ELENA

I’ve had four engagements, worn four wedding dresses, and waited in four churches. Each time, the groom never showed up.

After the fourth time, I stopped believing in love.

"Elena, you have a client!" Maya ran into my office and almost knocked over my fabric samples.

I didn't look up. "Tell them I'm busy."

"But you're eating old Chinese food and doing nothing."

"Exactly. I'm busy."

Maya walked over and took the food from my hands. "This client is rich. Like really rich. His suit probably costs more than my car."

That got my attention. Rich meant money. Money meant I could pay off my debt. The huge debt from four weddings that never happened but I still had to pay for.

"Fine." I stood up and fixed my skirt. "Send him in."

Maya smiled and left. I shoved the food in my desk and checked my phone. My hair was messy, my makeup was simple, and I looked exactly like what I was, a twenty-nine-year-old wedding planner who didn't believe in love anymore.

The door opened and the most beautiful man I'd ever seen walked in.

Damn it.

He was tall, really tall, maybe six-three or more with perfect hair and blue-grey eyes that looked right through you. And that suit Maya was right about, it probably cost more than my car and hers combined.

"Ms. Rossi?" His voice was husky.

"That's me." I pointed to the chair. "Please sit."

He sat down and everything about him screamed control - how he sat, how he looked at my messy office, how his eyes came back to me.

"I'm Dominic Ashford," he said. "I need to hire you."

"Obviously." I got my consultation form. "What kind of wedding are we talking about?"

"The fake kind."

I looked up. "What?"

"I need you to plan a wedding in three weeks to a woman I don't really know for my dying grandmother."

Okay, so he was crazy, rich and crazy.

"Let me understand," I said slowly. "You want me to plan a fake wedding in three weeks to trick your dying grandmother?"

"Yes."

"That's..." I stopped. What was the nice word for insane "That's weird."

"I'll pay whatever you want."

Money, right, that was the important part.

I sat back. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do all this? Why not just tell your grandmother the truth?"

He tightened his face. "Because she's dying and her last wish is to see me married. I won't let her down."

Something in his voice sounded painful and I knew that feeling.

"Who's the bride?" I asked.

"An actress friend who agreed to do it for money. The wedding just needs to look real - three hundred guests, my family, the press."

"The press?"

"I'm a public figure. Ashford Hotels, you know it?"

I did - big hotel company, billionaire family, always in the news.

"This is a bad idea," I told him.

"I know."

"It could go wrong."

"I know."

"Your grandmother could find out and be more upset."

"I'll take that chance."

We stared at each other and he wasn't going to change his mind. And I needed this job, I needed the money badly.

"My price is fifty thousand," I said.

"Done."

I blinked. "You didn't even argue."

"Should I?"

"No, just..." I shook my head. "Rich people are strange."

"So I've heard."

I pulled out a contract and started writing. While I wrote, I could feel him watching me and it made me so nervous.

"Can I ask something?" he said.

"Sure."

"Why do you do arranged marriages and business weddings and fake stuff?"

I didn't look up. "Because those are the only ones that make sense."

"That's sad."

"That's real."

"What happened to you?"

My pen stopped and I looked at him. "What?"

"To make you hate love. You're a wedding planner who doesn't believe in weddings so there's a reason."

"There's no reason."

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't hire me." I pushed the contract toward him. "I'm good at my job because I don't believe in fairy tales and I deal with reality. You want a fake wedding that looks real? I can do it. You want someone to judge you for lying to your dying grandmother? Go somewhere else."

He picked up the contract and read it and his face showed nothing. Then he got a pen from his jacket and signed it.

"You're hired."

"Great." I took the contract back. "I need to meet the bride and get her size and know your story and see schedules."

"I'll send you her info."

"And I need to know your family and guest list and where you want it and your budget."

"Money doesn't matter and please make it perfect."

"Perfect costs a lot."

"I said money doesn't matter."

Must be nice.

We spent the next hour on details and the whole time we fought about everything.

Him: "The flowers should be white roses."

Me: "White roses are boring."

Him: "They're classic."

Me: "No, they're basic."

Him: "The ceremony should be at my family house."

Me: "Your house is too small for three hundred people."

Him: "I want it private."

Me: "You want it believable and that means press and that means a big venue."

Him: "I need to approve everything."

Me: "You hired me to do a job so let me do it."

Him: "It's my wedding."

Me: "It's a fake wedding and I'm the expert."

When he finally left an hour later, I had a headache and a good contract.

Maya came in as soon as he left.

"So? How did it go?"

"He's annoying."

"He's hot."

"He's also engaged, fake-engaged to someone else for a fake wedding."

Maya's eyes got huge. "Wait, what?"

I told her the whole crazy story and Maya listened with her mouth open.

"Elena, that's insane."

"I know."

"That's going to explode."

"Probably."

"And you're doing it anyway?"

"Fifty thousand dollars, Maya. Fifty thousand."

She sighed. "You need help."

"I need money." I looked at the contract on my desk. "Three weeks and I can do this. It's just another wedding, just another fake marriage. I've done tons of them."

But something felt different.

Maybe it was how he looked at me like he was trying to understand me.

Maybe it was how we fought but somehow got each other.

Or maybe it was because I'd been a bride four times and never a wife and I was tired of watching other people get happy endings while mine kept breaking.

"You okay?" Maya asked quietly.

"Yeah." I smiled but it felt fake. "Just another day.”