Excerpt #1
In sleep, she looks almost angelic.

Which would be a lot more convincing if I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing she’s a complete and utter menace in sequins and red lipstick who has spent the last couple of weeks driving me insane. The star of the Christmas show who argues with me about every note I wrote for her number. The woman who loves to push my buttons like no one I’ve ever met before.

Mara Delaney.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Do not tell me I did what I think I did.

My stomach drops as I lift the edge of the sheet and look down. Finding myself still in my boxers should be reassuring, but the relief is fleeting, swallowed almost immediately by a deeper sense of dread.

I turn my head toward Mara. The sheet has slipped just enough to expose the curve of her bare shoulder. I pinch the edge of the sheet to lift it.

Please don’t let her be naked. Please don’t let her be naked.

Fuck, she’s naked.

I don’t remember how I got here. Last night is a haze of disconnected pieces, and everything that matters is missing.

I ease out of bed with the stealth of a military operative trying not to set off a bomb. My shirt is draped over a velvet armchair, and I pull it on before anything else because I need at least one layer of dignity between me and whatever the hell happened last night. One of my Vans sits near the bathroom door. I shove my foot into it and search for the other, getting a good look at Mara’s apartment in the process.

I run a hand through my hair and pull it back to stare at it before my brain catches up to what I’m seeing.

There’s a gold band on my ring finger. Not the kind that comes out of a gumball machine.

What the actual fuck?

My gaze snaps to Mara.

I lean over the bed to see Mara’s hand curled loosely around the sheet, dark red polish chipped at the edges.

The ring on her finger matches mine.

This has to be a joke. Some elaborate, deeply unfunny prank, and when I find Casey, I’m going to kill him slowly, because somehow he’s responsible.

There’s a marriage certificate on the nightstand next to my phone.

Excerpt #2
I turn on my stool and cross my legs. “It’s going to take a lot more than coffee to explain the reporters parked outside my building, Maestro.”

I take a sip and realize he got my order right: oat milk with a little cinnamon. 

“I’m sorry about the reporters,” he says. “And what they called you in the article.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been called a stripper.” I shrug.

He pulls the glasses out of his hair and folds them, like he needs something to do with his hands. “We need to delay the annulment.”

“Excuse me?”

“Donovan, our PR guy, wants us to stay married through the holidays and make it look”— he pauses, searching for the right word—“you know, real.”

“You want me to be your fake—”

Heads turn at the far mirrors. Theo sets his cup down next to mine, grabs my wrist, hauls me off my stool and into the quick-change booth, and yanks the curtain shut behind us.

The booth is built for one dancer changing fast, which means the two of us are pressed together with zero breathing room.

“What is wrong with you? I already have one stalker,” I protest.

“This isn’t for an audience.”

I cross my arms over my chest with a smile.

“Don’t look so pleased,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Look—this circus isn’t good for the band. One more bad headline and we could lose our New Year’s Eve spot. So we keep the marriage going, we let the story die on its own, and we pretend to like each other.”

“The band.” That’s all he’s worried about.

“I mean for you too. The stories will die down, I can get them to stop…”

“Here’s my problem. I’m a burlesque dancer, not an Oscar-winning actress. Pretending to like you might be beyond my range,” I tell him. 

“Think of it as the performance of a lifetime. For both of us,” he says hopefully.

“What’s in it for me? Because from where I’m standing, all I’m doing is saving your ass.”

“If the media thinks we’re a couple, it’s good for the show. Sold-out good. And they stop calling you a stripper, because rockstar’s wife sells better.” He looks cocky about that last part.

I roll my eyes and inspect my nails. “Oh yes, exactly what I’ve hoped to achieve my whole life.”

“There’s one more thing,” he says.

“Of course there is.” I roll my eyes.

“I need to move into your apartment.” He grimaces.