5. Gemma

So, I just had sex. With my HUSBAND!

Hot, mind-blowing, universe-rearranging sex. With my HUSBAND. My real-life, holy-smokes-this-isn"t-a-dream husband, who just so happens to be the finest specimen of manhood I"ve ever laid eyes on.

Lying in a tangle of silk sheets, my body is still humming from the aftershocks while I try to wrap my head around the fact that this is my new reality. Me, Gemma Carter, chronic underachiever and queen of bad luck, somehow managed to land a billionaire stud. What even is my life right now?

Sebastian"s fingers trail lazily up and down my bare arm, sending delicious shivers racing across my skin. I tilt my head to look at him, and damn, he"s even more gorgeous in the afterglow, all tousled hair and smoldering eyes.

"I want to know everything about you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones, "tell me about yourself, Gemma. What do you do for a living?"

I freeze, my post-coital bliss evaporating faster than a drop of water in the Sahara. Oh, crap. The dreaded question. I mean, it"s not like I can blurt out, "Well, I"m a single mom. Yes, surprise, I have a daughter. And she's sick. And I'm drowning in medical debt, so I spend my days hustling my ass off just to keep us afloat."

No, that would be a one-way ticket to Divorceville, population: me.

I clear my throat, scrambling for a sanitized version of the truth. "Oh, you know, a little bit of everything," I say with a forced laugh. "I"ve got my fingers in a lot of pies." I recite the long list, everything from MLM essential oils sales to affiliate income.

Sebastian"s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing beneath his artfully tousled hair. "That"s...a lot."

"Just trying to make ends meet, you know how it is." I want to smack myself when I realize what I just said because clearly he doesn't know how it is. With a wince, I add, "A girl"s gotta eat," avoiding his gaze.

He"s quiet for a moment, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Please don"t ask, please don"t ask, please don"t?—

"So, why the arranged marriage?" he asks, because of course he does. "I mean, if you don"t mind me asking."

I mind. I mind very much, thank you. But I can hardly say that, not when he"s looking at me with those piercing violet eyes that seem to see straight into my soul.

I take a deep breath and opt for a half-truth. "To be honest, I"ve been having some financial troubles lately," I admit, idly running the sheet through my fingers. It's nice. I wonder what the thread count is, a gazillion? "I thought maybe marriage, having a partner, would help me get back on my feet. Does that make me sound like a gold-digger?"

To my surprise, Sebastian cups my face in his hands, tilting my chin up until I"m forced to meet his gaze. "Gemma," he says, his voice unbearably gentle. "You"re my wife now. If you need money, all you have to do is ask."

I blink at him, certain I must have misheard. "I"m sorry, what?"

He chuckles, brushing a stray curl out of my face. "Nevermind. You shouldn't have to ask. I"ll set up an account for you and have a regular monthly deposit initiated. If it's not enough, or if you ever need more for any reason, just say the word. I want to take care of you."

I'm speechless. Literally speechless.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I hastily blink them back. Is this really happening? Can I accept? I can always treat it as a loan and pay him back any money I use.

Sebastian pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly, burying my face in his chest as he strokes my hair. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice muffled by his skin. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

We stay like that for a long moment, just holding each other while I trace idle patterns on his chest with my fingertip.

I can't help but wonder how my husband made his money. How has he managed to amass the kind of wealth that affords a fairytale palace?

He's devastatingly handsome, but he's not a famous celebrity. Not a movie star—not one that I've ever heard of anyway.

Maybe he's one of those Silicon Valley trust-fund baby dudebros?

Naw, I get zero frat-boy vibes from my new husband. His refined natural confidence and magnetic intensity don"t exactly scream dot-com millennial on a coke bender.

So what"s his deal, then? Old money aristocrat? Criminal mastermind? Wildly successful vampire romance author?

Finally, curiosity gets the better of me. "Okay, your turn. What do you do for a living?"

He places a kiss on the top of my head before he answers. "I"m in the biotech and pharmaceutical industry."

I suddenly go rigid in his arms. The temperature in the room drops by ten degrees and my blood turns to ice in my veins.

"Pharmaceuticals?" I repeat, my voice sounding distant and tinny, even to my own ears.

"Yes. I"m the founder and CEO of Dabertzholder Pharmaceuticals," he replies with a tinge of pride.

I actually do a comical double-take, nearly choking on my own saliva.

Oh, god. Oh, no. This can"t be happening. No.

I"ve spent the last six years of my life battling against the evils of the pharmaceutical industry, watching helplessly as they jack up prices on life-saving medications and prioritize profits over patients. And now, in a twist of fate so cruel it borders on Shakespearean, I"ve gone and hitched my wagon to their king.

Sebastian must feel me tense up, because he pulls back to look at me, concern on his unfairly handsome face. "Gemma? What"s wrong?"

My stomach churns and I feel like I"m going to be sick.

I shake my head, unable to speak. How can I possibly explain to him the depths of my revulsion? The sheer magnitude of my horror at learning that I"ve sold my soul to the very devil I"ve been fighting against for so long?

Of all the rich guys in all the world, I just had to go and marry the literal embodiment of Big Pharma.