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thumbed through the contract, ensuring that everything was in order for me to sell my soul.  My eyes sank closed, desperately trying to calm me as the weight of what I had just done set in.  Dear God, I was an idiot.  
    But I was an idiot who needed money.  
    “I really do hate you, you know,” I said.
    He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
    “Love you too, wifey.  Now let’s get started.”  

Ugh, Dad.
    If only you could see me now.
    I fell back on the massive four poster bed in my new guest room with a huff, a deafening poof of fluffy pillow and silky blankets boxing my ear as I sank into them.  My laptop sat on the ornate cherry wood desk in the corner, and cartons of Dad’s old Greek and Latin books were shoved beside it.  A massive, sleek TV hung on the red damask wall, but I had been too afraid to turn it on.  Tabloids were bad enough; the last thing I needed to top this day off was to see my face plastered across the evening news.
    Damien’s men had grabbed the last of my things from the apartment for me, saving me from the embarrassment of facing the cameras again.  With a bit of luck, I could probably hide in this mansion forever.  
    At least I’d never have to see Eileen again.
    Though Damien wasn’t much of an improvement.
    A sharp knock at the door warned me that the few minutes of peace I’d snatched were about to be ripped away from me.  I groaned into the pillow.
    “What?”
    “Normal people usually say ‘come in,’ Cleo,” Damien said, pressing the door open with his toe.  He leaned against the doorframe with an easy smile, his arms crossed so the tight muscles in his arms stood out.  “Though you never were a normal girl, were you?”
    “What do you want, Damien?”
    I sat up, rubbing my temples.  Being around him was giving me a permanent migraine.  He frowned as I adjusted the itchy dress around me and combed some fingers through my hair.
    “You should change,” he said, nodding to the skirt I wrenched down past my knees.  The last thing I wanted was to encourage him with a peep show.  “That thing can’t be uncomfortable.  Even if it makes me want to bend you over that bed like you deserve.”
    “Can we not do this?  Can we skip the sexual tension and get to the part where we accept that we can’t stand each other?”
    “Oh don’t worry,” he said, rolling his eyes.  He gave me that crooked grin.  “I’ll be good.  For now.  Anyway, when I do bend you over the bed, I’ll have you begging for it first.”
    “The only thing I’m begging from you is for you to give me my money and leave me the hell alone.”
    “Can’t do, wifey.  We’ve got a wedding to plan.”
    “God, don’t remind me.”
    “Sorry, I’m not God.  But close.”
    Ugh, I forgot how insufferably cocky that bastard was.  I fell back onto the bed with another huge poof of blankets swallowing me.  Damien strode across the room and perched at the edge of my bed, flipping through a tiny black leather day planner.  
    “We’re set to attend a gala next month, and that will be our first appearance together.  We’ll have to get all lovey dovey, up close and personal—but that won’t be too hard for me.”
    “Appearance?”
    “We’re public figures, Cleo.  We need to play the part.  And part of the part is being seen together—especially where there are cameras.  This gala will be the perfect place to do that.”
    “I hate being seen.”
    “You shouldn’t.  I told you, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
    Ugh, I hated when he said that.  Not just because it was the same old Damien Blackwood I knew so many years ago, flattering and manipulating every girl into thinking she was his one and only.  Or at least so I heard.
    But because it still did things to me, even though I knew it shouldn’t.  His fingers traced my collarbone lightly, and a shiver rolled down my back.  
    I slapped him away.
    “Fine.  What else.”
    “We need to rehearse our backstory too,” he said,