I collapse to the bed, groaning in frustration. What just happened? Did I seriously jill off while thinking of that asshole?

  Yep, you did. And it was the hottest fantasy you’ve ever had. Don’t pretend you’re not gonna pull that one out of the old mental spank bank later for a round two.

  I roll my eyes at my own inner ho, who got her way this time, and get up. I need to get ready or Carter’s going to come check on me, and I don’t think it’ll be like my imaginary scene. I wash up, find a ponytailer in the fully stocked bathroom that makes an easy messy bun, and pull on a fresh sweatshirt, pants, and flip-flops. I can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror right now, so I trust I look okay. I definitely feel more human and have my mental and emotional shields up. I’m going to need them after last night . . . and even more so, after this morning.

  In the hall, I hear voices and follow them to the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Elena greets me. She’s sitting at the table with Grace, a huge stack of pancakes already on each of their plates. “Have a seat, and Nelda will get you set up in a jiffy.”

  “Incoming,” Nelda warns a second before setting a stack of chocolate-laden pancakes in front of me. “Say when.” She shakes a large bottle over the pancakes, covering them with powdered sugar.

  “Keep it coming.” I wave for more, and keep waving, waving, and waving. Finally, I say, “When.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” Elena laughs, seeing my pile.

  The French doors open, and Carter comes in with Peanut Butter on a rope leash. But he has zero control on the slick tile floor, and the dog makes a direct beeline under the table, pulling a stumbling, slipping, and sliding Carter along for the ride.

  “Nutbuster, get outta there,” Carter pleads, his eyes disappearing below table level as he squats down. We all peer under the table at the big dog sprawled out ungracefully, his nose at Grace’s feet.

  Carter apologizes to Elena. “So sorry, he’s a bit overly loyal.”

  But considering Grace is slipping the dog a slice of bacon while Carter’s not looking, I don’t think loyalty is the issue. Grace sees me fighting a grin and puts a finger to her mouth, telling me to keep quiet.

  “It’s okay. Not like he’s on one of the fine rugs,” Elena says. “Tile mops easily.”

  I don’t know many wealthy people—in fact, probably only one, Carter—but Elena is definitely not what I expected. She’s so casual about everything, almost . . . normal, except she’s in a house large enough for hundreds of people to live in. I get the feeling that even if Peanut Butter were pooping on one of the fine rugs, she’d say it was no big deal because a rug is just a ‘thing’ and not nearly as important as a cute doggie answering nature’s call.

  Carter plops into a chair with a huff. “Glad you think so. I’m afraid Bernard nearly had my hide in addition to Nutbuster’s this morning. I kept him away from the roses,” he says, cutting his eyes my way pointedly. “But I guess the peach tree is off limits too? I think his exact words were, ‘If my peaches taste like piss, I’m gonna hang your ass in the hayloft as bait for the mice.’”

  Elena laughs loudly. “Oh, I love that man’s turn of phrase. He’s quite imaginative.”

  “I’m not sure he was kidding,” Carter says sullenly. But his eyes light up when he sees the pancakes. “Thank you, Nelda. These look delicious.” His manners are back on point now that we’re in public and he’s in business mode. He takes a bite and moans. “Tastes delicious too.”

  There’s a little small talk before Carter expertly transitions the conversation to Elena’s portfolio. “I’d be happy to coordinate with you to ensure your money is working how you’d like it to. There’re all sorts of options we can discuss, but the most important thing is that you team up with someone who understands you and your hands-on style. I’d like to think that’s me.”

  For all Elena’s easy-going nature, she also knows when to show her hand and when to hold it. “I think it might be, but I’d like to review your management proposal with my current financial advisor. He’s ready to move on from the amount of work I take.” She pats her silver bob carefully with a smirk as though she’s the problem, not the size of her portfolio. “But I’ve worked with him for enough years to trust his opinion.”

  Carter’s bright smile fades by a few degrees, but quickly, he forcefully turns it back on full-throttle. “Of course. That’s a smart plan. I’d be happy to meet with both of you if that’d be helpful. I can answer any questions you might have.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll get that scheduled.”

  There’s an awkward moment of silence, and I rush to fill it, wanting to help Carter if I can but also show my appreciation. “Elena, I have enjoyed seeing so much of Thomas’s collection. It’s so special, with pieces I haven’t even seen in books. Have you ever considered doing an exclusive exhibit at the museum? It would be a great way to honor him.” I wave my hands through the air, sort of doing the ‘premiere rainbow’ move. “The Thomas and Elena Cartwright Collection.”

  Elena, who’s licking syrup off her finger with a smack, says, “I hadn’t thought of anything like that. The art is mostly a part of the décor at this point. It’s there, I see it, but I don’t see it, you know?”

  Nodding in understanding, I add, “It could be as large or small as you’d like, showing whichever pieces you’d feel comfortable not being in their ‘home’ for a little bit. We could even do the plaque info together, telling people exactly what you’d like to share about each piece.”

  “I’ll have to give it some thought. I don’t know if I could be apart from any of them. They’re like Thomas’s babies.” Elena puts her hand over her heart, and her smile turns sad. “It feels good to have them surrounding me, like he’s still here in a way.”

  “That makes perfect sense. No pressure at all, just let me know. I’d love to work with you to share his love with the world, but only if you’re comfortable with it. I’m honored to get to see his ‘babies’ at all.”

  It’s the absolute truth. There are pieces I saw last night that will stay with me for the rest of my life, and while I’d love for others to have the same opportunity to see them, I’m protective of my art too, both my own and what I’ve collected from other artists.

  Elena pats my hand. “Will do, honey.” Changing the topic, she says, “You know, if y’all are done eating, I believe I promised a bit more of a tour. I thought Miss Grace might like to visit the barn?”

  Elena and I have no idea of the bomb she just detonated, but Carter plugs his ears quickly as Grace squeals, “Yeeessss! Do you have horses? And goats? What about chickens?”

  Grace is up from the table, tap dancing her feet and ready to go while she interrogates Elena about the full roster of animals in the barn around a mouthful of pancakes. “My barn has a mouser cat named Cricket. Do you have a cat?”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer before she keeps speed-talking, hopefully swallowing somewhere along the way. “Pegasus is afraid of Cricket ’cuz Cricket tried to jump up on Pegasus’s back for a little ride around. Weird that she’ll let me on her back, but a tiny cat? Nope, not having it.” She shakes her head, already walking out the back door, still rattling on.

  Elena’s listening, walking with Grace’s hand in hers, and Carter and I abandon what’s left of our pancakes to follow a few steps behind. “Sorry you didn’t get the deal yet,” I whisper. “You okay?”

  His jaw tenses but he nods. “Yet is the operative word. I haven’t given up. I’ve barely started to woo her.” A few more steps, and he takes my hand in his. “You know what that means, right?”

  Dumbly, I ask, “What?”

  He stops, guiding me to do the same. Toe to toe, he tips my chin up so our eyes meet. “It means,” he says in rough whisper right next to my ear, “that you have to be my wife for a bit longer.” He presses a soft kiss to my cheek while I freak out on the inside, my brain beginning to process this new information.

  What? No! That’s not part of the deal. I’ve seen the art, and now we’re done. This sham marriage is finished, and I can go back to my quiet life.

  “Aww, you lovebirds are adorable as two June bugs in a jumper, but you’d best come on or me and Miss Grace are gonna beat you to the barn.” With that, Elena and Grace start galloping toward the barn like they’re horses, Peanut Butter nipping at their heels as they go. Elena is remarkably spry for her age, though Grace is several feet ahead.

  “That wasn’t our deal—” I start, but Carter cuts me off with a press of his finger to my lips.

  “Please, Luna.”

  I know he’s asking me to agree to be his fake wife until he gets this deal with Elena, but it feels like he’s asking for much more than that. “I . . . I . . .”

  “Don’t answer now. Let’s make sure Grace hasn’t talked Elena into giving her another horse. Just . . . later, okay?”

  He leads me to the barn with my hand firmly in his. With every step, my mind whirls more and more. How did this happen? It’s gone from tutoring to pretending, and I was kinda onboard with that because of the art.

  But now? Having met Elena, it feels so much more wrong, and guilt is growing quicker than a weed in my heart. She’s so sweet and genuine, and we’re deceiving her. And for what, a deal? I hadn’t thought past the dinner, but what if Elena does decide to work with Carter? Are we going to have to keep the charade going?

  Where does it end . . . our eventual fake divorce?

  I don’t get the chance to tell Carter what I’m feeling or what I’m thinking because Grace and Elena are feeding cookies to a pair of horses in neighboring stalls. “Oh, wow! They are . . . big!” I murmur in surprise. The light brown horse closest to Grace towers over her by a couple of feet at least. “Is that safe?”

  I don’t know who I’m asking, but all three nod at me and Carter looks amused by my concern. “Here, you can do it too,” Elena offers, holding out a cookie to me. “They’re all big babies.”

  I recoil, shaking my head as I look at the huge beast. “That’s okay. Thank you.”

  “This ol’ fella is a gentle soul. He’s a big softie, I promise.” Elena proves her claim by petting him on the nose, rubbing from between his eyes down to boop his snout. He snuffles and wiggles his lips, baring long, yellowy teeth.

  I make an embarrassing sound of fear as I step back quickly.

  Grace laughs. “What’s wrong? Ed’s sweet.” She’s backing up her claim by playing with his mane, which hangs down low where she can reach. “He’s smiling at you.”

  Between Grace and Elena, I’m feeling backed into a corner.

  “Have you ever seen a monster smile right before he eats you? I think that’s what Ed’s doing,” I counter.

  Carter whispers, “W-W-A-D?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Huh?”

  “What would Alphena do?” he explains. “You write this badass who tackles life, and she’s supposedly based on you, so surely, you’re not scared of a horse who only wants a cookie?”

  “You’re using my alter-ego against me?” I accuse. But I hate to admit that he’s got a point. Alphena would never let a horse stop her, never let fear hold her back. But Alphena is only part of me, the me I want to be. The real-world me is eyeing Ed like he might jump high enough to clear the gate of his stall and tackle me. But for what? All he seems to want is a cookie. Grace is right about that.

  “W-W-A-D,” I repeat to myself over and over as I step closer by inches. Elena hands me a cookie, which I hold between delicate fingers. I curl my other fingers down in some small effort to save them if this goes awry.

  I can probably draw with my middle finger as long as I keep my thumb.

  “W-W-A-D?” Straightening my back, I meet Ed’s eyes . . . well, my two eyes look deep into the one of his on the side I’m standing on.

  “Ed, want a cookie?” I ask, sounding like I’m asking a parrot named Polly. I hold out the cookie, my shoulders scrunched up protectively as I lean away just in case. “Here, horsey, horsey. Who’s a good horsey?”

  Ed slowly leans forward, nibbling the cookie for a moment with careful eyes on me before taking the whole cookie. “Oh!” I’m partially terrified, partially excited, and completely surprised that I survived with all my fingers intact. “I did it!” I tell my audience of three, who seem to be fighting back laughter at my dramatics over something they were doing easily.

  But I’ve never been around horses. That’s not the life I lead.

  Maybe I can use this as inspiration for an Alphena episode, though. Alphena tackles her greatest fear . . . moose. In her back story, Alphena was driving through Michigan to go Polar Bear skinny dipping on the Canadian border when a moose stepped out of the fog at a gas station to literally try to mate with her car while she was inside getting peanut butter cups and beef jerky. Alphena stopped the moose by shouting and shooing it off, but she had hoof-sized dents and a broken hood ornament as souvenirs for her troubles.

  Yeah, I can see it . . . Alphena feeding a moose at a rescue sanctuary, getting over her fear just like I am . . .

  “Good girl.”

  Carter’s praise hits me unexpectedly, sounding so much like last night, and the rumble of his voice is echoed deep in my belly by butterflies banging around. “Uh, thanks . . . babe.”

  Grace gives Carter a strange look, and I step to his side, snaking my arm around his waist before Elena catches on to my stuttered endearment.

  Thankfully, Grace has the attention span of your average eight-year-old, and when Peanut Butter runs by chasing a blowing leaf, she runs off after him.

  Crisis averted! For now . . .

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  CARTER

  I’m disappointed that Elena isn’t ready to sign a deal with Blue Lake Assets, and by extension, me. But I understand her desire to sleep on it and meet with her current money man, so I keep a salesman’s smile on my face while Elena shows Grace through the barn, then walks us through the statue-filled garden and the pool house. It’s completely oversized like the estate itself, with several bedrooms, a large living room and dining room space, and a bathroom centered around a spa tub. She’s not showing off but rather showing Luna more of Thomas’s art. It seems to be tucked into every nook, every possible cranny.

  Even the bathroom has art, sculptures that resist the humidity and have Luna marveling. Because of that, it's hours before we start making our way back toward the main house, but I’m in no rush. The more Elena talks, the better my chances are with wooing her. And the more Luna enjoys seeing the art, the more likely she is to keep helping me.

  We’re in what qualifies as the back yard when a young boy, probably close to Grace’s age, runs toward us. “Ann-Elle! Ann-Elle!”

  I blink in surprise, listening carefully because it really sounds like he’s screaming ‘anal’ over and over. It takes me a good second to decipher that he’s saying ‘Aunt El’, as in Elena, but with a bit of a drawl.

  The screeching is enough to scare Peanut Butter, who’s not exactly a fearless dog anyway, and he yelps as he bolts away with his tail between his legs. Right into the swimming pool with a big splash.

  “Nutbuster! Get outta there!” I shout, adding to the racket. Running after the damn dog, I can still hear Elena as the boy nearly tackles her in a hug.

  “Oof, well, hello there! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Jacob,” Elena tells the boy breathlessly. “Where’s your momma?”

  He starts jumping up and down excitedly. “Talking to Mr. Stanley. Are we swimming?” The boy—Jacob, I guess—sprints to my side, bumping me out of the way to step past me into the pool up to his knees, fully dressed, shoes and all.

  “Probably don’t wanna do that, man. If I know moms, yours is gonna have your hide,” I warn. But he shrugs me off, either not believing me or not fearing his mother.

  “Here, doggy, doggy!” he shouts, his voice still gratingly high. What is up with this kid’s vocal cords?

  Grace has followed—thankfully staying dry on the pool deck next to me—and informs the boy, “His name’s Nutbuster. He’s my Uncle Kyle’s dog. Nutbuster, get your butt over here.”

  Squatted down and leaning over the water, I’ve managed to grab Peanut Butter’s collar and guide him toward the pool steps, where a waiting Jacob wraps his arms around the dog’s neck, getting his shirt soaked and burying his face in wet fur. Blech!

  “Why don’t we get on up to the house? We’ll get y’all cleaned up and dry,” Elena tells the kids and dog, and then she looks to me and Luna. “And you can meet my niece, Claire.”

  Elena’s suggestion is met with more wild jumping, and then Jacob takes her hand, roughly pulling her toward the house. He’s a bit rambunctious, and that’s saying something considering I’m used to Grace’s exuberance.

  I glance at Luna to see if she’s on the same page, but she’s holding Grace’s hand and being carried away toward the house too. I guess one way or another, she’s onboard.

  “Guess it’s you and me,” I murmur to Peanut Butter. He gives me a doggy smile, barely warning me before he shakes wildly, sending water droplets everywhere. “Ugh, seriously?” I growl, trying in vain to shield myself from the onslaught but mostly only stopping it from hitting me in the face. Peanut Butter barks happily, looking after Grace.

  “Let’s go.” One pat of my leg, and we cover ground easily, catching up despite with a few more shakes from Peanut Butter.

  Going through a side door into a mudroom of sorts, Elena calls out, “Claire? Where you at, sweetie?”

  But Elena waits for no one and she’s opening cabinets, pulling out towels, and roughly drying Jacob off. Once his hair is standing straight up, she hands him a stack of folded sweats and he disappears into a small bathroom. I’ve got Grace toweled off too, but thankfully, she doesn’t need a change of clothes, and the dog that started this whole wet mess is somehow mostly dry.

  A woman I assume to be Claire comes into the mudroom. She’s in her late forties, her blonde expertly managed to hide any grays, her face a skillfully done Botox mask, and her designer outfit is from this year’s Dior collection. She’s what my mother would politely call ‘well-maintained’.