March

A fiancée. I’m going to Chicago to pretend to be some Italian Stallion’s future wife. Why a massive hunk, boxer, and rich restaurateur needs a fake bride is beyond me. Then again, I’m not paid to know why. I’m paid $100,000 to be his escort, or in this case, the woman he’s supposedly “going” to marry. The moment I met Antony “Tony” Fasano, I thought I might have lost my ability to breathe. In my twenty four years of life, I’d not seen anything like him. Clad only in a small towel precariously da