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PROLOGUE
FORTY DAYS AFTER SAYING “I DO”
TATIANA
“Do the words ‘til death do us part’ give me a free pass to murder my husband?”
I’ve googled that question a million times since I “married” the sexy bastard who dominates almost every billboard in Las Vegas, and the answers are always the same: “No, that’s not what that means” and “Prepare to spend the rest of your life in prison.”
I’ve even tried adding a follow-up question—“What if I’m married toTravis Dante Carter?”—but the results are even worse.
The only links that appear are fan sites, filled with stories of women attempting to send him their panties in the mail or forums on how they wish someone would murderme, so they can take my place.
Alas, I can’t take this arrangement anymore, and I’ve been planning my grand escape for weeks.
It’s now or never.
“Mademoiselle!Mademoiselle!” a woman yells in my direction. “Come back here now!”
I grip the handle of my suitcase and race down the hallway as fast as I can.
“Miss,please!” she calls after me again. “Your husband won’t be amused about this!”
Oh, I’m sure he won’t.
“Come on, come on, come on … ” I jab the elevator’s down button. “Hurry up.”
The numbers above the shaft glow as they ascend, and I hold my breath as they get closer. When the doors finally glide open, I pull my luggage onto the car and release a sigh.
Swiping my security card against the keypad, I can almost taste the faint flavor of freedom. It’s all too sweet and lacks the bitterness that I’ll never have to devour again.
No more photo shoots with my fake husband’s full lips pressed against mine. No more suffocating tension that fills every room we’re forced to share. And no more long, hard nights of denial. (The denial is from him, by the way, not me.)
“You are now arriving at the private garage,” the speaker system declares. “Please watch for passing traffic.”
The elevator doors open, and my husband is standing right in front of me, instantly derailing my train of thought.
Sexy as ever, his black dress shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his perfect six-pack abs, leading the way down a rock-hard lane to his impeccably chiseled “V.”
His emerald green eyes meet mine, then his lips curve into a panty-melting smirk that I’ve never been able to resist.
Say, “Goodbye, Travis Carter.”
Say, “Eff you, and goodbye…”
“Going somewhere,Mrs. Carter?” he asks, glancing at my suitcase.
“It’sMiss Bravenow.” I twist the wedding ring off my finger and hold it out to him.
“Would you like me to get that resized for you or something?”
“I’d actually like for you to take it back,” I say. “I don’t want it anymore.”
He lets out a low laugh and steps onto the car, blocking my escape.
“I could’ve sworn we had a ninety-day deal,” he says. “Was I wrong about that?”
“You’re wrong about a lot of things.” I shrug. “Feel free to sue me for breach of contract, but I’m done being your wife.”
