I pick up the pen, then hesitate. This is a terrible idea. Maybe I hadn’t thought about it enough before accepting.
Suddenly Snorty emits a hacking cough, his tiny body trembling.
He looks up at me with terrified brown eyes. As if begging me to help soothe his pain.
“Oh, Snorty,” I whisper, clutching him tighter. I love my puppy but curse his illness. If he weren’t sick, I’d never have agreed to this charade.
“Okay. I’ll sign,” I say, scrawling my name on each page.
A moment later, the door opens and a tall, very handsome Black man steps inside. He wears an impeccably tailored suit.
Prince Michael springs to his feet. “Antoine! Perfect timing. Maddie, meet the extraordinary Antoine LaRue."
Antoine offers a smooth bow. “Miss Madison Smith, a pleasure.”
I stand. “Please, call me Maddie. I’m just a simple girl.”
His eyes sparkle as if he wants to say something witty. But he holds back. “If we’re finished here, I should take the young lady shopping.”
“See you this afternoon,” Prince Michael says, dismissing us.
CHAPTER 6
MADDIE
Once we’re out of the boardroom, Snorty shifts in my arms and shoots me a loving doggy smile.
“What a cute little dog,” Antoine says, chucking him gently under the chin. “What’s his name?”
“Snorty.”
His mouth quirks. “How did you come up with that?”
I shrug. “He snorts. A lot.”
As if on cue, Snorty makes a small, wheezy noise.
"But that isn't a snort," Antoine says, stopping in the middle of the lavish marble corridor to take a closer look at him. His professional mask slips, just for a second. "He's unwell?"
“Yeah,” I say quietly, adjusting my grip on my puppy. He seems to grow heavier each day.
“It’s a breathing issue that can only be fixed with surgery. And to be honest, I only agreed to this fake fiancé gig so I can pay for the medical care he needs."
"Then we'll make sure everything goes according to plan," Antoine says cheerfully.
He studies us for a moment, his eyes scanning Snorty like he’s afashion accessory. "Does he have a travel carrier? Something structured? Leather?"
“I... no,” I stammer. “I just got him three weeks ago from the shelter. I carry him in my arms since he’s so tiny. But I have the feeling he prefers to 'strut his stuff' so folks can admire him as he walks.
“Walk? Not in this hotel,” Antoine says, shaking his head. "His little legs will tire long before he pads toward the elevators. Plus, holding him like that, with his paws spread out every which way, will spoil your silhouette."
Silhouette? I wasn't aware I had a silhouette.
Antoine taps his chin. "We need a carrier. Something bespoke. If he is going to be the accessory to the future Mrs. Rio Wilder, he needs to look the part."
Calling me the future Mrs. Rio Wilder, excites and terrifies me at the same time.
It excites me because since I was eight years old, all I could do was imagine myself all grown up, the wife of my big brother's handsome best friend.
