Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Happily? Not even close.
Because guess what…
I’ve never actually met my husband!
That was the term when I accepted the contract marriage.
Except I'm so over being "married" but single.
After a threatening phone call to my husband's lawyer,
One reckless night out,
A ridiculously hot stranger,
And a very unfortunate case of holy-crap-I-just-hit-on-my-husband later…
I’m screwed.
Because now? He’s interested.
Like, let’s-make-this-real kind of interested.
He says I can’t break the contract.
He says I belong to him.
And he now wants to play husband.
Like excuse me?!
But no, thank you.
Not falling for the billionaire stranger I married.
Not when he's still hiding secrets from me.
Not when he ghosted me for four years straight.
Not when his smirk is criminally illegal.
Not even when he looks at me like I’m cake.
Not even when he sends me a one-eyed, farting dog as a peace offering.
Just a few more months until the contract expires.
Until then, my anti-husband shield is staying on.
An unconventional marriage, quirky humor, and steamy chemistry all bundled up in one entertaining package.
All books in the "I Said Yes" Series are STANDALONES and can be read in any order.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter one
Weland
“I’m about to make a terrible decision, Smitty McSmittington.” Based on the fact that this man is my husband’s lawyer and, out of the two of them, the only one I’ve ever met before, I figure I should give him the best possible chance to talk me down and maybe even stop me. I owe him that, at least. He’s nice. Most of the time. Plus, I think his name is kick-ass. Even though he does boring things all day, like law, he’s all right when it comes down to it.
And my god, it's definitely coming down to it.
“Miss Bull, please don’t give me that.”
“Give you what? No bull?”
Smitty’s sigh is one of the longest, long-suffering ones I’ve ever heard through a phone. “For the love of turkey drums, what’s going on?”
Oh, maybe the fact that I’ve been married—technically married—for four years, and I’ve never met my husband. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. Or maybe the fact that I used to be fun, but due to the gag clause in the contract I signed, I mean marriage documents, I have to zip it. It means no telling my family and friends why I can’t go out, why I’m not interested in guys, and why my life is on pause while theirs goes on, and they get to do things, live, meet people, fall in love, get married, and have babies.
You know, all the regular, amazing, normal life things to do.
They get to share it with someone else.
I just have a piece of paper that bought my silence. Oh, and two hundred grand up front, with the other three hundred grand promised to me at the end of five years.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all over again if I had to. I saved my brother’s life with that money. It was a no-brainer at the time. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to be this lonely.
“I’m going out tomorrow night. My sort of best friend is getting married, and I’m going to her stagette.” I can only imagine Smitty’s face. Given that he’s pretty patient, I’d say he’s not pulling one at the moment. He has a good, resting, straight-laced face. A good lawyer face.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. The contract was never meant to make it so you couldn’t go out and have fun with friends.”
“Yes, but it’s at a bar. A bar with guys. Guys who are no doubt attractive. Guys who will buy us drinks. Not that we can’t buy our own because we can, and we will.” One day, I’m sure I’ll look back on this moment as the deciding moment of something or other, but right now, I’m going for it. And by going for it, I mean going off the rails. “I will no doubt be inebriated, and I haven’t been drunk in a very, very long time. I can’t promise I’ll behave. I also can’t promise I won’t find a handsome stranger and take him home. Of course, it would all be very discreet, so that should at least be within the parameters of the piece of paper that rules my life.”
I know I’m not being fair. I know the piece of paper kind of rules his life too. I know if I mess up, he’s going to get in shite. But honestly. Four years. It’s been four freaking years, and I am just so freaking done.
Will I actually get drunk this weekend? Probably. But too far gone drunk? Not a chance. I actually don’t even like drinking. I prefer more like nicely buzzed, still kind of sober, easy to get sober with a glass of water so I can still look after my friends kind of drunk. And that friend who’s getting married? She’s my sort of bestie, just as I said. The bestie I’ve grown a little apart from in the past four years, and no, it’s not just because of life. It’s the gag clause. She has no idea I’m married. As far as she or anyone else knows, my family’s health insurance paid for my brother’s surgeries.
Will I hit on a handsome stranger and take him home? Not a chance. I would never do that. But can I threaten and be petulant and wish for just a moment that I had someone to hold me at night and share my feelings and my heart and life with? It’s not as though I’d find that with a one-night stand, but yeah. It doesn’t stop me from wishing. Or from hurting.
“Miss Bull, please, let’s just talk about this.” This is where the calm lawyer stuff comes in. The rational tone and the I’ve got this because I can handle anything lawyer voice.
“I’m not technically even a Miss Bull. Did you know that, Smitty? Of course you know that. You know what my last name is. I don’t. I don’t even know that. Because on the contract I signed where I gave up five years of my life, the real name of my husband was blacked out. In war times, I think they would call that redacted. Or not in war. In government documents. Which I feel like this crazy contract was.”