Like, we'd have to live together and kiss and…
Goddamn. Maybe Anya really is a genius. I’m already thinking of signing a big, fat bonus for her.
"I'll do it," I say.
Mad's head snaps up. "What?"
"If it fixes this, I'll do it."
"Don't I get a say? What do I get in return?"
Anya doesn't even bat an eye. "One hundred thousand dollars for every month you stay married to him."
At this, Mad stops. Fucking hell. Anya, you sly fox.
We both know Mad is trying to save up to buy her very own apartment, and she's been pinching every penny. So much so that Anya has resorted to buying meals for two after she found out Mad was skipping meals.
"One hundred thousand," Mad says, casting me a glare.
It's at this moment when I realize we have her. "One year equals 1.2 million, baby. If I'm feeling generous, I might throw in a sports car to go with your brand new crib."
"I don't like sports cars."
"Nope. You like your Kia sedan that's one horn away from breaking apart."
Mad turns to Anya. "I might end up murdering him."
Anya shrugs and walks away, her shoulders shaking. She really did it. God bless you, Anya. I will never again question your ways.
"You may kiss the bride."
The officiant's words snap me back to the present. To Mad standing before me, lips parted slightly, eyes wide with something I have no time to decipher. The entire rooftop waits, watching us with bated breath. I barely notice them. In fact, I barely notice anything except for her.
I cup her face between my palms, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers, her breath hitching against my wrists. God, she isso fucking beautiful. The soft glow of string lights catches in her hair, making her look almost ethereal. I lean down, giving her time to prepare, to remember we have an audience. But honestly, everyone can disappear for all I care. The contract, the money, Kyle's threats—all of it fades away.
The only thing that matters is Mad … and the fact that I'm about to kiss her. Not a member of my PR team. My wife.
Our lips meet gently at first. A performance for the cameras. For my teammates watching from their tables. For the story we're selling to everyone who doubts us. Just enough pressure to be convincing.
Then she makes this tiny sound in the back of her throat—half sigh, half whimper—and I lose it, my self-control snapping in half like a composite stick under too much pressure.
My arm slides around her waist, pulling her against me until there's nothing between us. Her hands grip my lapels, fingers digging into the fabric as the kiss deepens. Her body melts into mine, and in turn, it melts my brain into soup.
This isn't pretend. Not for me. Not for her either, from the way she's kissing me back, like she's forgotten about our deal, about the money, about everything except us.
"Save it for later! Some of us are single!" Jonesy yells from the team table, followed by whistles and laughter that ripple through our small gathering. I can hear my teammates banging on the tables like we're at center ice.
We break apart slowly, reluctantly. Mad blinks up at me, dazed, lips swollen and slightly parted. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck. I've never seen anything more beautifulthan Mad in this moment, breathless from my kiss, wearing my ring, carrying my name.
We turn to face our guests, her hand finding mine again, but no trembling this time. The photographer captures our first moments as husband and wife, grinning behind his camera.
"Day one starts today," I say, leading her into the reception.
A few seconds of being married, and I just lied to my wife. Because there's no way I'm letting her go after the way she kissed me back.
Maddison is mine … until the day I die.
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