Allesia James stood behind a thick ivory veil, clutching a bouquet of cream roses, and thinking one very clear thought.
I am going straight to hell for this. Through the delicate French lace, she could barely make out the man at the altar.
Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing what looked like a deep plum-coled suit. Do you, Luther Castellan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?
The voice that answered was pure velvet and smoke. I do. Allesia’s knees nearly buckled.
At that voice, deep, rich, with the kind of confidence that came from years of getting exactly what you wanted in life.
And do you, Aurelia Bowmont, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Alessia’s heart hammered against her ribs.
Aurelia Bowmont. That wasn’t her name. That was the name of the spoiled princess who was supposed to be standing here.
The one who’d taken one look at Luther Castellan’s age on paper, 45 to her 26, and said absolutely not.
Without even bothering to see what he looked like. Meanwhile, Allesia, 25-year-old orphan and maid to the Bumont family, was the fool standing here in her place.
All because Margarite Bowmont had made her an offer she literally couldn’t refuse. Pretend to be my granddaughter for 6 months and I’ll give you half a million dollars.
Refuse and I’ll make sure you never work in this city again. I do, Allesia whispered.
Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.
Oh God. Oh God, this is it. Allesia felt Luther step closer. Felt the heat of him even through the veil.
Smelled something incredible. Sandalwood and cedar and something distinctly masculine that made her stomach flip.
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