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Madden looks ever the politician in his crisp, black suit–tailored perfectly to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist–and his eyes pop even more than usual against his indigo tie. He gelled his hair and combed it to the side this morning, which makes him look older and more distinguished.

Forget about Congress; he looks ready to become the president of the United States.

Next to him, I feel a little mousy. I curled my hair and threw on a serviceable pencil skirt since I haven’t gone shopping with Kate and Sophie yet, but I’m self-conscious that people will look at my plain attire and wonder why on earth this dashing man married me.

Madden pulls into a parking spot outside the courthouse and then walks around to open my door for me. I smooth my skirt and tug on my tweed jacket as I step out of the car, making sure it all looks perfect. Madden must notice how anxious and fidgety I am because he gently puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk. Between the slight physical contact and the breeze blowing the smell of his cologne into my face, though, I’m pretty positive that I’ll pass out from nerves any minute now.

“Don’t worry. You look great.” Madden flashes a charming grin.

I close my eyes and take a slow, deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious. I knew what I signed up for, but pretending makes me feel like a fraud. You're not at all worried that people will find out?”

He looks at me with wide, anxious eyes. “If your parents believed us, why wouldn’t strangers? Just relax and try to act natural. You won’t even have to speak. Just hold on to my arm when we’re in front of the cameras and smile at the crowd.”

“I guess I can do that.” I gaze up at him briefly and manage to trip over my own feet in the process.

“You okay?” Madden asks tersely. Is he annoyed at how anxious and ungraceful I am today? Or is he just as nervous as I am?

“Yep. Just great.”

Inside the courthouse, several reporters and cameramen from different local TV stations flank the press stand. Paul Newhouse and Madden’s family are already at the front of the large room. Once we reach them, Dr. Windell pats Madden on the back, his eyes filled with pride. Mrs. Windell looks incredible in her fitted, navy-blue sheath dress. I realize with an internal groan that I should’ve asked her to style me for this.

“Did you go over the speech we prepared?” Paul asks.

“Of course.” Madden pulls a small stack of notecards out from his suit pocket.

Paul takes the cards from Madden and asks him to go over his speech a few times, just to be safe. While they’re preoccupied, Sophie walks over to my side.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Has my brother been a gentleman?”

I respond quietly, “He is. He gave me the master bedroom and moved his things to the guest room.”

“I know we couldn’t talk about this the night before the wedding, not in front of Kate. But I’m sorry that my brother talked you into this crazy idea.” She looks around to make sure no one is listening.

“I was crazy enough to accept it, so I’m not much better than him.” I shrug. “I was willing to do anything to take care of my parents. And it’s only for a couple of years.”

“They’re lucky to have a daughter who would put her whole life on hold like this.” She furrows her brow in concern.

Before I can respond, one of the journalists announces that we’re going live in five minutes. I give Sophie a hesitant smile, then walk back to Madden’s side.

I take Madden’s offered arm as I approach. He seems perfectly at ease, even though he’s moments away from appearing on live television.

He pats my hand and leans in to whisper, “Just take a deep breath.”

The cameraman counts down, and we step up onto the small platform at the head of the room. Madden smiles like Prince Charming and waves at the cameras with confident ease, while I’m sure I look like a terrified deer about to become roadkill. Bright lights from the cameras flash all around us, and the small crowd of clapping reporters rings in my ears. I vaguely hear someone introduce Madden. He starts talking.

And then my brain effectively shuts off. I don’t hear a word of his speech. It’s like the information overload cut power to my senses. I completely zone out.

Only a few short minutes later, Madden wraps things up and clears his throat to bring me back to reality. He finished. We’re done.

We step off of the small platform, my legs shaky enough that I’m grateful for Madden’s strong arm holding me up. A few of the reporters begin to ask questions about how we met and what Madden’s platforms will be. He answers all of their questions without hesitation, oozing that confident charm I’m so envious of.

I’m still lost in my haze. Maybe I was stupid to think I could be a politician’s wife, fake or not.

Thursday morning, I stop at my parents’ new duplex for breakfast. As I walk inside, I smell Mom’s cinnamon rolls and freshly brewed coffee. I close the door behind me and fill my lungs with tantalizing scents.

Dad must have heard the door close because he appears at the end of the hallway where the bedrooms are located. I note with a surge of joy that he appears to have graduated from his walker to a cane. He’s been working hard with his therapists and the work is definitely paying off.

“Good morning, sweetheart. You’re just in time for cinnamon rolls. Mom put them in the oven before she left.” Dad walks toward me and pulls me into a hug.