claire wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I’m trying to get the wrinkles out of my dress for tomorrow.”

“You’re wearing that tomorrow?”

“Yes.” The word had barely left her lips before the tiny general of a woman started shaking her head.

“No-no-no-no-no. That will not do.”

“But—” Claire started.

“No.” Gladys raised one tiny hand like a traffic cop.

“I—”

“No.”

Claire let out a defeated sigh. This day was turning out to be so much more than she had bargained for. She gestured toward her jeans and T-shirt. “I can’t wear this, and I’m not going naked.”

She thought she saw a whisper of a smile pass over her stern companion’s lips, but it had to be a trick of the lighting.

“I should say not.” Gladys folded her arms and seemed to study the situation.

Claire had had enough. She was marrying a billionaire tomorrow. The thought alone was enough to make her knees buckle. She needed something to take the edge off. Maybe a small glass of wine.

With a frustrated growl, she snatched up her handbag and started for the door.

“Where are you going?” The question zinged her just seconds before she could reach the handle and a small taste of freedom.

“To the bar?” Why did her voice rise on the end of the sentence? She had intended it to be an emphatic statement, instead she sounded hesitant and unsure.

“Tristan said you were to remain here with me.”

“Well, I need a drink.”

“Room service,” the tiny tyrant barked. “Sit.”

The woman barely reached Claire’s chin, but in a battle of wills she knew who the victor would be.

She dropped her purse by the door and made her way back to one of the plush sofas. A prisoner. That was what she was.

And there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about the matter.

Claire flopped down on the sofa and immediately regretted the action. It was such a nice piece of furniture. It didn’t deserve mistreatment due to her personal frustrations.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Wine,” she said as if a genie could somehow make it so.

Eyes closed, she only heard Gladys pick up the phone and order room service. Then the receiver was replaced only to be picked up again.

Claire lost count of how many calls the tiny woman made. She heard the words ‘immediately’ and ‘size six’. ‘Whatever you have in stock’ was also a popular phrase, along with ‘Toute de suite.’ Whatever that meant.

Before long, there was a knock on the door. Thankfully it was room service bearing several bottles of wine. And good wine it seemed. Not that Claire had much experience with such things, but if the French labels were indication, this wine was the best. What else should she expect from a man like Tristan McFarland?

Claire resisted the urge to sigh a big, “thank goodness” and instead waited patiently for the waiter to pop out the cork.

She resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot as he let the wine ‘breathe’ and managed not to snatch the glass out of his hands after he finally poured her a glass.

Pathetic really. If she kept this up she would be an alcoholic before the year was half over.

So she tempered herself, taking a small sip and nodding her thanks to the waiter.

Gladys slipped him a tip and once again Claire was alone with her pint-sized protector.

Fighting the urge to down the sweet red wine in one long swallow, she made her way back over to the sofa. She sighed as she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. The sooner this wedding business was over, the sooner her life would fall into its new pattern. Whatever that might be.

Not finding the thought all that comforting, she pushed it away. This was the choice she had made, and she would see it through.

Moments later, a quick knock sounded at the door. Claire’s companion released her akimbo pose just long enough to check her watch. “That must be your trousseau.”

“But…” Claire started, stumbling over the words she wanted to say.

Gladys the Stern pinned her with those clear blue eyes. Considering the warmth of Tristan’s hazel gaze, Claire couldn’t help but wonder for a split second if the two people were really related.

“I’m wearing my blue dress.”

The formidable woman raised one perfectly plucked, snow-white brow in a really? sort of way. Then she opened the door of their suite. Three men bustled in carrying a multitude of packages.

“Set them down in the living area,” Gladys said, with an efficient wave of one hand.

Claire watched, her mouth open wide enough to catch flies as the men followed their orders. Enough packages had been delivered to clothe her for the whole year!

The older woman generously tipped them, then saw them to the door.

“All this is for me? For tomorrow?” she whispered, once again feeling as if she were a down-on-her-luck princess who was about to be rescued.

“You’ll need to try these on and see which one suits you best.”

“But it’s just one day.”

“Should I remind you that you are marrying Tristan McFarland? You have to look your best.” She opened the largest of the packages and pulled out a beautiful dress made of the finest silk and lace.

“What if it doesn’t fit?”

Gladys gave her another of those looks over the tiny silver rims of her glasses. “There are five others. As soon as we pin down which one, I’ll have the seamstress come in and make any adjustments.”

“Oh,” she replied more than a little shocked.

Gladys wasted no time in opening a box containing a beautiful pair of beaded, satin dress sandals. Next came a pair of pale pearl-colored, kid leather pumps. A pair of matte-silver, low-heeled, peep-toes, as well as a pair of round-toe, patent leather sling backs. “Size seven and a half.”

“How did you—” Claire shook her head. “What about—”

“Slip, undergarments, and veil.” Gladys pointed to each box in turn. “The flowers will be delivered tomorrow morning before the ceremony.”

“I guess you thought of everything.”

“Tristan pays me to be thorough,” Gladys added, the note of pride strong in her voice.

“You work for Tristan?”

“Of course,” she snapped in that para-military fashion. “Now I suggest you stop dallying and get to trying on these dresses. Otherwise you’ll have to wear that tomorrow.” She nodded toward Claire’s favorite blue dress. And that will never do was left off this time, but it was still hanging around.

Claire rose from the couch and tipped back the contents of her wine glass, fortification to get through the next couple of hours with her own personal bossy bodyguard.

She had no ill feelings toward the woman, just the situation. Gladys was only doing what she had to. As much as Claire liked her blue dress, she knew that it didn’t look like anything the bride of a billionaire would wear.

First a stop at the room service cart for a little more liquid courage and she would be ready to begin. Except drinking alone seemed sad somehow. She had no family left of her own to toast in this new era of her life. Not that this was a traditional marriage, but it would be nice to celebrate a little. She filled her glass then poured another goblet full and handed it to Gladys.

The unsuspecting woman accepted it without protest then looked as if she were holding a poisonous serpent.

“What’s this for?”

“You drink it,” Claire said without malice.

Gladys sniffed it as if it could jump out of the glass and attack.

“Please join me. It’s no fun to drink alone.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, my gosh! You’re not recovering are you?”

“Recovering?”

“You know.” Claire dropped her voice. “Re-cover-ing.” The last thing she needed to do was pressure an alcoholic into drinking with her.

“No.” Gladys shook her head with a stern frown.

“I’m sorry. I meant no offense. I just—well, it’s been quite a day.” She shot Gladys what she hoped was an apologetic smile, but there was no way to gauge how the gesture was taken. The older woman’s expression hadn’t moved one iota since the entire exchange began.

Then Gladys lifted the glass to her lips and took a hesitant sip.

Claire’s smile turned to one of relief. She tipped back her own glass and rolled the tension from her shoulders.

“Try on the long one first.” Gladys pointed to the full length dress.

“Wow.” Claire fingered the beautiful raw silk. The dress was the palest yellow as if the color was an afterthought. Long and flowing it looked more suited to a ballroom than anywhere Claire would go. “It’s beautiful. But isn’t it a little dressy for the courthouse?”

“Are you saying that you don’t want to try it on?” Gladys took another swig of wine.

“No. I just—”

“Try it on,” Gladys said. “If you don’t like the length we’ll have it shortened.”

Claire felt as if she had been handed Christmas on a platter.

“Go on.” Gladys took another sip of wine and pointed to the bathroom. “Let’s see what it looks like.”

Two hours and a bottle of wine later, Claire slipped back into the sheath dress made of beautiful pale pink charmuese. It made her feel like a modern day princess. Off the shoulder cap sleeves and side ruching made for a flattering, figure hugging fit.

Claire took another sip of wine, careful to keep the dress stain-free. She felt like she was on one of those makeover shows where the woman stands and stares in the mirror in awe of the reflection staring back.

“The suede platforms would be a nice touch. You could use the height.”

“The gray ones?”

Gladys nodded.

Claire slipped on the shoes in question careful to not leave any marks on them. She recognized the designer label and the red bottoms. Not as one she could afford, but one of those “lottery shoes” as in “if I ever win the lottery the first thing I’m going to do is buy a pair of Christian Louboutin’s.”

“Now look.” Gladys used her half empty wine glass to point toward the mirror.

Claire turned to study herself in the mirror and looking back was the bride of a billionaire. Or maybe that was the wine playing tricks on her.

Gladys pulled one of the chairs over and climbed up on the seat. “You can wear your hair up like this.” She scooped Claire’s dishwater blond hair up on her head in a loose knot. Wayward strands curled around her face and tickled the back of her neck.

“You think?”

Gladys nodded, then released Claire’s hair and hopped down from the chair. “It’s your wedding day. You should look your very best.”

Claire bit her lip wondering just how much Tristan’s aunt knew about his upcoming wedding.

“It’s okay, dear. I know your secret. But just because it’s a marriage of convenience doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t look beautiful.”

Claire hugged the tiny woman, fighting tears as she returned the embrace. “Thank you, Gladys.”

“Don’t mention it, my dear. Now let’s get some rest. We have a nine a.m. appointment at the spa.”

The following afternoon, Claire stood just inside the judge’s office in the Dallas County Courthouse. It wasn’t the most romantic place to begin her adventure, but at least she felt romantic.

Or rather she might…if she had a groom.

Gladys about had a coronary that morning when Claire had started to strap on her serviceable leather-banded wristwatch, so she decided against it. She glanced to the utilitarian, black-rimmed wall clock. One forty-five. He was late—only fifteen minutes late, but it felt like a week. This was their wedding day after all, not a date for coffee.

She looked to Ian who had arrived at the courthouse shortly after she had that afternoon. Catching her gaze with his own, he lifted the corners of his mouth in what she was certain was meant to be a reassuring smile, but didn’t look like one.

The official cleared his throat. “Mr. Anderson—”

“Ten more minutes,” he interrupted. “Tristan will be here.”

To Claire, the words sounded like a threat, like if he had to, Ian would bodily drag Tristan down the aisle.

What was she doing here? Why had she agreed to marry a man she didn’t really know? She ought to leave right now, before this farce went any further. Tristan’s tardiness was a sign, and she should thank her lucky stars that she had received a reprieve from this year-long sentence of being married to him.

She turned to leave and instead found herself face to bullet-proof vest with the tall, ebony-skinned female deputy who had been summoned from the headquarters down the hall to witness the event. Claire smiled up at her in what she hoped looked like a friendly gesture and returned to her mark in front of the judge’s desk. Had the Amazon been invited merely to stand up for Claire or was she really there to make sure that Claire didn’t change her mind?

Suddenly, she felt so very alone in the world. Her Nanie was gone, and the closest thing she had to a friend had pushed her aside like yesterday’s news. She was broke and for the most part unskilled. She needed the next year to get her life back in order, decide where she wanted to be, what she wanted to do.

Tristan’s tardiness wasn’t a reprieve, but this marriage was. No matter how pitiful it really seemed on the outside, she had to go through with it.

If loneliness and homelessness weren’t enough, her Nanie had raised her to keep her promises. Yesterday, she had promised to marry Tristan McFarland. She had even signed a contract. There was no backing out now.

She caught Gladys’s gaze. The woman’s lips twitched at the corners. Claire considered that about the closest she would get to a smile from the woman, and the gesture calmed her.

She stiffened her resolve and her backbone, trying to regain some of her earlier confidence. But it, like her wedding bouquet, was rapidly wilting as the delay continued.

Claire let her gaze casually trail around the tiny office. Framed diplomas, bookcases filled to overflowing with leather-bound legal tomes, oak framed pictures of majestic white and tan hunting dogs.

She resisted the urge to run her hands down her sides and took a deep breath instead. The faint scent of pipe tobacco hung in the air and strangely acted as a balm to her frayed nerves. It was all going to be okay. Deep down she knew that.

But where was he?

“Right here.” She heard his voice before she saw him and felt as if he’d read her mind. Then he came into view, striding into the judge’s office looking more handsome than yesterday and twice as tempting. He wore a navy blue sport coat and khaki slacks, his pristine white dress shirt open at the neck. His cellphone was pressed to his ear as he conversed with someone on the line.

“In Dallas,” he continued. “It’s the logical place.” He paused. “I don’t care what Phil says. I say we do it in Dallas. If he has a problem, have him call me. I’ve got to go now. I have another appointment.” He ended the call and nodded at everyone in the room as if arriving late and on the phone was the proper entry for one’s wedding.

Despite their odd arrangement, Claire couldn’t help the feeling of relief that washed over her. Tristan was here—finally.

Without a word, Ian passed him a tie.

Tristan nodded once, pocketed his cell, and perfectly tied the paisley silk around his neck even without the aid of a mirror.

“Shall we begin?” The official looked at each of them in turn.

Claire swallowed the lump of nervousness in her throat and nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Tristan did the same. Or at least he nodded. There was no nervous swallow on his behalf, not even a hint that today had touched him in any way other than a notation on his calendar.

“Dearly beloved,” the judge started, but Claire found it hard to concentrate on the words he was saying. It was a traditional ceremony, and she had heard the vows countless times during the weddings of her high school friends and the nuptials exchanged on the soap operas that Nanie watched religiously. But it was different hearing them spoken about her. Her and Tristan McFarland.

“Claire, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus—”

A melodic chime cut through the official’s words.

Like outlaws reaching for their six shooters at high noon, Tristan, Ian, the judge, and the deputy all went for their phones.

“It’s mine.” Tristan took his cellphone from the inside pocket of his blazer and checked the screen. He muttered something under his breath. “I’ve got to take this. McFarland,” he said, bending his head so he could better hear the caller.

Claire stared at him in disbelief, conscious of the fact that everyone else in the room was staring at him as well.

He looked up as if sensing that all eyes were fixed on him. “Go ahead,” he said, flicking a hand at the judge to restart the ceremony. “No, not you, Phil.”

The judge blinked once, frowned, then shook his head.

It was the look of pity on everyone’s face that spurred her to motion. Claire placed her hand on Tristan’s arm, ignoring the tingle where she touched him.

He stopped mid-sentence, glancing down at her hand, then up to her eyes. For the first time since yesterday in Ian Anderson’s office, he met her gaze. He swallowed hard.

“I gotta go, Phil.” He tapped the phone off and tore his gaze from hers.

Ian plucked the device from his fingers, then nodded toward the justice of the peace.

“Where were we?” The official cleared his throat. “Right. To be your lawfully wedded husband?”

If she were going to back out, now would be the time. In for a penny in for a pound, Nanie always used to say. Claire never realized what that meant until today.

“I will,” she said in her strongest, most-self-assured voice, but it came out squeaky.

“Will you, Tristan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I will,” he said with a nod.

“Does any man here know any reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?” There was a heartbeat of silence before he continued. “Then by the power vested in me by the state of Texas, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Tristan looked at the official, obviously startled. His expression did nothing for Claire’s confidence.

“What?”

“You have to kiss her,” the judge prompted.

Tristan turned to Claire, his expression clearly stating that he hadn’t considered kissing to be a part of their bargain. “You want me to kiss you?” he asked.

“I—” she started.

“Of course she does,” Ian interjected.

She did? Of course she did. It was all for show. This touch would be a nonexistent peck. Nothing more than she would receive from her brother—if she had a brother. She and Tristan had a business arrangement, nothing more. That’s what the kiss would be like—impersonal, well-suited to both sides, and emotionless—like a business arrangement. Just for show.

Tristan seemed to be waiting on her to do something. What, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t make the first move, and her feet seemed stuck in blocks of cement. She lifted her chin, steeling her nerves against the shock. It wasn’t like she had never been kissed before. But she hadn’t been kissed often and never by a man like Tristan McFarland. Business arrangement or not, she was about to kiss the most handsome man on the planet and she was fairly certain she would need all the reinforcements she could muster.

Then Tristan wrapped his fingers around her forearms as he pulled her closer to him. His warm lips met hers once, her breath hitched. Twice, her eyes fluttered closed. Then his mouth took possession of her and time stood still.

Her head spun as his mouth continued to move over hers, not in the kiss of a normal arranged marriage—if there was such a thing—but in a real, honest-to-God kiss.

She swayed, then melted into him. His hands cupped her face, his fingers slipping into the sides of her hair and tangling in the fancy up-do Gladys had insisted on for the wedding.

On and on the kiss continued until her knees felt like rubber and her heart beat in rhythm with his.

“Ahem.”

At the sound of the hastily cleared throat, Tristan lifted his head and stared down at her for only a moment. Then, he turned his attention back to the official.

Claire couldn’t be certain, but in the millisecond that his gaze had locked with hers, she thought she’d seen something in those incredible hazel eyes, but she didn’t know what it was.

“Congratulations.” Ian cheerfully pounded Tristan on the back and politely nodded at Claire. She wobbled her head in return, too stunned from Tristan’s kiss to do much more than the small gesture.

She numbly complied as Tristan took her elbow and escorted her from the courthouse. The deputy followed them out and Claire considered throwing her bouquet to what remained of her wedding party. Visions of it being blasted mid-air with a single gunshot flashed through her mind and instead she thrust the flowers toward the unsuspecting deputy and followed Tristan down the concrete steps.

A silver-toned limousine was parked at the curb, as if it awaited royalty. Tristan led her to the shiny car with purposeful strides. Without a word, he bundled her inside and shut the door. It was only then that Claire realized she was in the car alone.

Tristan shut the limo’s door and resisted the urge to slump against it.

It was over.

Or was it just beginning?

He remembered the look in Claire’s big sea-colored eyes as he lifted his head from their kiss. She looked as mystified as he felt.

“What are you doing?”

Tristan jerked back to attention at Ian’s words. “I—” What was he doing? He straightened his tie and pushed all thoughts of his wife’s pliant lips from his thoughts. “I’m going back to work.”

The sentence was barely out of his mouth before Ian started shaking his head. “You can’t send her to your house by herself. If the press gets word that you got married and left your wife alone…” He shook his head.

Tristan sighed. Ian was right. Heaven help them all if the press found out. “Have Gladys cancel all my appointments.”

A bark of laughter escaped his friend. “Tell her yourself, lover boy.” He handed Tristan back his phone and opened the door to the waiting car. He gestured for Tristan to get in.  “Congratulations,” he said with a chuckle, but Tristan didn’t answer. Instead he slid into the car as Ian tapped the top to signal his driver.

And Tristan was left alone with this wife.

The German engine purred to life and the big car smoothly slid away from the curb.

“I thought you had a meeting.”

Tristan turned toward her voice, careful not to meet those sea-colored eyes. Her gaze was a danger to his peace of mind.

He’d been working too hard. That was all. Why else could he get so lost so quickly?

He focused on the largest pearl in her necklace. She looked so different today than she had yesterday. It had to be the dress and the makeup. Or had he just been so wrapped up in his own problems that he hadn’t noticed?

“Tristan?”

Had she asked him something? “Uh, I cancelled it.”

“Oh.”

Of course now he had no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his afternoon. Spend it with his wife? Not hardly. He couldn’t look her in the face without losing his train of thought. Too many distractions. And he had his aunt to thank for that.

“I’ve never been in a limo before.”

Careful not to meet her gaze, he once again focused on her necklace, an old fashioned strand of graduated pearls. Women didn’t wear necklaces like that anymore. At least none that he knew did. More of Gladys’s handiwork?

“Never?” he asked.

Of course she hadn’t. Temp secretaries didn’t have a great number of opportunities to be chauffeured around.

She shook her head.

“Would you like a drink?” He pointed to the bar. “Maybe some champagne to celebrate?”

“There’s really a bar in here? With alcohol?”

He hid his smile at her innocent question. “There really is.” It seemed his wife had led a sheltered life. All at once he realized that he knew nothing about her. Not even her middle name.

He pushed the thought away, then opened the compartment and retrieved a bottle of champagne. He handed her a slim champagne flute, popped the cork, and directed the overflow away from them.

“What are we celebrating?” she asked.

“Well, we did just get married.”

She shrugged. “For a year.”

“I think that’s enough cause to celebrate.”

She held her glass out to him, and he obligingly filled it.

“To us.” He raised his flute toward her. She hesitated for less than a heartbeat, then clinked hers against his before taking a tentative sip.

She immediately sneezed.

Tristan laughed, the sound surprising her almost as much as it did him.

Where had she come from, this innocent girl who had never ridden in a limousine, never had champagne? And what was he going to do with her for the next twelve months?

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.    

A MILLION TO ONE

Copyright 2023 by Amy Lillard 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.    

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.  

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

previously published as All You Need Is Love copyright 2013 by Amy Lillard

significant changes have been made to the original manuscript resulting in new copyright status