An hour after leaving my office, I stepped out of my limo into a swarm of paparazzi lining the street outside of my designer friend Shawna Martinez’s DC showroom. My security team surrounded me, keeping the media a safe distance away. The normally twenty-minute drive was hindered by crowds at every turn. Someone from either the White House or Shawna’s staff had tipped off the news outlets that I’d be at the shop, and everyone wanted that last-minute picture of the bride-to-be and a possible peek at the wedding outfit.

No one knew that Shawna wasn’t the one designing my dress. In fact, I wasn’t wearing a dress at all. I planned to wear a traditional Indian wedding lengha. A three-piece ivory silk outfit embroidered with heavy silver beading as well as gold and intricate red stitching. I loved my heritage and wanted to add a piece of it to the very American-style wedding Ashur and I would have in less than three days’ time. I’d had a total of four outfits custom made for my short frame. Each ensemble made me feel gorgeous, a requirement for any woman about to walk down the aisle.

A small part of me was sad that I wouldn’t get the traditional Indian wedding I’d dreamed of since I was a kid with all the festivities and family and chaos. However, another part of me was glad—a modern wedding that was the polar opposite of what I wanted would keep me focused on the fact my marriage wasn’t anything more than a business agreement. I couldn’t afford to think otherwise, or I’d get tangled up in the emotions I’d locked away that long-ago summer.

A flash of camera lights snapped me out of my thoughts and made me growl inside.

“Ms. Zain, this way,” Casey said as we made our way into the building.

The second the doors closed, he gestured to the other agents to close the window shades of the shop.

A loud groan echoed through the glass.

Oh, the poor nosy papz would have to wait to get any more pictures. Maybe I should throw them a bone.

Not!

Tyler was right—gone were the days of midnight food runs or outings to dance clubs to meet up with friends on my days off from assignments. Now my life would be filled with meetings, charities, and galas.

I swallowed. Jesus. I wasn’t refined enough for this life. I was too opinionated, too bossy, and too liberal.

Why the fuck Ashur thought I’d make a great first lady was beyond me.

No matter what he’d pitched I knew better than to believe that without me he’d never win the election. I was probably more a liability than an asset.

My incident with the former president hadn’t been my first headline-making scandal. But it had been the most taxing. And the one that could have landed me in jail.

Ashur wanted something from me outside of sex that I hadn’t figured out yet, and I was the dumbass who’d agreed to marry him without all the facts. Whatever it was, it was too late to change my mind. Ashur and I were bound together for the rest of our lives.

And don’t forget, you need Ashur’s money to free Ameera.

At that moment, my phone rang. I paused in a hallway and reached into my purse. Taking a peek at the caller ID, I sighed. Of course, he’d call when I was thinking of him.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Hello, First Lady.” Ashur’s deep, raspy voice washed over me. “How is the fitting going?”

“It hasn’t started, and for the record, I’m not first lady yet,” I said a little too breathlessly.

What the fuck, Tara? How was I going to keep it businesslike when the sound of his voice made me think about things I should keep locked away?

“The ceremony is only a technicality. We’ve been legally wed for nearly two years now.”

“Most of the world doesn’t know this, including our families.” I tucked a stray hair behind my ear.

As part of our agreement, we’d legally wed a week after I’d agreed to marry Ashur. Marrying him meant there was no backing out, for him or me.

“I know and you know.” There was a tinge of possessiveness in his tone that made my heart beat a little faster.

“Ashur.”

“Ashu,” he countered.

I bit my lip and then responded. “You told me never to call you that, remember?”

He’d said those words out of hurt and anger, but the pain still lingered. It had been my pet name for him when we were young and stupid. Before the family interferences and the betrayals and the loss of my innocence and the view that the world wouldn’t let the bad guys win.

“I said only my lover could say that name. You are my lover, Tara.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine.

“Not yet.”

“Soon. I’ve kept to our bargain but know this: once we’re together, you’ll crave me as much as I crave you. Sex was the only thing we got right.”

The desire lacing his words made my skin tingle and a pulse of need flare to life.

“Don’t you have a country to run? Stop thinking about sex and get back to work.”

“I’m good at multitasking.” He chuckled, bringing a smile to my lips. He rarely, if ever, laughed.

After we’d broken up, Ashur had turned down his position in Kumar Technologies, the billion-dollar software firm his father owned, and joined the Air Force and then deployed to Afghanistan. By the time he returned from his second tour, he was a changed man. The easy-to-smile boy had disappeared, replaced by a too-focused man who only saw things in black and white, right and wrong.

“Was there a reason you called, Mr. President? I’m positive clothing details are the last things you’re concerned with.”

“Did I tell you that I enjoyed our discussion the other day?”

“You mean the one where you said I was too much of a bleeding-heart liberal to understand the nuances of the costs associated with implementing the immigration bill with the provisions the Democrats wanted?”

Another laugh sounded over the line. “Yes, that one. I wanted to say thank you.”

I shifted the phone to my other ear. “For what?”

The last thing I’d expect was a thank-you for a discussion that had turned so heated I’d walked out.

“For giving me a sounding board and a perspective that was different from mine.”

“Oh.”

“It helped me compromise today, and instead of an eight-hour meeting as scheduled, it was only three.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“Maybe one day I can return the favor.”

Before I could respond, a voice called out to Ashur, and he sighed.

“I have to go. See you tonight for the parental gathering.”

“I’m going to have a cocktail or two before I get there.”

“So will I. So will I.”

“Goodbye, Ashur.”

“Goodbye, First Lady.” He hung up.

I shook my head. That man could be cold and emotionless one minute and then flirty and sweet the next.

We’d been polar opposites from the beginning. Although we had one particular thing in common—our mutual dread of being in the same room with Ashur’s father. Minesh Kumar was unpleasant on a good day. When he was in a piss-poor mood, people considered jumping from a window to escape the drama.

I stuffed my phone back in my bag and turned the corner to the private dressing area in Shawna’s store that was reserved for all her VIP clients.

“Hey there.” Samina Kumar-Camden greeted me and then handed me a glass of champagne. Sam, as we liked to call her, was my law partner in our Seattle firm, the junior senator from Washington state, and my sister-in-law.

“I so needed this. Where is everyone?”

“Jacinta is running late from a finance committee meeting, and Shawna is on her way with Neya and your outfits.”

“Good. I need a few moments without thinking about this wedding.” Or sex with your brother, I wanted to add but decided to keep that bit to myself.

“Did something happen?”

I drank down the whole glass and then answered, “This media attention is a bit overwhelming. I can’t burp without someone picking it up on a high-definition microphone.”

Sam snorted and then laughed. “Can you imagine how many times they’d replay the sound bite? I suggest you keep those type of bodily functions under wraps. Wait until they follow you into the bathroom.”

I glared at her but smirked, holding my glass up for a refill. “You are so not funny. At least people would think I’m human and not the robot some of the news agencies have dubbed me.”

“They stopped saying that after they got those pictures of Ash staring at you during the inaugural ball. They do call you him Achilles’ heel.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled.

Sam filled my flute to the top and returned the bottle to the chilling bucket. “Besides, those are tabloids. Who cares?”

“I do. You, Miss Celebrity Attorney with all of Hollywood begging to be your client, know how to use the spotlight to your advantage. I, on the other hand, come out looking like a frosty bitch because I refuse to throw them a bone.”

“Former celebrity attorney. I’m a respectable United States senator now.” Sam took a sip of her drink.

“Does Devin know this? If I recall, I’m the one who caught you two fucking on the couch of my newly renovated office. I think you scarred me for life. You’re lucky it was only me and not Ashur who walked in on you.”

Sam waved her hand as if it wasn’t a big deal and sat down on a burgundy-fabric-covered armchair. “It’s not like it would be the first time this happened to Ash. Besides. I hadn’t seen my hubby in weeks with both our crazy travel schedules. I am the mother of two toddlers that suck every ounce of energy out of me the moment I step foot into our house, so we have to get it when we can.”

“See this face.” I pointed to mine. “No sympathy whatsoever. I feel like my brain needs to be bleached of the memory.”

“Just you wait. One day you and Ashur will want a quickie between meetings and running the country, and you’ll willingly risk someone catching you for a round of hot sex.”

I collapsed on a white couch across from Samina and set my feet on the mirrored coffee table.

The idea of sex with Ashur brought heat to my core. I knew from past experience, he was an incredible lover. I’d given him my virginity as a barely grown girl with stars in my eyes. Even then, there was always a way about his presence that made my body burn with a need to be touched. Now it was even more intense than before. The barest sound of his voice and my cleft flooded with desire.

Maybe I should have jumped him. Then I wouldn’t feel this pull for him every time I was near him.

I snorted inside. Who was I kidding?

Once Ashur and I started the sexual aspect of our relationship again, there was no doubt we’d fuck every chance we got. We’d probably give Samina and Devin a run for their money.

The last year and a half had built on a sexual undercurrent that had always existed between Ashur and me. I’d pretend to feel nothing and keep a “too cool for school” attitude. But everyone around us could feel the tension, especially Ashur. There was always a slight tug at his lips that would tell me he noticed my reaction to him. Something that made me want to punch him and kiss him.

God, I hadn’t kissed him in forever. Yes, I’d pecked him for a brief moment in front of the media but nothing intimate. Not even during our quiet civil ceremony in his office. The sad part was that even the barest graze of his lips caused me to want to throw caution to the wind and seal the deal.

Thankfully, Ashur had kept to his word about keeping our relationship platonic until we “officially” married.

Sex would complicate things in a way that I worried I wouldn’t be able to keep things unemotional. Physical intimacy was something I shared with a person I loved, and I could never mistake what would happen with Ashur as anything other than quenching sexual need.

Ashur had made it clear love was something he’d never feel for me again. I’d ripped his heart in two, and he’d never gotten over it.

Shit. Why am I wallowing in this? I know what I’ve agreed to. Hell, I was the one who drew up the contract.

“Ahh, I got you thinking. Please do me a favor. Lock the door whenever I’m around. No matter what I say. I don’t want to see my brother boning one of my best friends.”

Thank God for Sam. She had a way with words that kept me from thinking too much.

“Don’t worry. The Secret Service would stop you before you encountered a surprise.” I glanced at Casey, who was pretending he hadn’t heard anything we’d talked about.

“I’m sure they have plenty of stories to tell but are sworn to secrecy.” Samina studied me as she made her comment. “Tara, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” I said, lifting my glass to my lips and then taking another deep gulp.

“Why aren’t you fucking my brother? A person has to be dead not to see the chemistry between you two. Is ‘no sex’ part of the bargain Ashur made with you?”

I coughed, nearly choking on my champagne. How the fuck would she know about my deal with Ashur? He’d stipulated that no one was to know anything other than that we fell back in love.

“What makes y—?”

“Don’t even try that deflection shit. I am a master at that game.”

I sighed, set my glass on the table, and leaned back on the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s complicated.”

“Every couple has issues. Hey, look at Dev and me. We worked through our problems and are happier than we’ve ever been.”

She had a point. For years, Samina and Devin’s relationship was a secret. Sam being a celebrity attorney and a celebrity in her own right would have been detrimental to Devin’s and his father’s careers. So, for over a decade, they kept quiet about who they were to each other, even going as far as dating other people.

It took Samina filing for divorce for Devin to get his act in gear and work his best to win her back. After a lot of work, the two of them were one of the most solid couples I knew and the proud parents of two beautiful children.

“It’s different on a whole new level. You and Dev never stopped loving each other.”

“Neither have the two of you.”

I opened my eyes and gaped at her. “Sorry, but you are way off base. I loved Ashur for a long time after we broke up. It wasn’t until three years later when I started dating Xander that I got over him.”

Xander Alexi was a man who’d given me what I’d needed to get over Ashur. He was a friend, a confidant, a study partner, and for a brief time, a lover. We’d known what we had wouldn’t last longer than our years at Harvard, Xander having to return to Greece to take over his family’s business and me moving to California to attend law school at Stanford. To this day we remained friends, with me serving as groom’s lady at his wedding.

“I’m sure dating an international supermodel and shipping heir can do that to a girl.”

“Whatever, I had no idea of his net worth until we were dating for a few months, and besides, you’re the one who introduced us. Our dates were never fancy. We were broke college kids who loved to hang out, study, and eat pizza.”

“Are y’all really talking about ex-boyfriends when there is a wedding in less than three days?” Jacinta Camden-George, the junior senator from Texas and wife of the vice president, asked as she walked in from a back room with Shawna and Neya Sunkureddi. They all carried boxes, which I could assume contained my many outfits and accessories.

Neya was a former partner turned friend, who happened to be a well-known fashion designer in India. When she’d offered to design my wedding outfits, I’d jumped at the chance. Outside of her work for international affairs, she was one of the most sought-after fashion designers in Indian haute couture.

I smiled at everyone and then pointed to Sam. “She brought it up. I was merely an innocent bystander.”

Jacinta glared at Samina. “She’s about to marry your brother, the president, and there are like a million reporters out front. The last thing the two of you need to do is talk about hot exes with unending bank accounts when someone could be hiding to record any conversations.”

Sam winced—no one wanted to get on Jacinta’s bad side, especially after a four-hour Senate Finance Committee meeting. And the fact Jacinta was six months pregnant only added to the grumpiness.

“Sorry. I promise never to bring up Tara’s hot-as-fuck ex again.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Sam, you know I love you, but you are a complete pain in the ass.”

“Torturing my bhabhi is a privilege I plan to use to the fullest. You’ve always been my sister, but now it will be official.”

My heart contracted to hear her refer to me with the traditional Gujarati word for a sister-in-law. Sam and I had had a bond since we were young. She was the prodigy daughter of a billionaire, and I was the awkward tween daughter of a worker in her father’s company. We ran in different circles—Sam in the world of privilege and social standing and me in the life of limited income and saving pennies. But somehow, we’d always found each other. Especially during social events, where we never fit in and wanted to escape the pretense. We’d end up sitting in some hallway, chatting about nonsensical stuff and laughing our heads off.

When the drama between Ashur and me happened, she was dealing with her own issues with her father and her relationship with Devin and the last thing I wanted to do was burden her with my troubles. We’d stayed in touch over the years, but it wasn’t until I entered law school and Samina was finishing up her last year that our bond had grown. Even though we were only a few months apart in age, she’d became my mentor and even helped me get my first job after Stanford.

Then about seven years ago, we’d joined forces to start our own law firm. Sometimes, I still couldn’t believe the success we’d achieved in such a short time. I knew some of it was due to the clients Solon had referred to the firm, but no one, including Samina, knew that tidbit of information.

“I guess that means I can boss you around like the older brother’s wife does in Bollywood movies,” I said to Sam.

“And how would this be any different than normal?” Sam muttered, making Jacinta, Shawna, and Neya laugh. “You’d give Attila the Hun a run for his money.”

“Bite me.” I picked up my glass again and took another deep sip. “I just like to make sure all I’s are dotted and T’s crossed.”

“She’s got you there.” Neya set a box in front of me. “You’ve been a bossy boot since the moment I met you ten years ago. And with this wedding—you’re lucky I love you. Otherwise I would have designed the ugliest lengha possible for being such a micromanager.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss Neya. Aren’t you the one known for threatening anyone who dares to touch your designs?” I sat up and began to open the box Neya brought me. “Let’s get this fitting underway. I’m due for a family dinner with the in-laws.”

Sam groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m not sure I won’t stab the tech man. I’m going to drink at least three more glasses to increase my tolerance for his antics.”

“He’s your father.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

I grinned at her and then poured us both another glass of champagne.