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“Touché.”

“I’ve seen how it works. Models are treated like commodities to rich men. I decided to make that work in my favor. I wanted to matter,” I continued. “People like you matter. People like me and my family suffer and die tragically and no one cares. Both of my parents died with only me to mourn them. If I became one of you, I knew the world would care when I died.

Anyway, I heard of the Bride Catalogue somewhere along the way. Models talk about it a lot in certain circles, though none I knew ever admitted if they’d submitted their profiles for it. You know, sometimes when girls disappear into harems for a few years, I always wonder if that was the Catalogue. And of course whenever I see a model in her prime hooking up with an eighty-year-old billionaire, I do wonder if it was the Catalogue that set it up. Regardless of all the rumors, though, I was always reassured that the girls had the final say in the arrangements. By the time I turned eighteen, I’d already made up my mind. It certainly turned out differently than I pictured. No one’s ever going to suspect us. You’re too young and gorgeous for anyone to believe you’d need or want to buy a bride.”

“I wasn’t the only one who saw your profile,” he pointed out. “You know there was a bidding war.”

I couldn’t hold back the barest flinch. “I’d heard there was some attention, but I’d never heard it worded precisely that way. Do you think someone will talk?”

“No,” he said after a time. “No one bidding would be well served by outing the Catalogue. Well? Did it work out how you’d hoped? Does this make you feel safe?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “In a way, yes.” Mostly. That had been the point of it, anyway. And I did feel safe. Every part of me except my heart.

“I wanted a family,” I said in small voice, still trying to make him understand. “Dysfunctional. For convenience. But there. Present in my corner when the chips fall, as they always do.”

“I get it,” he said softly.

After a time I spoke again. “What about you? Why’d you do it?”

He took a breath so deep that both of our bodies swayed with the motion. “For all the wrong reasons, if I’m being honest. My parents were pressuring me to get married. Their nagging and . . . other things convinced me it was time.”

“Money.”

“Yes. Bribery was a big part of it. Getting my inheritance back had its appeal. Now that I see your side of it, I can admit that your reasons were far more admirable than my own.”

It was a gratifying concession on his part, to say the least. It was all well and good to say you didn’t care whether or not you had someone’s approval. It was another thing entirely to mean it. “Why the Bride Catalogue?”

“I didn’t want to drag an innocent into this. I wanted a wife who knew the score. Who knew I could never be a loving husband. Not some insufferable debutante with stars in her eyes.”

“Why is that?”

“I gave my heart away once. I’m not about to do that again.”

“So you’re still in love with Fatima.”

“I am not. I hate her for lying to me. For tricking me. I hate that I had no idea she was a fucking fortune hunter, when that’s all I’ve ever wanted to avoid.”

It was a dig at her, but of course, I felt it in my own ribs.

“For that matter,” he continued brutally, “I’m not even sure love exists, but if it does, I certainly don’t want to go through it again.”

I kept my face stoic but it was a struggle. “You’ve had every sweet, tender thing you ever felt about love turn sour,” I observed.

“It’s not even about that. It’s about the fact that you can fall in and out of it. It’s the idea that, now that I know it’s not a permanent affliction, it doesn’t mean anything to me. After I realized that, I knew it was all a lie, and that I’d never fall for it again. Once was enough for me. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, so I found someone who knew the score.”

“And here we are.”

He was silent for so long that I didn’t think he’d respond. “And here we are,” he uttered softly. “We make a strange pair, Goldigger.” His tone was rich with affection.

I smirked. “Indeed we do, Spoiled Rich Boy.”

Only a few sour notes drifted into our sphere during those brief, golden days, all of them coming from the same direction.

I got a call from an odd number. I should’ve known better than to answer, but I was on guard with Asha out of the picture and no one yet to replace her, I constantly worried I’d miss a job opportunity if I was too hard to get ahold of.

It was good timing, as I’d just finished a shoot, so I took the call. It was the last person I wanted to hear from, especially with Banks standing a scant few feet away.

“Hello?” I answered, a question in the word.