Page 10 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

Mike had mentioned a last-minute business trip to Japan.

“You didn’t think to borrow someone else’s?” the man asks flatly.

Mike opens his mouth, frowns, then closes it. “In hindsight, yes, that would’ve made sense. Obviously.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling.

This is very good acting.

Then the man shifts—just slightly—angling his body toward the woman beside him. He reaches down and grabs her hand, threading their fingers together.

And that’s when I really look at her.

She’s beautiful. Strawberry blonde hair up in a messy bun, a pair of leggings, a tunic shirt, and obnoxious flamingo flip-flops. Her expression is a little tight with nerves.

“This can’t happen,” the man says, his tone gruff, but thick with emotion.

Mike blinks. “What?”

“You can’t marry her.”

Wait, what? My belly swoops with excitement. Too late, buddy, I want to snap.

“I know her,” the man continues, voice steady and fierce. “I know what she needs. And you won’t give her the life she deserves.”

Mike’s confusion deepens. “Mitchell⁠—”

Mitchell. Who is Mitchell? I mean, besides the beefy scowling giant.

“I will,” Mitchell continues. “I can. I’d choose her every day—not because I have to, but because I want to.”

The room goes very quiet.

I look down at the ring on my finger. Then back at Mike.

“Am I supposed to be offended right now?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he turns slowly toward me, then gestures at me like I’m Exhibit A.

“I already married her,” he says.

Mitchell frowns. “Married who?”

“Evelyn Barlow,” Mike says. “My wife.”

I straighten slightly. “Hi.” I wiggle my fingers in an awkward wave.

Mitchell’s gaze snaps to me. Sharp. Assessing. Then it flicks back to the woman beside him.

“That,” he points at me, “is not Evelyn Barlow,” he growls.

Oh.

Interesting.

“Actually, I am Evelyn Barlow,” I say, raising a hand politely. “Kindergarten teacher. Native Texan. Allergic to shellfish.”