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Wheeler wasn’t the screw-up womanizer people assumed.
    “What else don’t I know?” he asked.
    “That I have to work tonight. I can’t go to your parents’ for dinner. You have to check with me about this kind of stuff.”
    Yeah. He should have. It hadn’t occurred to him. Most women of his acquaintance would have stood up the president in order to have dinner with his parents. He’d just never invited any of them. “Call in. Someone else can cover it. This is important to my mother.”
    “The shelter is important to me. Someone else has been covering my responsibilities all week.” Her hands clenched and went rigid by her sides. “It’s not like I’m canceling a round of golf with a potential client, Wheeler.”
    Golf. Yeah. His workday consisted of eye-crossing, closed-door sessions with Matthew, poring over his brother’s newest strategies to improve business. “What is it like, then? Tell me.”
    “The women who come to the shelter are terrified their husbands or boyfriends will find them, even though we go to extreme lengths to keep the location secret. Their kids have been uprooted, jammed into a crowded, foreign new home and have lost a father, all at the same time. They’re desperate for someone they know and trust. Me.”
    Bright, shiny moisture gathered in the pockets of her eyes as she spoke, and that caught him in the throat as much as her heartfelt speech. No one could fake that kind of passion for a job. Or anything else. “Dinner tomorrow night, then.”
    Mama would have to understand. God Almighty, what a balancing act. The ripples were starting already, and it was going to be hell to undo the effects after the divorce.
    He had to believe it would be worth it. He had to believe he could somehow ensure his family didn’t get attached to Cia without vilifying her in the process. He needed a nice, stable wife to combat the Lana Effect nearly as much as he needed Manzanares.
    She nodded, and a tear broke loose to spill down her cheek. “Thanks.”
    All of a sudden, he felt strangely honored to be part of something so meaningful to her. Sure, his own stake meant a lot, too, but it was nice that his investment in this fake marriage would benefit others.
    “Come on.” He slung an arm around her slim shoulders. Such a small frame to hold so much inside. “Better. You didn’t even flinch that time.”
    “I’m trying.” As if to prove it, she didn’t shrug off his arm.
    “We’ll get there.”
    Legs bumping, he guided her toward the kitchen, where he’d left every single box intact because God forbid he accidentally put the blender in the wrong spot.
    Most of Amber’s touches had been removed, thrown haphazardly into the trash by a blank-faced Matthew, but a few remained, like the empty fruit bowl his sister-in-law had picked up at the farmers’ market.
    Must have missed that one. During those weeks following the funeral, even he had been numb over Amber’s sudden death, and neither he nor Matthew had put a whole lot of effort into clearing the house.
    Maybe, in some ways, his marriage to Cia would be a lot easier than one built on the promise of forever. At least he knew ahead of time it was ending and there would be no emotional investment to reconcile.
    “Look how far we’ve come already,” he told her. “You’re not going to make cracks about my past relationships, and I’m not going to make plans for dinner without checking first. The rest will be a snap. You just have to pretend you love me as much as you love being a crusader. Easy, right?”
    She snorted and some color returned to her cheeks.
    Good. Hell’s bells, was she ever a difficult woman, but without him, she’d be lost. She had no idea how to fake a relationship. Her fire and compassion could only go so far, though he liked both more than he would have thought. If she ditched that prickly pear personality, she’d be something else. Thank the good Lord she hadn’t.
    Otherwise, he’d be chomping at the bit to