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This is an absolute nightmare.

I drop my head into my hands, dragging my fingers down my face. I wrestle with whether to share the truth about the marriage clause with Sebastian, but the thought makes cold sweat prickle along my neck. I can’t risk losing the vineyard by letting anyone else in on this ruse. Not even my brother. The fewer people who know, the less chance my mother gets wind of it. The very last thing I need is for her to unleash her own army of probate lawyers to contest the estate.

That realization forces me to evaluate every single person in my orbit. Shep. Old Man Morris. Rosario and Walter. These two have loyally managed Pop’s estate for as long as I can remember. Hell, I think Rosario may have changed mine and Sebastian’s diapers at one point. But can I trust them to remain silent if I bring a stranger into my home? Can I count on them not to share what they observe with my mother when she inevitably comes prying?

Will I need to make my own household staff sign non-disclosure agreements? And wouldn’t slapping NDAs on people who are basically family only raise more suspicion? This feels tenuous at best. One wrong move, and I could blow this whole thing wide open. And then there’s the biggest question of all.

What about the woman I actually marry?

Does she need to sign away her rights? Because for this to be successful, she’ll have to be equally as private about the nature of this arrangement. There’s no way in this day and age I’ll be able to make this farce of a relationship believable if she shares it with her friends and family. It’ll be all over social media in no time.

But bringing in a woman who knows the truth about this, that it’s a purely contractual arrangement, adds a massive crack in an already fragile fault line. Because her motivation wouldn’t be the same as mine. There would be zero allegiance to my family’s legacy, no genuine care for Sutter Creek. Only the fact that she’d profit when the ink dried on our divorce papers.

Everything about this situation feels volatile. A house of cards built on a foundation of legal landmines. One tiny mistake and the whole thing will collapse around me, taking the vineyard with it.

After a run on the treadmill and a scalding hot shower, I try to clear my head with a glass of our best Cabernet. Maybe it will remind me of the seriousness of the situation.

Like I need reminding.

I consider the conversation I had with Sebastian before leaving for New York. “Marriage isn’t as bad as you’ve made it out to be.” Fuck. It would be tough enough with a woman you loved and wanted to build a future with. Don’t like sixty percent of marriages end in divorce now? And here I’m entering a business arrangement.

However, I’m out of options.

Maybe I should sign up for a dating app. Well, a proper one. Not one of those that are a vehicle for a mindless hookup. I need one that would let me peruse profiles to see if I can find someone where an arrangement like this might actually work. Perhaps a career girl who’s never home anyway. Someone who works eighty hours a week and will appreciate how much time I have to spend out in the vineyard, rebuilding my own business. A beautiful, successful woman who doesn’t have time for traditional dating. Someone I can put on the fast track to wedded bliss without the usual months of courting.

A gorgeous, strong woman who wouldn’t mind taking her aggressions out on my naked body at the end of a long day.

I run my thumb back and forth over my lower lip, staring out at the darkening vines.

Yeah, this could work. Maybe I speed up our trip to the altar by playing up the ‘clock is ticking’ angle?

I immediately shake my head. A cold wave of nausea snaps me out of this line of thought. Absolutely not. The last thing I need is to bring children into this complicated mess. Hadn’t my childhood taught me as much?

I simply need to find a suitable candidate. One who is trustworthy. Who would find mutual benefit in a financially advantageous agreement such as this.

One year. That’s all it takes. If I can’t get things up and running with fifty million dollars, shame on me.

My mind flicks to my brother. Maybe I can even get Mr. Gold Finger to invest some of the capital once it’s released. This might grow it enough so I have a nest egg left over when the year is up, and the divorce papers are signed. Because making it a solid year is a stretch. Considering I’ll have access to more from my family trust is a pipe dream.

I’m just grateful for the seed money to jump-start Sutter Creek. I’ll need to remind myself of that every time I come home to find a virtual stranger in my kitchen. Making the most of this opportunity is entirely up to me.

Now, I just need to find the woman who fits the contract.

Jeez. This is hopeless.

No.

No.

No.

I continue to swipe left on each of the profiles I find. Sure, there’s more to this process than finding someone appealing to spend the next twelve months with. She needs to be trustworthy, driven, and far too busy with her own life to be bothered with mine. But these women all have that ‘I want 2.5 children and a house with a white picket fence’ look about them. I’m not looking for happily ever after. I’m looking for happily for now.

“Hey. Whatcha doing so serious over there?” Shep interrupts my digital investigation, making me jump in my seat.

I quickly drop my phone as if I’ve been caught sending a dick pic. Hell, if I thought that would help, I might actually consider it. “Nothing. Just thinking about meeting up with someone later.”

“Oh, yeah. Who?”