Entering the apartment, Melanie felt her mood sink. Despite the sunshine outside, it was dark inside, the blinds all drawn tight. The lights turned off. They could barely afford to keep anything on. The bill was overdue, and it was only a matter of time before they shut off the power, again.

The shuttered windows made the whole place stuffy. The stench of sickness suffocated. After the fresh crisp air of the fall outside, it hit her like a slap. Reminded her she was no better than a prisoner allowed only small respites.

Actually, today Melanie didn’t get a treat. She’d never gotten her coffee because that crazy guy tossed it, and in her pride, she’d not snared the whipped cream replacement.

With a cherry.

How decadent.

“Where have you been, lazy girl?” The harangue began, the words barking out of the bedroom, and Melanie did her best not to flinch. While she knew the words were meant to hurt, it didn’t make it any easier, and she couldn’t seem to completely ignore them.

“Melanie!” Maizie shrieked. “I want out of this bed.”

And so her day went. Caring for an ungrateful woman. Nothing to brighten her day except for her encounter with that man.

The maple syrup mogul. Snicker. Surely he lied.

When her mother went to bed, she dug out her phone. Not a recent model. Nothing as fancy as that, and the screen was cracked, hence her deal on it, but it could get on the internet. The Wi-Fi from the fast food place across the street might prove slow, but it worked.

She did a search. Towering Oaks, the name of the town, and maple syrup.

Thousands of pings, most of them for the Elanroux factory, the biggest one of what she read were dozens across the country. Family owned according to the history. Would the stranger’s picture be in the company directory?

She looked, unable to stem her curiosity. Surely he lied.

I’ll be damned.

There he was, Bryce Theodore Elanroux. She stared at his image, a bit more serious than she’d seen him, his haircut fresh and short, his tie perfectly straight.

No mistaking him. The man who’d proposed to her.

He had to be kidding. Pulling the leg of the poor girl. Offering up a sob story of a dying granddad to get in her pants most likely. Except hadn’t she seen an article recently with the name Elanroux in it?

She searched again and soon was reading all about it.

Theodore Maven Elanroux, a distinguished member of our community and great-grandson of an original founding father, has fallen gravely ill. Sources claim there is much uncertainty about his recovery. He is succeeded by his grandson, Bryce, born of his now departed daughter, Kelly.

Most of the articles had the same things to say, how Theo took over from his dad and then took in his grandson to teach him the family business. Nothing linking Bryce or his granddad to any scandals. No rumors of impending nuptials.

Only one little paragraph hinted at something in this week’s online edition of the local news.

It was with great joy that Theodore Elanroux was reunited with his nephew, Rory Beauchamp. A source close to Rory says the family is pulling together in this time of need. With Rory stating, “While overjoyed with this reunion, we are saddened by my uncle’s poor health. My fiancée and I just hope we can throw together the wedding before anything happens.”

So part of the story Bryce had told her was true. But surely the whole needing to get married part wasn’t.

Wiggling on the couch to get comfy—a couch that doubled as a bed—she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d meant it. Maybe Bryce truly did want to get married to make a dying old man happy.

Kind of sweet. Which didn’t excuse his methods.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Her phone vibrated in her hand, shaking like an angry bee. She kept the ringer off lest it annoy her mother. The last time Maizie heard the phone, she’d gotten her hands on it and tossed it, narrowly missing the sink full of sudsy water. She claimed Melanie didn’t need outside distractions.

Wrong. She needed any distraction she could get.

Since Melanie didn’t recognize the number, she let it ring through. Only a few friends from college had this number and most had stopped calling weeks ago. No one wanted to talk to a depressed girl. Probably a telemarketer.

Bzzt. Bzzt. It rang again, same number. It roused her curiosity. She clicked the green phone button. “Hello?”

“Did you think on it?”

“Who is this?” she asked despite knowing—had guessed, foolishly hoped—from the moment her heart leaped at the first ring.

“Don’t play dumb. You know who this is. Did you think about my proposal?”

“How did you get my number?”

“I’m rich. It’s not that hard.”

“If you’re so rich, then why not rent a model to pretend to be your fiancée?” Because surely that would make things easier.

“I would if I found one who fit the requirement.”

“And what requirement is that? Lack of mental capacity? No way you’re serious about engaging in a platonic marriage with financial benefits.” He was a guy. Guys always wanted sex.

“I’m not an animal in that respect. I can restrain myself. Can you?”

The turnabout caught her off guard. “Excuse me?”

“I asked if you would have a problem keeping your hands off me. Not that I’d mind, you are quite attractive. But keep in mind, this is a business proposition, so if you touch, it doesn’t mean we’ll stay married.”

If she touched? “This is crazy. I’m not touching you, or marrying you. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”

“Because you’re intrigued. This is exciting stuff, and you can’t help but wonder, what would it be like? Imagine waking every day in a mansion, your every need catered to.”

Sounded decadent. But impossible. “I can’t go anywhere; my mother is sick. She needs me.”

“That’s where money can help. I could hire you a nurse. Two, even, to provide round-the-clock care.”

“That’s super expensive.”

“And? That is only one of the perks. Once we married, you wouldn’t have to work at all unless you wanted to.”

“Not work, so I can be dependent on you, the big man, for funds.” She rolled her eyes even if he couldn’t see her expression.

“You misunderstand. As my future bride, you’ll have access to family assets for all your needs. And you wouldn’t need permission from me to withdraw them.”

Unlimited resources… She shook her head. “Are you seriously resorting to bribery?”

“Think of it as a financial promise. You do me a favor. I do you a favor.”

“Pretty big favors.”

“What do you have to lose?”

Self-respect? Then again, she didn’t really have any or she’d never let her mother abuse her like she did.

“Melanie!” The screech arrived loud and clear. “I need my pain meds. Where are you, lazy girl? What did I do to deserve such a cow of a daughter?”

She closed her eyes and held in a sigh. “I have to go.”

“Help me and I’ll help you.”

He made it sound so easy. She hung up.

That night as mother screamed, demanding her services for the fifth time, leaving Melanie exhausted and bleary-eyed, she wondered if it truly could be real. Could she accept the billionaire’s proposition?

Only one way to find out.