Page 13

Bishop

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jeremy Rafferty, my lawyer, asked for the fifth time since I entered his office. “It seems a little extreme, just to send the message to a woman that you’re not interested.”

“That’s simplifying the situation, and you know it.”

“But marriage, Bishop?”

“It’s not just for me. It’ll help Eden as well. It gives her some security while I arrange what she needs to disappear.”

“If that was the case, this wouldn’t be the first prenup I’d have prepared for you. What makes this girl different from all the others who have hired you?”

I ignored the question. “Have you done it? I’m on a time schedule.”

“Of course, I have. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t express my concern over it.”

“Your concern is duly noted. As long as you’ve covered everything in the prenup, I don’t see the need to be worried.”

“I have. Four weeks where you’ll take responsibility for any financial needs, within reason. In return, she’ll play the role of a doting wife in public and will not give any hint that it’s anything but real. At the end of the time period, you’ll set her up with a new identity, enough money to give a year’s buffer, a house, and a job. She has no claim on anything of yours, other than your agreement to give her a new life at the end of your four-week marriage.”

“Perfect.”

He handed me the three-page document. “I’ve put an X where you both need to sign, but I’ll be there to make sure you do it before the wedding.

“Of course.” I slid it into the envelope on the desk and stood, holding out my hand to shake his. “Thanks, Jeremy. I appreciate it.”

“I wish I could talk you out of this.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words.”

***

I detoured to my tailor before going to pick up Eden and picked up a new suit. Thankfully, I’d been for a fitting only a couple of weeks earlier, so I had new suits for the engagement party. If I was going to get married, regardless of how short term it was going to be, I was going to look the part, so I planned to wear one to the chapel. Once I picked those up, I returned to the hotel to shower and change, checked the time, and set off to the clothing store I’d left my soon-to-be-wife at.

The quiet chime as I opened the door and entered was the only noise in the store. An assistant came through the curtain, which divided the store into two halves. She greeted me with a smile.

“Mr. Chambers. You’re just in time. Would you like to come through?” She didn’t wait for me to reply and turned to hold the curtain open.

I walked through into the section of the store that was kept solely for high-paying customers. Those who wanted to buy entire wardrobes, have clothes modeled for them, and possibly spend an entire day on the premises. There were comfortable chairs, mirrors, snacks and drinks and a small replica of a model runway.

“Please take a seat.” The assistant pointed to one of the armchairs. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you.”

I thumbed through messages on my cell while I waited. There was a couple from Rook, confirming he was going to be at the engagement party as well.

ME: Did David and Susannah confirm their attendance, do you know?

ROOK: Yeah. Crosby thought about not inviting them, but since you, me and Knight are invited, it would have been an insult not to invite David.

ME: It’s fine. I’m bringing a date to protect me from Susannah’s advances.

It was a joke that … wasn’t really a joke. I’d hooked up with Susannah quite a few times, to the point where we were in a semi-relationship. And then I found out she was married. To a crime lord. One who would not appreciate discovering his wife had been stepping out on him. I’d ended things immediately. And she wasn’t happy about it.

“Bishop?” Eden’s voice pulled my attention from my cell, and I lifted my gaze to search her out … and immediately reconsidered my plan.

Fuck .

The dress she was wearing followed the shape of her figure and ended just above her knees. There was nothing risqué or revealing about it. In fact, the cut of it ensured that the bruising on her shoulder was hidden. The color was a deep red, the material silk. It was long-sleeved, with a scooped neckline that revealed the barest hint of cleavage. Someone had done her hair and makeup, making the cut on her lip hard to see, and the bruise on her cheek invisible. Curly tendrils of red hair fell artfully around her face.

She looked stunning.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Her question broke through my thoughts, and I realized I was staring.

“I said it was too much. I’ll go and change.” She turned away, and I was out of my chair before I even thought about it.

“No. You look perfect.”