Page 9 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

There it is.

“You may kiss the bride.”

I hesitate—just a fraction of a second longer than necessary—because I suddenly care how this goes.

Then I step forward, one hand coming to rest at her waist, the other cupping her cheek as I lean in.

Her breath hitches.

I close the distance between our lips.

The kiss is meant to be brief. Polite. Convincing enough to satisfy the room.

Instead, one brush of her soft lips and I’m a goner. I sweep my tongue inside her mouth, sliding against hers, and she whimpers in response.

When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright as she stares up at me.

Something settles in my chest then, solid and undeniable.

This marriage may have started as a solution.

But standing here, with my wife in her simple, perfect dress and the echo of those vows still ringing in my ears, I realize something quietly terrifying.

I don’t just want this arrangement to work.

I want her.

And I have no idea what I’m going to do about that.

chapter

five

Evelyn

I feel a little dazed from the kiss that my fake husband just gave me. Because all the things that kiss made my body feel were very real. Not even a tiny bit fake.

It does make me wonder if Mike is a professional actor or if he’s just really going all-in on his character. He looks at me then and gives me a smile. “Ready to go?”

I nod because I don’t quite trust myself to speak just yet. My heart still pounds, and my delicate parts are very much aware of the ridiculously sexy man holding my hand. I’m still unsure of how anything that’s happened so far today has anything to do with a murder mystery. But I’ve been mentally taking notes and keeping an eye out for any potential clues.

We’ve just stepped out of the main chapel into the lobby when a very large man storms inside. Mike stops short.

“I didn’t think you were going to stay in town for this,” Mike says to the new guy.

The man—tall, broad, wearing jeans and boots like he just walked off a ranch—doesn’t look at me at all. His entire focus is on Mike.

“I tried calling you,” he says. “Texting. Voicemail. For days.”

Mike winces. “Yeah. About that.”

I glance between them, intrigued. Maybe now is when the murder is going to go down. It’s exciting, but I truly hope it’s not Mike who’s fake killed. I kinda like his presence.

“That’s not an answer,” the man says, stepping closer.

Mike scrubs a hand through his hair. “My phone got smashed. Tokyo. Parking lot. Screen shattered. I didn’t get a replacement until an hour ago.”

Tokyo.