“I’m telling you, if you want to win this thing—and I mean win it in a landslide—you need to up your public appeal,” Billy announced, spreading his hands wide as if giving a headline. “News Bulletin: Vincent Cunningham running for Congress swept away in love, Marries local Texas Girl. Huh? Come on, you know that sounds amazing.”

Vincent rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on the surface of his freshly polished wooden desk, and cringed. “A wife?”

“We’ve talked about this, man.” Billy sighed as his arms fell to his sides. “The whole bachelor thing might be fun, but it’s just bad news once you get into politics.”

“But a wife? Is that really necessary?”

“What else is going to stop you from going out every other night, partying, and bringing home strange women? Eventually, the tabloids will notice that shit. But,” Billy said, holding up his finger, “if you can change that lifestyle now and become a family man, the public will be more than ready to receive you come next year.”

Vincent rubbed his eyes hard. “Is that right?”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know what I’m talking about.”

Vince laughed harshly. “You’ve been doing this for five years, and by the way, the last man’s campaign you worked on backfired horribly.”

Billy rolled his shoulders and his always too cheery smile faltered. “Then why did you hire me?”

“Because you’re a friend and I didn’t trust any other shark with my personal life.”

Billy’s smile widened and he clapped Vincent on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

“I never said I was agreeing to this nonsense.”

“But you should.” A woman’s voice drifted over from the couch in Vincent’s office. His mother, Doris, lifted her cup of coffee, sipping it as elegantly as if it were a glass of high-class champagne. “He’s right. It’s high time you settled down and started a family. I am not getting any younger, son, and grandchildren would keep me busy.”

Vincent spun in his chair to face Doris, her white hair pulled back in a tight bun and hardly any wrinkles on her face from all the damn creams she used to look young and perfect in case anyone snapped her photo. She might not be in politics anymore, but she was the wife of the late congressman Liam Cunningham, Vincent’s father. Everyone in Texas expected him to follow in his father’s footsteps. He had died three years ago from lung cancer—he had smoked a pack a day, plus cigars—and Vincent was still partially in mourning. His mother told the world she was fine, but he knew she went home every night to an empty house and drank. Liam had been her world, and now all she had was Vincent. Her disappointment in his lack of enthusiasm for entering the political arena had been evident for the last three years before he finally broke down and said he would do it, if only to get that annoyed look out of her eyes.

“How exactly do either of you expect me to find a wife?” he asked, dragging himself back to the current predicament. “I can’t simply walk up to some woman on the street and propose.”

“Like how you get them into your bed?” Doris said lightly, and Billy choked on his laughter.

Vincent sucked in his lips and shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to talk about my personal life with you around.”

“It’s just sex, Vincent, there’s nothing wrong with it,” she told him curtly, but her cheeks reddened and she crossed her legs rather tightly.

Vincent watched her lips quirk in a grin before it hit him. “Seriously? Mother!”

“What? I have needs too, you know, and with your father gone, what am I supposed to do? Let my lady bits just wither away? Don’t worry, it’s only a few of your father’s old friends. They’re widowers, too.”

Vincent’s eyes bulged as Billy’s chortling echoed around his office. “We are not having this conversation. Jesus, Mom.”

She lifted one delicate shoulder in a shrug and continued sipping her coffee. “But he is right, you know. You need a wife. It will really help your campaign, especially if said wife is pregnant. Everyone loves a baby.”

Except me, Vincent thought, giving himself a shake. He’d dated plenty of women in his twenties, but none of them had been a good fit. They were either after the Cunningham wealth, too shallow, cheated on him, or bored him to death. None of them were what he looked for. Hell, he spent so much time with the wrong women, finding the right one didn’t seemed possible. He simply settled for whichever women he picked up at the local clubs and took home for a night. Well, hotels, actually. He had learned his lesson after one woman tried to steal from his safe at home. He was a platinum tier rewards member at the local Ritz because of how often he stayed there with company.

Having a wife was pushing it, in his opinion. He was used to being a loner, but a baby? Out of the question. He had never wanted kids. Doris’ idea was for him to pop out a horde of grandkids for her to spoil. Vincent doubted he would make a good dad, mostly because of the man he would have to live up to.

“I had a feeling this would come up at some point, so I’ve been doing some research.” Billy trotted over to his briefcase on the table near the window and pulled out a binder.

“What the hell is that?”

“Let the man talk. Billy, are those profiles of women?” Doris asked excitedly.

“Ah, Doris, always a woman on top of her game.” He smirked at his own pun, and Doris buried her smile behind her teacup. “Not profiles, but there is a way for him to find one within a decent amount of time.”

“A decent amount of time being?” Doris asked, leaning closer.

“A week, two tops. Married and all in only two weeks.” The binder fell with a resounding thud on Vincent’s desk, and he stared at it as if it might jump up and bite his face off. “Go on, check it out.”

“I’m not sure about this,” he muttered as his fingers hesitated.

“I spent months researching this program. It’s run by a major company with involvement in several different dating websites, studies, and basically the industry of romance,” Billy explained. “They’re legit, as are the women and men involved in their newest program. You could be one of the first to gain a wife from it.”

“Are we sure me picking a wife will look good?” he asked, desperate for a way out of this situation. “For the campaign, I mean? I’m not sure people will trust a politician who can’t even woo the love of his life.”

Billy waved his hand. “It can be arranged that no one outside of this room will know. The company has an iron-clad agreement with all involved not to say how they actually met if that is what the client—what you—wish.”

“Okay, what do I tell people about how we met?”

“You find your dream wife and you make up some romantic story or other with her. Come on, Vinnie, you’ve got a romantic bone somewhere in your body. Use it.”

Vincent did not have a romantic bone in his body and had been told so by several women before they ran out the door, clutching their clothes to their chests as he kicked them out of his hotel room. He made it quite clear every time he wasn’t looking for anything steady, just a simple romp in bed. What was he supposed to do if they decided it meant he wanted to date them? Kicking them out before things got awkward was the best policy. Realizing Billy and his mother weren’t going to leave him alone until he at least looked at the program, he slid the binder towards him and opened the front cover. The title popped out at him in dark red letters outlined in black with two hearts beneath it, bound by a set of wedding rings: Married at First Sight.

“Really? You’re joking, right? I can’t even see the woman I’m going to marry?” he asked, tapping the title, annoyed.

“Of course you can. It’s more of a ‘you don’t really have a lot of time to get to know them.’”

“That makes complete sense,” he told Billy, nodding his head calmly.

“It does?” Billy asked frowning.

“No, you idiot! What if I pick some psycho woman who wants to murder me in my sleep and take all my money?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Doris scolded and walked over to lean against his shoulder. “Open it, come on then. If you don’t, I’ll simply sign up for you behind your back like any good mother would do.”

Grumbling under his breath because he knew she would do just that, he flipped the next few pages and read through the conditions of the program. Each woman or man on the website must pass a thorough background check and answer an intense questionnaire before being admitted to the program for consideration. The clients went through the same questions and background check before even being allowed to browse the website. Then, the client created a list of possible candidates, and the compatibility team made of up psychologists, therapists, and counselors picked the one they believed suited the client best. The client and the person they chose would meet at the altar officially for the first time and have twelve weeks to decide if they wanted to stay married or divorce. Three months to see if he wanted to live with this woman for the rest of his life.

“What happens if this backfires?” Vincent asked. “Do you have a plan for that?”

“I have a plan for everything. You should know that by now.” Billy sat down in the chair in front of Vincent’s desk. “So, should we sign you up?”

Vincent closed the binder and shoved it towards his friend. “I guess traditional dating is out.”

“Unless you want everyone snapping pictures of you and following you around everywhere you go, then yes, conventional dating is out.”

He pushed out of his chair and paced to the windows, staring out over the parking lot. The main company building was in downtown Houston. The city used to be a huge pull to Vincent, being amongst so many people and living an exciting nightlife while running the family business based in oil and cattle ranches. Lately though, his heart tugged at him to hit the family ranch far outside the city limits and enjoy a simpler time. He hardly visited and missed the wide-open spaces, putting in a hard day’s ride or working to fix the fences and the old barn. Doris told him time and again they had people for those jobs and the horses were fine without him.

“Vinnie? I need an answer today, man, so we can get this set up.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” He gave in. “Just tell me what I have to do, I guess, and we’ll see if this plan works.”

Billy clapped his hands together. “Great! I’ll get you set up. All you’ll have to do later is answer the questionnaire. Once they approve you, which won’t be a problem at all, you pay the fee and you’re in!”

“Fee? What fee?”

“Didn’t you read that part? Each client has to pay a fee for services rendered. It’s only ten thousand.”

“Only,” Vincent muttered. “You’re lucky I have that kind of money just lying around.”

“Well, on the bright side, if this ends in a divorce, you get seventy-five percent of it back,” he said cheerfully, scooped up the binder, and darted out the door. “Watch for my e-mail!”

Vincent bowed his head and scuffed his shoe against the carpet. “You really think this will work?”

Doris leaned against the back of his chair, watching her son with a worried gaze. “You’re thirty-three, Vincent, and you’re clearly not happy anymore.”

“It’s hard to be happy.”

“Your father would be scolding you right now if he was here, you know that,” she told him sternly. “You’re stuck in this rut of not being able to move forward, of finding where your life could lead. This campaign is important, but your happiness is too.”

He glanced up at her words. She would say that, but deep down, he knew the campaign was more important. She wanted the family name to live on in politics and to see him take up the mantle left by his father. Liam Cunningham had been a pioneer for Texas and many recent hot-button issues. Vincent followed the same ideas, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to take on this much responsibility. His life was easy, maybe too easy. The company was well taken care of by his board of directors and their newest partners. As Doris put it a few days ago, there was no better time than now to make a push for political office.

He’d expected to start as mayor, but she and Billy went straight for Congress.

“You’ll be fine, you’re a Cunningham,” Doris said as she walked over and patted his cheek. “Now, I have an appointment at the salon. Will you be at dinner this evening? Todd will be there.”

“Todd Green?” he asked, his brow wrinkling as Doris picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “One of Dad’s old friends?” The words came out strangled as Doris’ bright blue eyes shimmered with mischief. “I think I’ll skip tonight. I just lost my appetite.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Your mother’s been having sex for a very long time, you know.”

Vincent covered his ears with his hands. “I got it but don’t need the details.”

She giggled with mirth as she left his office, closing the door behind her. Vincent lowered his hands and smiled despite the nauseating image of his mother in bed with Todd Green. Shuddering and wishing he’d managed to avoid picturing such a scenario, he busied himself with paperwork and checking with the shareholders about how this quarter was going. May was their busiest month at the ranches, ensuring the fall-born calves were weaned and the ranches had everything necessary for the summer months. He placed a few orders, but his mind wandered and he decided to take the rest of the day off.

“Cheryl?” he said as he left his office.

“Yes, Mr. Cunningham?” his receptionist of nearly ten years said, not looking up from her keyboard as she typed an e-mail.

“I’ll be working from home the rest of the day.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll move your three o’clock today to tomorrow?” she asked, her fingers pausing on the keyboard as she gave him a crooked grin.

“Shit, I forgot about that. Can it wait?”

“It should be fine. They’re usually pretty lenient—it’s just marketing.”

“Good. Thanks.”

She bobbed her head and went back to work as he walked towards the elevator bank. The drive home was quick. He lived in one of the many older stone mansions occupying the outskirts of downtown, but when he parked his Chevy truck in the garage, he made no move to get out of the vehicle. He had his phone if anyone needed him that urgently. He backed out and drove to the cemetery farther outside the city limits.

The stroll to his father’s grave was a long one. The weather was cool for May, but he left his suit jacket in the car. Sitting in the grass, not caring if he dirtied his pants, he rested his hand on his father’s obsidian tombstone for a second and smiled.

“Hey, Dad. Sorry I haven’t been out this week. I’ve been busy. I’m sure you heard, but Mom finally talked me into running for office. Can you believe it? Me, a damn congressman.” His eyes drifted across the empty cemetery as the breeze ruffled his shoulder-length, curly brown hair. “You did such a great job, you know. I don’t think I could ever live up to that.”

Usually, when he visited Liam, he brought along a bottle of whiskey. He passed the time telling his dad about this wife idea Billy had and groused about whether it was even a good plan.

“What if the whole thing falls apart? I mean, I want to be married, but I wanted to meet a woman the old fashion way. Like how you met Mom.”

He grinned remembering how Liam used to tell that story. Doris and he were at the same function for their parents back in the day. They were bored out of their minds, he would tell Vincent, so they snuck up to the roof with a bottle of whiskey Liam pilfered from the bar. They went up there to talk, but they wound up dancing and laughing the night away, tangled in each other’s arms until the sun came up. They were found, of course, by a custodian going up to repair a skylight. Doris panicked. To be found with a man, naked on a roof? But Liam assured her he would stay quiet about it if she would.

“Too bad the custodian didn’t,” Liam would always say, bursting into laughter as Doris would roll her eyes and smack his arm playfully. “That rat bastard tattled and we weren’t allowed near each other for six months.”

“Except you two didn’t actually stay apart, did you?” Vincent would point out. His parents would lean into each other and smirk like two teenagers again.

“Hell no,” he’d say. “Our parents gave up after a while and let us get married. And a few years later, we had you, son. Nothing like a perfect fairy tale story, right?”

In the cemetery, Vincent leaned back against his dad’s tombstone. “Yeah, perfect fairy tale. If only you’d quit smoking, Dad, you might still be here to tell me what to do.”

Liam always told Vincent there had been a spark with Doris, a spark that ignited the strangest feelings inside him, a longing for a woman he spent a night with on a rooftop. Out of all the women Vincent dated and slept with, none of them elicited such a strong emotion. There was pleasure, that was for certain, but never a need to pull her close in the morning and ask her to stay with him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out grudgingly, sensing it would be Billy. “Vincent,” he answered.

“Hey, just letting you know I sent you an e-mail with a link. Fill everything out for me tonight if you can, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

“Horror story more like it,” Vincent mumbled.

“It won’t be that bad, and if it is, I’ll owe you steak dinners for a month.”

“A year,” Vincent corrected. “I’ll get to it as soon as I get home.”

“I thought you were home. Where are you?’

“Having a chat with Dad.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Billy assured him. “You’ll thank me in the long run.”

Vincent sighed as he climbed to his feet, kissed his fingers, and rested them on the tombstone. “I hope you’re right. I really do.” He hung up and tucked his phone away. “What do you think, Dad?”

No answer came to him, of course, but as he walked back to his truck, the breeze blew harder, pressing at his back and messing up his hair until it covered his face. He spun back around to stare at his Dad’s grave as the breeze suddenly died as if nothing had happened. Liam used to tease his son for his longer hair, messing it up whenever they were in the same room together. Vincent took it as a good sign and resigned himself to giving this marriage thing a shot.

Maybe he would wind up on a rooftop, too, making love all night long to the woman he was meant to be with.

He poured himself a whiskey when he returned home and sat down hard in his office chair. He opened the questionnaire and grimaced at the insane amount of questions to answer. Around midnight, Vincent finally finished filling out the questionnaire for the website and leaned back in his leather office chair, spinning casually from side to side as he sipped his whiskey from a highball glass. The website said it would take at least three days to process his answers, and thanks to a last-minute donation made by Vincent to fund more research for their program, they were willing to rush his background check.

Three days before he could start looking for the ideal wife. He shot back the rest of his whiskey and climbed upstairs to bed.