Three Months Later

I stretch my arms up and over my head. I slept like the dead last night. I hadn't realized how tired I was until my head hit the pillow. It must be jet lag. After the wedding, Dylan took me to Paris, where we spent a long, leisurely two weeks. He promises it is the first of many trips around the world.

My life has been a blur the past few months. Dylan managed to help me put together a wedding fit for a princess. Most people took a year to plan a wedding, I had 10 weeks. With a small army, we managed to pull it off. I can't help but smile as I think back to that day.

The man is my prince. I stretch my arm out to his spot in the bed and feel a little sad that it is empty. I know he isn't in bed beside me. He had a business meeting in Chicago yesterday and won't be back until later today. While I miss him terribly, I am secretly a little relieved to have been able to go to bed early last night without feeling guilty about ignoring my husband.

I fight back a sudden onset of nausea. I skipped dinner last night, which has left my stomach screaming for food. I am convinced I picked up some kind of bug while we were in Paris. We did eat at a lot of weird places and I ate things I had never tried before. Won't be making that mistake again.

The apartment is quiet as I head downstairs to the kitchen. Dylan employs a full staff of people, one of them being a chef who leaves all kinds of tasty snacks in the fridge. I pull out a bagel slathered with cream cheese and start munching on it before making my way to the office Dylan and I are currently sharing. He plans on having the apartment remodeled to make room for another office.

I quit my job and have signed on to work full time for Hawke Enterprises. I am one of many lawyers the company employs. My niche is focused more on Dylan's personal interests with the understanding I will oversee contract negotiations as well.

While I wait for my laptop to start up, I look for the file I had yesterday. It has information about a company Dylan was trying to buy. It was the deal I was working on when I first met Dylan. Apparently, the negotiations had been shelved, but were back on the table. Blake had asked me to give the contract a once over. I had already looked at it before and made notes, but he said there were new terms that needed to be added. He had a messenger deliver the latest information yesterday.

There are various notes from the other party and a list of items that must be addressed before the deal can proceed. This is the part I love. I love the negotiating and wearing the other side down until my client gets what he or she wants. It's a challenge that I thrive on.

I grab my pen and jot down notes on another sheet of paper. I freeze when I come to a small note written in the sidebar. I see my name and quickly turn the paper to see it better.

Told them you will be married to Alexa. That'll get them off our ass.

I go back and reread the line item. I can't believe what I am reading; Purchaser must be willing to adhere to a lifestyle in line with the Larsen's Software company morals and values.

What the hell?

I scan the rest of the pages. I see various mentions about Dylan and his branding. There's another note mentioning Nathan is working on getting interviews set up. I realize they expect me to give interviews about my life and marriage with the CEO and president of Hawke Enterprises. There are even notes about what I am supposed to say.

A cold chill runs through my veins as my mind starts to put together various pieces of a very awful puzzle. I'm a prop. I am a means to an end. I yank open the desk drawer and start rifling through the various files tucked away.

I find one with my name on it and open it. It's a background check. Someone has written a note indicating my story is perfect and will be a real “rags to riches” that appeals to the media. Another note on the back page indicates the investors are thrilled with Dylan's choice and are excited to see how the marriage will improve profits.

My stomach turns as my fairy tale implodes in front of my face. I can't seem to catch my breath. Within seconds, I feel the bagel coming back to haunt me and barely make it in time to grab the trash can. I heave until there is nothing left. I feel as if my very soul has been ripped from my body.

“Dylan,” I whisper into the empty room. “How could you?” I ask.

I sit in the chair, staring at the evidence of his scheme to marry me and get the investors back in his corner. In another file, I find a letter from the investors outlining their concerns with his reputation. The incident at the club is the reason for the letter. They include various catch phrases used by the media and suggest he seek help for his problems. Rehab is tossed around with the letter giving him an ultimatum, either he shows a more mature, serious side or they pull their money.

Obviously, marrying me was in an effort to save his ass. My initial hurt quickly turns to anger. He used me. My mind replays some of our most intimate moments and it is then I realize he has never said he loves me. I have told him countless times and he always responds with “me too” or distracts me with a kiss.

I cannot believe what a fool I have been.

“Joke's on you, Dylan Hawke. We'll see who gets the last laugh.”

I storm out of the room, plotting my revenge. The pain and devastation threaten to take over, but I push the emotions down. I have to stay mad or I will crumble. I will never let him see how badly he has hurt me.