THE FOLLOWING DAY, I have dinner with my sisters at Sam’s place.

Her husband, Hunter, is working late, which I’m happy about. I like Hunter a lot, but I’d feel weird about his hanging around making gruff comments and trying not to laugh while I tell my sisters about my interview with Owen.

Sam has been cooking a lot lately, and she’s made delicious roasted chicken with vegetables. It’s ready as soon as Melissa and I arrive, so we get settled at the table and start to eat before I tell them anything.

Then Melissa says, “Okay, spill it before we go crazy with curiosity.”

So I spill it. I tell them everything. With as many details as I can remember.

I can tell a good story when I want, and I’ve got Sam and Melissa giggling several times as I go through the events of the previous day.

When I’m finished, both of them study me for a minute without speaking.

It finally goes on so long that I demand, “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?”

“I still can’t tell if you actually liked the guy or not,” Sam says.

“That’s because I don’t know if I like him or not. He was... okay. He wasn’t mean or anything. But...”

“But what?” Melissa asks.

For no good reason I feel flustered. Strangely self-conscious. “I don’t know. He just wasn’t what I expected. I couldn’t... Everyone I talked to said the same thing about him. He was sweet and kind of shy. But he didn’t seem that way to me. He was... strange. He stared a lot and didn’t give me cues about what he was thinking. So all my planned strategy didn’t end up working. I just can’t read him, and it’s... it’s... kind of annoying.”

I’m trying to be honest with my sisters. I nearly always am. They aren’t judgmental, and they love me. And I’ll feel better if I can talk out my impressions of Owen.

But they give each other a certain look. One that makes me stiffen defensively. “What?”

Sam glances at Melissa again.

Melissa’s mouth twitches in a suppressed smile.

“Are you laughing at me?” I look from one to the other.

“No. Of course not.” Sam is clearly trying to be mollifying.

“Well, maybe a little.” Melissa has speared a piece of yellow pepper on her fork, but she puts it down as she responds. “It is kind of funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“That you thought you could wrap this guy around your finger, and it didn’t work.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” Sam interrupts. “You know you did. You thought a sweet and shy guy would be easy to woo, and he wasn’t.” Her eyes are laughing, although her lips are relaxed. “And now you’re in a tizzy because he wants you to be his temporary trophy wife—and you kind of want to do it—but you’re scared that you’re not going to be able to control him.”

“I never expected to control him!” I genuinely believe this is true, so my indignation is real.

“You did,” Melissa says. “Admit it. You’ve always been good with guys. You can get them to do anything you want just by batting your eyelashes. And here you thought you’d do the same thing with Owen, and you can’t. So now if you say yes to his proposal, it’s not going to be easy to work it the way you want.”

“I don’t know if I’m even going to say yes.”

“Of course you will. It’s what you were thinking as soon as Trevor told you about him. You just chickened out of the trophy-wife idea—quite understandably. But now it’s not going to be what you thought.” Sam glances as Melissa again. “The irony is kind of delicious.”

“It’s not delicious.” I frown. I try not to pout, but I feel like it at the moment. “It’s annoying. He’s annoying. And now y’all are being annoying too.”

They both just laugh, and I’ve never been a good pouter, so I end up smiling instead. “Did Trevor tell you anything more about him?”

“Like what?” Melissa asks.

“I don’t know. Personal stuff. Like has he been in serious relationships before?”

“Trevor mentioned he had a couple of long-term relationships but nothing serious in the past several years. I guess he’s been consumed with his work ever since his father died.”

“Yeah.” I fiddle with the food on my plate. “I can see that. He does give off some workaholic vibes, and he’s obviously willing to do anything to make Masterson’s a success again, even ask a stranger to be his temporary trophy wife.”

My phone rings just then, and I glance at the screen and then tense up dramatically.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t just sit there. Answer it and see what he says.” Melissa makes a hurrying gesture. Patience has never been in her skill set.

I’m about to connect the call, but I really don’t want to have this conversation while Sam and Melissa are sitting across the table and blatantly listening.

So I stand up as I hit Accept and say with a smile in my voice, “Hi. This is Chelsea.”

“Hi.” There’s a pause, during which I walk into Sam’s spare bedroom. “It’s Owen.”

“Yes. How are you?”

“Okay.”

I wait. He’s the one who called me. Surely he’s going to say something else.

When he doesn’t, I prompt, “Did you have a question or anything?”

“Yeah.” Another pause. “I wanted to know if you’ve made a decision or not.”

I give a soft huff of dry amusement. He’s clearly not big on patience either. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“And?”

“I...” I trail off, knowing as I do that I might as well say the answer I knew from the beginning. “I kind of like the idea, if we think we can make it work.”

“I don’t see why not. We’ll just negotiate all the details beforehand so there aren’t any surprises.” He sounds professional, confident. He might not be good at socializing, but he’s obviously good at business.

And that’s how he’s thinking about this. Business.

That’s how I’m going to think about it too.

“That sounds good to me,” I tell him. “We can put together a contract that works for both of us.”

“I have a couple of questions first.”

“Sure. Of course.”

Nothing.

I take a deep breath so I can keep the smile in my voice. Seriously. I want to shake this guy, and I’ve only been on the phone with him for less than a minute. “What were your questions?”

“What about sex?”

My eyes widen, and my body tightens. “Sex?”

“Were you... were you thinking we’d...”

“Oh. Oh. I see. I... Well, I don’t know. We don’t have to. We don’t know each other right now, so we wouldn’t know if we’d even want to.” My cheeks are burning, and it’s so annoying. I’m not usually flustered this way. “We can leave it on the table. As an option. If you want. But we won’t have to.”

More silence on the other end of the call.

Damn it. Why won’t this guy converse like a normal person?

I go on. “I don’t want it to be an obligation. For either one of us. I mean, that doesn’t seem like a good idea. Does it?”

“No.”

“Okay. Good. So we can leave it on the table, if we decide we want to, but neither one of us would be obliged. But we can. If we want to.”

Shit. Now I’m babbling.

“With each other?”

I blink. “What?”

“We can have sex with each other?”

“Yes. Of course. What else?”

“What else would be having sex with other people.”

“Oh. Oh no. I didn’t think we would...” I have to stop and think for a second. “Did you want to have sex with other people?”

“No!” The word bursts out, and it’s the most expressive thing I’ve ever heard from this man. It surprises me. “Not me.”

“Oh. Good. Me either. Even if it’s just a one-year marriage of convenience, I’d rather us be faithful.”

“Me too.”

“Okay then. It sounds like we’re on the same page. No sex with anyone else. But we can have sex with each other if... if we both want to. No pressure or obligation.”

Am I really having this conversation?

Evidently I am.

“Okay.”

I wait a beat for more, but of course he doesn’t say anything else. “Okay. Did you have any other questions?”

“Where we would live?”

“I don’t really care about that. I have an apartment, but Pop pays for it. It’s not that important to me. If you have a house, we can live there. Or wherever you want.”

“My house is fine. And I could give you a budget... for clothes or whatever you want to buy. I wouldn’t be cheap with you or anything.”

He sounds as matter-of-fact as ever, but I find this comment rather adorable. “I wouldn’t need much. I mean, I have plenty of clothes already. I like to shop, but I can restrain myself if necessary. I don’t want to take advantage of you. I know all I’m bringing to this marriage is—”

“You’re bringing plenty. I need you right now. You can buy what you want.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” I’m still blushing. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay what?”

“Okay. It all sounds good. So we’re going to do this?”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I want to. Good. Thanks.” Okay, I’ve got to do better than this. I’m supposed to be the one who’s good at conversation. “So how would you like to handle leading into it? Should we date for a while so it looks like a normal marriage?”

“Okay. Sure.”

“We could date for like a month or so. Pretend it’s a whirlwind romance and then just marry spontaneously. People will think it’s really romantic. It will help your image, and we’ll have a great story to tell the people you want to do business with.”

“Okay. Sure.”

I roll my eyes but make sure to keep it from my voice. “All right then. Your friends all think we have a blind date, so why don’t we go with that. We can go out on Saturday evening, if you’re available, and that will be our first date. Then we can pretend that we fell hard for each other and take the relationship from there.”

“Okay.”

Damn it. If this guy can’t talk more than this, he’s going to kill me before the end of this fake marriage.

“Okay. Good then.”

We both just wait for a minute, not talking.

“Okay,” I say at last. “We can be in touch. Bye then.”

“Bye.”

I disconnect the call and collapse back on the bed, where I’ve been sitting.

Sam and Melissa find me sprawled out there.

They laugh at me some more, but it’s not really funny.

This guy is impossible.

And evidently I’m going to marry him.

***

ON SATURDAY EVENING, Eva comes over to my apartment to help me get ready for my first date with Owen.

I don’t actually need help getting ready. I just need someone to hash everything out with.

The farther I am from the phone conversation, the more crazy it seems to me. I must have been out of my mind to agree to marry a stranger.

Now I’m stuck with him for a year.

But Melissa did it, and Sam did it, and both of them are happier than they’ve ever been before. I’m obviously never going to fall in love with Owen since most of the time I want to shake more words out of him. But if my sisters can make it through a yearlong marriage of convenience, then so can I.

I don’t need a happily-ever-after.

I just need the chance to learn to stand on my own feet and show Pop he can’t control me.

I put on one of my favorite dresses—a flirty blue one that brings out of the color of my eyes and makes the most of my figure. I don’t know how Owen is planning to dress for our date, but I’m going to look good even if he shows up wearing jeans.

He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d wear jeans on a date.

But even if he does, I’m going to look as good as possible. He’s not going to be disappointed in his choice of temporary trophy wife. Not if I can help it.

We’ve arranged for him to pick me up at seven o’clock, and there’s a knock on the door at seven on the dot. I haven’t got my shoes and jewelry on yet, but I run to get the door anyway.

When I swing it open and greet him with a warm smile, he just stands there and stares at me.

Of course.

He’s wearing a suit, but it’s like the other suit I saw him in. It’s good quality but not tailored in a modern way, and it makes him look about fifteen years older than he is. His hair is just as neat and pressed down as it was on Wednesday.

He’s got a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Roses and orchids. They’re really quite lovely.

When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Are those for me?”

“Oh. Yes.” He thrusts them at me.

“Thank you.” I take the flowers and step out of the doorway to let him in. “They’re gorgeous. I’ll put them in water, and then I need to finish getting ready. I’ll just be a few minutes. But my friend Eva is here. She can keep you company while you wait.”

He comes in without a word and then stands around as I put the flowers in a vase.

I make a discreet gesture at Eva, indicating that she should do her best to entertain Owen, and then I go back into my bedroom to finish getting ready.

I usually take my time with primping, but Owen seems like the kind of guy who might get annoyed with that, and I don’t want poor Eva to suffer with him for long, so I hurry.

In six minutes, I’m starting to leave my bedroom, but I pause when I hear voices.

Owen and Eva are talking about her job at the salon. And I mean both of them are talking. Owen is talking.

He’s not talking a mile a minute or anything, but he sounds friendly and natural. He even laughs as I stand there listening.

Maybe he’s in a good mood today.

That bodes well for our date.

Hopefully it won’t be like pulling teeth to have a conversation with him.

Owen and Eva are smiling when I come out, and I’m shocked by how much the smile transforms Owen’s face.

He’s more than cute when he smiles.

He’s... more.

His smile fades when he sees me. He stands up, his eyes running up and down my body. They linger on my legs and my neckline, the way they did in his office on Wednesday, but I still don’t see any admiration in his expression.

I have no idea if he thinks I’m pretty or not. The man might as well be a blank page.

“You look gorgeous, Chelsea,” Eva says with a smile. “I love that dress.”

“Thanks.” At least someone knows how to give a compliment.

Owen doesn’t say anything.

“Okay.” I go over to pick up the little silver-gray purse I prepared for the evening. “We better get going if we don’t want to be late for our reservation.”

No response from Owen, but Eva tells us to have a good time, and we all leave my apartment together.

Owen owns an expensive German sedan. It’s a very nice car, but it’s kind of stuffy like the rest of him.

On the way to the restaurant, I ask him about his family and his work.

As we’re waiting for our food, I ask him about books he’s read and movies he’s seen and sports teams he likes.

As we eat, I tell him about my family and where I went to school and about the best places I’ve traveled.

All the conversational work is done by me. He answers when I ask direct questions, but that’s about all he does.

By the time I’ve finished my salmon and risotto, I’m about to scream.

If this was a normal first date, I’d be skipping dessert and making a quick getaway, but unfortunately that’s not an option.

We’ve got to make the world believe we’re falling hard for each other.

So I suggest we go to a cute little ice cream place for dessert, and he drives us over.

As a test—or maybe just my contrary streak coming out—I decide not to say anything until he’s willing to step up.

So we sit in silence on the drive over.

And we walk in silence into the ice cream shop, which is crowded tonight.

We stand in line in silence too.

By the time we get our ice cream and I make a quick move to grab the one empty table, I’m stewing.

What the hell is wrong with the man?

Is he not going to say anything at all?

I eat my chocolate-mint ice cream, trying not to glare at him.

I’m about a third of the way done when Owen finally asks, “Are you mad at me?”

I almost slump in relief that he’s said something. I’m not sure how long I could hold out with this kind of awkward silence.

“No, I’m not mad.”

“You look mad.”

I take a slow breath. “Well, honestly, I’m a little annoyed.”

“Why?”

Why?

Why?

Why?

“Because you’re not saying anything, and it’s making this a lot harder than it needs to be. We’re supposed to be on a date.”

Something different is happening on his face. His jaw looks tense, and he gnaws on his lower lip for just a minute. He’s not quite meeting my eyes. “This is how I act on a date.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m not good at this. I’m not good... with women.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to be good with me. We’ve got a deal, right? You’ve got me, no matter what you do. So why can’t you just be yourself.”

“This is myself.”

“No, it’s not. I heard you talking to Eva. You were perfectly fine. You even smiled and laughed. I know this isn’t yourself.”

“It’s myself with women like you.”

I’m relieved to be having this conversation, but I stiffen up at that. “What do you mean, like me? What’s wrong with me?”

His eyes narrow, but at least he’s looking at me now. “You’re too pretty,” he blurts out.

I blink. “What?”

“You’re too pretty.”

“I’m—”

“Too pretty.”

I giggle self-consciously. “That’s crazy.”

“No, it’s not. You’re too pretty. It makes me nervous.”

I’m flushing and trying not to be so gratified by this very ungraceful compliment. “Well, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I can’t go around with a bag on my head.”

“A bag wouldn’t help.”

“Why not?”

For the first time, there’s a glint in his eyes. Maybe amusement. “I’d still be able to see your body.”

I laugh for real. “Oh my God, Owen! I guess I appreciate the compliment, but you’ve got to get over being nervous. Why are you nervous in the first place? You know you don’t have to impress me or act a certain way to get what you want from me. I’m going to marry you no matter what, unless you suddenly turn into an asshole. There’s nothing for you to be nervous about.”

“I know that. But I told you before. I’m not good at this. Why do you think I need help?” He has relaxed some now, and it’s a big relief.

He finally feels like a real person to me, and I want to be a real person to him too. “Okay. I get it. I’m glad that’s all it was. I was afraid you didn’t like me.”

“I like you fine.”

“Okay. Good. So try to act like it. We’re supposed to be falling hard for each other, and no one is going to believe it if you sit there and act like you’re at the dentist.”

He gives me a twitch of a smile. “I don’t act this way at the dentist.”

“Just with me?”

“Just with you.”

The words shouldn’t make me feel special, but they do.

I smile at him. “Okay. Well, let’s try again. What are some of your favorite things?”

“My favorite things?”

“Yes. Your favorite things. What do you really like? Tell me some things. Little things that make you happy.”

He thinks for a minute. “I like good coffee.”

“Good. Me too. What else?”

“I like rib eye steaks. I like murder mysteries. Books and movies.”

“I like sushi. And romantic comedies.”

“You would.”

I’m blushing now because of the look in his eyes. I can’t even explain what it is, but it’s making me excited. “What does that mean?”

“It means you look like you’d like romantic comedies. It wasn’t an insult.”

“Okay. Good. What else do you like?”

“I like Prague. And Florence, Italy. And the Forest of Dean in England.”

“Oh. I’ve never been to any of those places. I like New York and Paris.”

His mouth is twitching again.

“Don’t say it. I’m not that predictable. What else do you like?”

“I like the feel of leather and the smell of good cigars.”

“Do you smoke them?”

“Only occasionally. But I like the smell.”

“What else?”

“When I was a kid, my grandfather would take me to the Masterson’s downtown—the first store he opened—and we’d walk around before the doors opened on Saturday mornings. He’d tell me about everything he was doing in the store. I loved that.”

“You did? Why?”

“I don’t know.” He’s been meeting my eyes, but his gaze drops now to his mostly empty cup of ice cream. “It was this feeling of... familiarity, ownership. Like this was ours. Our store. Our responsibility. I still do that sometimes on Saturday mornings. Just walk around the store.”

“Really?” I’m smiling like a fool now. “I really like that. Melissa feels that way about Pop’s, but I never have. I guess I’ve never felt like anything was mine like that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even have a... a real home. One that’s mine.”

“Why don’t you get one?”

“I want to. That’s why I’m doing this whole thing.”

“Marrying me to get a home?” His dark eyebrows lift.

“Not your home,” I say in a rush. “I promise I’m not going to start thinking your place is my home. I’m just tired of always feeling like an appendage. Of not being my own person.”

“You could get a job and support yourself.”

“I know.” I put down my spoon and slump back against the chair. “I’m trying. I’ve been looking for months now, but it’s hard because I’ve never worked a day in my life. I really am a spoiled princess, and that doesn’t make for a good résumé. I could get some sort of job, but I’d still have to live with one of my friends or one of my sisters, and I... I’d still feel like an appendage.”

He’s listening to me now. I can tell. He’s rubbing his jaw. “So how does this marriage help you?”

“It gives me a year. And I won’t feel like an appendage with you because we have a fair deal. I’m helping you, and you’re helping me. It’s an equal trade-off.”

“That makes sense.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“Plus it’s really going to piss off Pop.”

He smiles for real. The first time with me. “I’ve only met Pop a couple of times, but pissing him off sounds like motivation enough for me.”

So I decide I like Owen a lot more than I initially thought.

***

WE’RE GETTING READY to leave when I notice an acquaintance of mine come into the shop with a guy I don’t know.

I’m not exactly friends with Shelley, but we went to school together, and I see her around town fairly often.

“I know the woman who just walked in,” I tell Owen, who’s gotten quiet again.

He turns to look. Fortunately Shelley is looking in a different direction so she doesn’t see him staring at her.

“We should act like this is a real date,” I tell him. “It will be good practice.”

“Okay.” He looks at me and then down at his empty ice cream cup. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put your arm around me as we leave. And try to act like you want to be hanging out with me.”

He blinks. “Okay.”

I’m shaking my head as I stand up. He stands stiffly until I go over to him, and then he puts an arm around me like I’m his aged grandmother.

Unable to hold back a chuckle, I adjust his arm so his hand is resting on the curve of my hip. “Haven’t you put an arm around a woman before?”

“Sure. But not because she told me to.”

I’m giggling like crazy now. He’s looking perplexed, and it’s adorable. “I wouldn’t have to tell you if you didn’t act like I might burn you. I’m really very touchable, you know.”

His eyes hold mine for just a moment, and something changes in his expression that makes my breath hitch. “I believe you.”

“So touch me,” I manage to say.

“I am touching you.”

“Okay. Good. So now you can walk.”

He does walk, and he’s still looking at me, and for no good reason it’s getting me going.

I mean, really getting me going. My cheeks are flushed, and my heart is racing. I’m breathing shallowly.

And I’m tingling. All over.

I look away from Owen before I end up doing something stupid and embarrassing myself in front of this man who’s clearly not affected by my closeness at all.

When I look over at Shelley, I see she’s watching us.

She smiles and waves and gives Owen one of those looks of teasing curiosity I’m very used to. “Chelsea! How good to see you!”

I return her greeting and keep myself glued to Owen’s side as we walk over. I’m prepared to simply say a couple of friendly words and leave without introductions, but Shelley introduces the guy she’s with so I have to do the same.

“This is Owen Masterson,” I say, beaming up at him like I’m besotted.

He blinks down at me, and it’s a little too long before he turns toward Shelley. “Hi, Shelley,” he says, keeping his arm around me and giving a little wave with his other.

I assume it’s because he’s not in a position to comfortably shake hands, but it works for me. It comes off as dismissively polite, which is exactly the right attitude for Shelley.

“It’s nice to meet you, Owen,” Shelley says, turning her obnoxious smile to him. “Are you the Owen Masterson of Masterson’s department stores?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“Oh. Wow. How did you meet little Chelsea?”

I’m having trouble not snapping my teeth now, but I’m good at this kind of thing. “We were set up on a blind date. Worked out pretty well. I’ll see you around, Shelley.”

And then I start for the door, dragging Owen with me.

“Well, now the whole world is going to know we’re dating,” I say as we step out onto the sidewalk.

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes. That’s good. I went to school with Shelley. I just don’t like her at all.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

I stop and look at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? She’s jealous of you. She probably had to look at you all through school. And you were always prettier and more popular than she was.”

“What makes you think I was pretty and popular?”

“Of course you were. You’ve been the star of every room you ever walked into, and it probably always bothered her.”

“I was always nice to her.”

“Doesn’t matter. Jealousy doesn’t work that way.”

“Maybe.” I feel kind of depressed for no good reason. “All right. Well, it’s just as well we saw her. She’s a terrible gossip, so everyone is going to know by tomorrow. If anyone asks you about us, remember to act like you’re crazy about me.”

He’s giving me that look I don’t really understand. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’ll do my best too.”

***

I GO OUT WITH OWEN for the next three Saturday nights, and those dates go better. At least we’re basically getting along, even though things still feel weird and artificial.

On the fourth Saturday after our first date, we fly to Vegas to get married.

We’ve talked about options, and this is what we’ve decided on as the easiest thing that still comes across as fun and spontaneous.

It’s not the kind of wedding I’d choose for myself, but this isn’t my real wedding.

Better to get it over with. And at least this way we’ll have a story to tell.

When we get to town, we scout out wedding chapels, and we end up picking the funniest, tackiest place we can find.

Elvis themed.

We ham it up so we can get good pictures. Or rather, I ham it up, and I pressure Owen into doing things he never would have done otherwise. I even make him sing me “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” It takes about five minutes of pressuring him, but I don’t give up, telling him it will be a perfect way to come across as both human and entertaining to potential business partners, so he gets in front of a microphone and sings the song.

He knows all the words, and he’s got a decent voice.

He does the whole thing with a perfectly straight face.

I’m giggling helplessly at the end of it, barely able to hold my phone steady so I can film him.

So we’re married as we leave the chapel, both of us wearing gold wedding bands and me also wearing a pretty emerald-cut diamond solitaire on a matching band that he bought for me.

“I can’t believe you made me do that,” he grumbles as we walk back toward the hotel, which is a few blocks away.

“I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“You told me it would be good.”

“It will be. I promise you. People are going to love this when I show it to them. It will solidify that you’re really not a fuddy-duddy.”

“I am a fuddy-duddy.”

“But everyone doesn’t have to know that. I’m telling you, this is perfect.”

“Okay. You’re the expert.”

He’s wearing a suit again today. I’ve actually never seen him in anything else. It’s just as boring and unstylish as ever, but for some reason he looks better-looking than normal tonight.

His hair is rumpled, and he has a slight five-o’clock shadow. The lines around his eyes and mouth are more pronounced than normal, and his body looks both hot and relaxed.

His expression is slightly rueful, slightly amused.

I like him this way.

I wonder how it will feel to press up against his body. I wonder how those hands would feel on my body. Those thin, mobile lips on my mouth. And on other parts of my body.

He might be a fuddy-duddy, but he got in front of a camera and sang an Elvis song because I asked him to.

There are depths to him I never would have expected.

We’re married now.

And we agreed we could have sex if we wanted.

I wouldn’t mind trying it out.

I wouldn’t mind at all.

As we ride up the elevator, I think through how I should approach the topic. I could just try kissing him, but he’s still kind of stiff and awkward around me sometimes, and he might not respond well to being kissed out of the blue.

Should I just ask him if he wants to have sex?

Surely a guy wouldn’t mind being asked that. I’m not the best catch in the world, but I’m attractive enough. And single, straight, available men are usually willing to give sex a try when offered.

At least in my experience.

I’m mulling it over as we get to our room.

It’s not actually a room. It’s a suite. And my heart sinks a bit when I realize it’s a two-bedroom suite.

It’s a very nice suite in a very nice hotel.

But going to bed together won’t be natural if we each have our own room.

Maybe I should just ask.

So are you interested in having a real wedding night?

We mentioned sex was on the table, and I wouldn’t mind giving it a try.

Do you want to have sex?

How the hell am I supposed to ask him?

“What’s wrong?” Owen asks. He’s toed off his shoes and is standing in the middle of the living area of the suite, pulling his tie loose.

“Nothing.”

“Something is.” He’s frowning. “I’m not going to jump you, you know.”

“What?”

“If that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not going to jump you. Proposition you. I’m not looking for sex tonight if that’s what you’re worried about.”

My back stiffens with a jerk. “I’m not worried.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. Why would I be worried about that?”

“I got two bedrooms so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

I’m glaring at him now, but I can’t help it. Even when he’s being nice, he still ends up annoying me. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Okay then.” He raises skeptical eyebrows that prove he doesn’t believe me. “I’m hot and sweaty, so I’m going to take a shower.”

“You do that. I’m going to order room service.”

“Get anything you want. Champagne or whatever.”

“I will.”

“I don’t care about what it costs.”

“Good to know. I’ll get their best stuff then.” I’m still feeling feisty. If he can be clueless and annoying, then I can make him pay for good champagne.

“Do it. I’m taking a shower.”

He goes into the smaller bedroom and closes the door.

I stand and glare at the door for a minute, but it’s a futile effort since he can’t see me, and it doesn’t make me feel better.

It’s no big deal anyway.

It’s not like I’m dying to go to bed with him.

He’s not even good-looking.

Not really.

Not much.

And he’s probably terrible in bed anyway.

He’d go at it with his unflinching focus and sobriety.

I wouldn’t find that sexy.

I wouldn’t.

Once this is clear in my mind, I call down to room service and order champagne and shrimp and pasta and a rib eye for Owen and chocolate cake and chocolate-dipped strawberries.

One way or another, I’m going to have a good evening.

It’s my wedding night after all.