Page 22 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

“Exactly!”

“How was he organizing them?”

“By geographical origin and flavor profile,” she says.

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ready to go home?"

She freezes for just a second—a tiny hitch in her movement that she probably thinks I don't notice.

"Home," she repeats quietly.

"My place. Our place. For the next six months." I pause. "Longer, if I have anything to say about it."

Her eyes search mine. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Evelyn." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I accidentally married the wrong woman, and it turned out to be the best decision I never made. I'm not exactly eager to fix that mistake."

She laughs, but there's something shining in her eyes. "That's either incredibly romantic or deeply unhinged."

"Can't it be both?"

"Apparently." She slides into the passenger seat. "Take me home, husband."

I close her door, walk around to the driver's side, and catch a glimpse of Kurt standing in his front window.

I wave.

He doesn't wave back.

Good. He can fuck right off.

I may have married her by accident, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone treat her like she’s a mistake.

chapter

nine

Evelyn

The first thing I notice about Mike's place is the view. Obviously, you get a good view from most penthouses. But this one is particularly spectacular.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire living room, framing Lady Bird Lake like a postcard—water glinting in the late afternoon sun, joggers moving along the trail below, the city humming softly in the distance. It's the kind of view you see in magazines about "Austin's Most Coveted Addresses" while sitting in a dentist's waiting room, never imagining you'd actually stand inside one.

The second thing I notice is that this is very much not kindergarten-teacher housing.

My entire house—well, Kurt's house—could fit in this living room. Twice. With room left over for a bounce house.

"Wow," I breathe. "Do I need to take my shoes off? I don’t want your floors to be offended by my knock-off brand tennis shoes.”

Mike snorts. "You can keep them on. My floors aren't sentient."

"That you know of." I step further inside, turning in a slow circle. "Seriously, Mike. This is... a lot."

"It's home."