I couldn’t sleep. Not after that. Not after he’d all-but destroyed me, fucking me empty on the countertop and then making me cum wonderfully in bed, like falling from a cloud and then into a flowery field below. As he fell into deep slumber I lay, wide awake, thinking. I’d just given Jack Garrington my virginity, but what did it mean? Did it mean that we would be in love, when we married each other the next day? Did it mean that we would do this kind of stuff all the time? Would he be faithful to me, despite our “sham” marriage?

I had so many questions. But I didn’t have any time to answer them.

I watched his face as he slept. I’d never seen him so relaxed, so completely at ease. His dark lips were separated slightly, and the moonlight glinted off his perfect teeth. The way he smelled—of sex, of cologne, of me—made my heart beat wildly in my chest.

Finally, at around five-thirty in the morning, I drifted off to sleep. In what felt like a moment, my eyes were open again. I heard clatter in the main apartment. The space beside me, where Jack had been sleeping, was void and empty, the sheets stripped back. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already ten in the morning, on my wedding day.

There was so much to do.

Gliding from bed, I walked naked to the closet, donning a t-shirt and a pair of Jack’s exercise shorts. I could hear Jack laughing with someone, both of them creating deep belly laughs. I couldn’t place who it was. Probably another celebrity. Another billionaire, I thought.

Despite feeling such love for Jack only hours before, I now felt strange and dirty. As I crept into the living room, finding him beside a man who reeked of Wall Street and expensive suits and New York money, I felt my heart sink. Had I really given him my virginity, the night before my wedding?

“There she is,” the other man said. He clapped his hands and approached me, shaking mine and then kissing me on the cheek. “We’ve been waiting for the bride to wake up. I’m Marcus. I’m the best man.”

“Marcus. Hi,” I said, shivering. I gestured at my clothes. “Sorry I’m in such a state of disarray. All the stress from the wedding…”

“Sure,” he said. “You guys are really pulling something off here. Impressive.”

“Yeah.” I trailed off, glancing toward Gigi’s bedroom. She probably hadn’t been fed. I walked to the cabinet, pouring her a bowl of cereal and adding just the right amount of milk. “I better check on Gigi. Excuse me…”

They watched me go, and I heard them whispering after me.

Gigi was sitting upright in bed, playing with her dolls. Her face was bright, with rosy cheeks, making her look like a magazine ad. I placed the cereal on her side table and clicked the door shut, relieved to be away from the men.

“Who’s outside? Is it Marcus?” she asked.

“It sure is.”

“When are they leaving?”

“I don’t know.” I leaned toward her, kissing the top of her head. In these moments of panic, I needed some kind of relief. Even if it was from Gigi. “You know me and your daddy are getting married, right?”

“Sure,” she said. She dropped her dolls to her side, clinging to them. She counted them as her children, keeping them close.

“But really, Gigi, you’re my number one girl. I want you to promise me, while we live together, that we’ll keep an eye out for each other. That we’ll always be there for each other. No matter what,” I said.

“Okay,” Gigi answered, her voice child-like and far away. “But what do you mean?”

The rap on the door came fast and quick. Jack called in. “Girls. The wedding’s at six tonight, and the guests are already arriving. I think the two of you should head over to the main church by two or three? I have a driver delivering your dresses.”

The machine was running, fast and quick. Jack was at the wheel. “Sounds good!” I cried, my voice sounding false.

“This is going to be the longest day ever,” Gigi sighed, crashing back into her sheets.

I had to agree.

As more wedding guests arrived, Gigi and I escaped the apartment, walking by the Seine and grabbing a quick bite at a café. She inhaled her croissant and jam, speaking in a beautiful mix of French and English and expecting me to keep up. But I was lost in a maze of my own thoughts. Occasionally, I had a stab of memory from the night before. How he’d looked at me. How he’d bit my lip hungrily. How he’d pushed his cock inside the darkness between my thighs, gazing into my eyes.

God. It was almost too much to think about. Sex. I’d had sex for the first time in my life.

Would it ever happen for me again?

We reached the church, deep inside the chaotic and beautiful Marais district, at three. A woman who spoke lilting, incomprehensible French led Gigi and I into a back room. My dress—all diamonds and glitter—was draped in the corner, while a smaller dress, in similar fashion, was hung beside it. Gigi touched it tentatively, as if it were a piece of jewelry. She giggled at my massive dress. “Are you really supposed to wear that?”

“It is over the top, isn’t it?” I said. “Well. Anything for the tabloids, I guess.”

The woman who worked at the church brought Gigi and I cocktails. Mine were gin-based, delicious and fresh, while Gigi’s were mostly sparkling juice and soda, with fruit floating on top. She giggled, telling me a story about a boy she’d met at the playground—George was his name, with a soft G. She asked me if I loved her daddy. I said I did. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel that stab of the lie in my stomach, making me think that, perhaps, after everything that had happened, I really did love him.

Was I happy that I was in love with the groom? Or was it the greatest tragedy of my life, as I knew he couldn’t love me back?

The gown was impossibly heavy. When I stood in it, my makeup already glossed on, my lips tart and red, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. The lady who worked at the church tittered. Tears glittered in her eyes but I was dry-eyed, cautious, afraid. I placed my hand at Gigi’s back, heading toward the cathedral below. It was nearly time to walk down the aisle. It was nearly time to seal this “deal.”

The music began. It was a traditional wedding song, played by a top French organist. Peering at the back end of the small cathedral, I watched as Marcus and Jack stood and waited for me. Marcus was antsy, scratching at his ear and drawing his eyes across the small crowd. Only about ten or twelve people were sitting in the first few aisles, with paparazzi photographers on either side. I could feel the flash on my face, even from far away.

Gigi led me down the aisle. She tossed flowers on either side, with expert ability. The flowers collected in the long train of my dress as I walked past. I heard one woman say, “A bit much, isn’t it?” While another said, “I’d kill to wear that dress.”

At the front, I fell into the ceremony. The priest spoke in only French, leading us. When Jack nodded to me, I said, “Oui.” And suddenly, I was married. We kissed, but his lips felt plastic on mine. It wasn’t the same kiss from the night before. As the music roared around us, showing that it was the end of the ceremony, he held onto my hand and squeezed it. “Good job,” he said, speaking through the music so that nobody else could hear him. “We did it, baby.”

We fooled them. These words sizzled in my ear. We walked down the aisle, grinning madly at the paparazzi, hamming it up. Then, Jack, Gigi, and I stepped into a private limousine, waving at the small crowd behind us. It was difficult, scooping my dress into the back with us. “It’s like another entire person,” I joked. Gigi collected it on her lap, toying with the jewels. When the car door shut, finally, it felt like we existed in a vacuum. Everyone was silent.

The party was held at a gorgeous restaurant in Montmartre. It had an incredible view of the city, stretching out before us as we clinked our champagne glasses and kissed again, for everyone to see. I removed the train of the dress, allowing me to step through the restaurant more easily.

I can’t say that the party wasn’t a hit. The food was amazing, with both a vegetarian and a meat option, gorgeous, glazed vegetables, breads—of course—and cheeses of all varieties. The wine flowed like it came from the faucet. The friends who’d arrived, both French and not, kissed me on the cheek and told me how beautiful I looked. I felt lost, not myself, like an actress. Occasionally, Marcus whispered into my ear, saying, “You’re doing great, champ. Just keep up the smile a little bit longer.”

He knew it was a scam. I knew that, too. Maybe they all did.

I was the only one for whom this marriage was, in any sense, real. Jack Garrington was the only person on the planet who had my virginity.

At around nine at night, a figure appeared in the doorway. Dressed in an immaculate, maroon dress, with thin arms and wide shoulders and large breasts that crested from her neckline, she was the very portrait of beauty. Several years older than me, she seemed mature, sharp and intelligent. She assessed me with eagle eyes. I stopped drinking my champagne, gazing back at her.

“Kelsey.” Jack said the word. His friends quieted down with her entrance. The air simmered as Jack walked forward, his strides long. He took her hand and kissed the top of it, making my stomach churn with jealousy.

Gigi remained at my side. She tugged at my dress, gazing up at me. Her bottom lip quivered. “Does this mean I have to go with her, now?” she asked. “Do I have to go back with mommy?”

“No, sweetheart,” I said. “Of course not.”

But I wasn’t sure. This was Jack’s ex-wife, the woman he’d literally run away from. How had she discovered us? How did she know?

“I’m glad I caught some of the celebration,” Kelsey said, her voice dry. “I don’t think I would be able to bear it, if I’d missed it all.”

Jack gestured back at me. “Margot. This is my ex-wife, Kelsey.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” I said, my voice sounding like a Sunday school teacher’s. “Welcome.”

Kelsey stepped forward. She was aggressive, her eyes wide. “You look absolutely gorgeous, my dear. Although, I must say, youth does so much for you. What are you? Twenty-four?”

I nodded, not wanting to fess up that my real age was younger.

“I wanted to say congratulations. The moment I heard of your surprise engagement and wedding, I knew I couldn’t let this happen without me. We’re a big, old, happy family. Aren’t we, Gigi?”

Gigi didn’t respond. She clung closer to my side, her eyes round and staring. I was beginning to get an even better picture for what Gigi’s family life was like, at home. A flicker of understanding passed between Jack—my husband—and I.

“Well, this is no way to behave on your wedding day,” Kelsey said, her voice high-pitched. “I have brought you a present, if you must know. Didn’t come empty handed. I know better than that. Been living in high society long enough, eh, Jack?”

She snapped her fingers. A younger man appeared in the doorway, holding onto a fuzzy ball. He placed it on the ground, all quivering legs, and the mop-headed thing ran toward Gigi. Her arms reached out for it. She squealed. “A puppy!”

The thing was gorgeous, black and white spotted and clearly high-bred and bright-eyed, slobbering only slightly. Like a cartoon dog, he kissed Gigi in greeting, licking at her cheeks and lips. She giggled.

“Wow, Kelsey,” Jack said, eyeing her. “You really didn’t have to.”

Kelsey hadn’t taken her eyes off of me. She sniffed once more, scowling, and pointed toward the terrace. With a click of her head, she asked, “Jack? Do you think I could talk to you, alone, for a second? I don’t want to interrupt the party. Just brief, parent to parent…”

Jack grabbed her elbow and led her outside, closing the door behind them. They left me in the shadow of his many friends, who were all silent and staring at me. Gigi was beneath me, still playing with the dog and laughing. Already, hair had begun to collect on both her gown and mine. With a sigh, I guided them both toward the far end of the room, where I poured some water into a spare cup and gave it to the pup.

Marcus approached me, grimacing. He gestured toward Kelsey and Jack, who were speaking to one another with sour faces. He shook his head, shrugging softly. “You can’t really know what that woman is up to. But she certainly made her entrance, in front of the photographers.”

“What kind of story will they cook up, based on that?” I asked, my throat feeling tight. “You don’t think she’ll…”

“She doesn’t know enough. She might suspect, but she doesn’t have proof. Nobody does,” Marcus whispered.

God, I hoped he was right. I pressed my lips together and tried to focus on Gigi and the puppy, kneeling down onto the floor with them. Gigi cackled, her face like a giant sunbeam. I had never seen her so happy. I told myself, over and over, that I’d given my life to this man to save hers. Perhaps that was enough.