SEVEN

Justine

"What's the hold up?" Ronan is pacing the wharf, glancing down at his phone every two seconds in the pale predawn light. All the street lamps are still on, and the sky is only just turning a foggy gray. Heartstone's harbor is busy, even at this time of day, but the traffic is industrial. Goods being transported in and out of the city. Owners getting boats ready for commercial trips, and one lone ferry is making its way over from the north shore.

There's no company car or taxi in the parking lot, even though Natasha the fitness instructor was due half an hour ago.

The casting director is standing a little way off. She swears audibly and scowls down at her tablet. Not a good sign.

Moments later, she walks over and holds it out for Mr. Kernos to see. I peek around his brawny arm.

I'm sorry. I can't do it. My mom's getting weird about the whole monster thing and it's just not worth it.

Natasha

"Fuck." The whispered curse escapes my lips before I think too hard about where I am.

Mr. Kernos spins, giving me a scandalized look, as if he thinks I've never sworn in my life. I stifle a giggle behind my hand. This is no laughing matter.

"She's canceled." The casting director does not sound impressed.

"Who canceled?" Mr. Kernos is looking between us. "Who is Natasha?"

"Your wife," I tell him.

"She's not my—" He scrubs a large hand over his long face. "Not possible. Call her."

"I tried. She's not answering." The casting director shoots me a desperate look.

I pull out my phone and find the number. "I'll try." My heart's in my throat as the phone rings and rings and rings.

Nothing. "She's still not answering."

I hold it out to Mr. Kernos and he takes it. His thick fingers brushing mine sends a totally unnecessary shiver through me.

"Fuck." He hands it back. "Fix it."

I stare at him. What does he expect me to do? "I'll call the other women I shortlisted. We'll line something up for next week. There's still time before we're due to air."

"No. I can't put this off. It has to be now."

I'm about to respond when the camerawoman walks down the ramp from the yacht. "Hey, what's the hold up? We want as much daylight as we can get when we get out to the island, so we need to leave soon."

Internally, I'm screaming. Just when things were going so well. Now, I've let him down in the worst way.

I give everyone my most reassuring smile. "I'm sure we can think of something."

Ronan sighs. "What about you? You're a woman. You'll do."

My mouth flaps open and closed without any sound coming out. You'll do!

I should be more offended. But a perverse part of me squirms with pleasure at the mere fact he sees me as a woman.

God, could I get any more pathetic?

"I can't." I shouldn't. He's not good for my willpower or my self-esteem. I know how I get. I also don't know how this looks if I'm his assistant and then his wife—his reality TV wife.

He scowls. "Why not? Do you think I want to be here going through this nonsense? This was your idea in the first place. Well, now I've cleared my schedule and I'm doing this. The least you could do is make it happen."

The camerawoman butts in unhelpfully. "Ms. Delany. We should have left fifteen minutes ago."

Not helpful, Sally. I clench my hands into fists and will another solution to magic itself into my brain.

Nothing.

"Well?" Ronan folds his arms across his chest.

"I didn't even pack anything nice." It's a lie. I agonized over what to pack for the three days of filming for at least two weeks. I didn't pack a swimsuit, though, or anything I could wear on the show. I packed as if I was working. Because I am.

Sally shrugs. "Hair and makeup has all that covered. You're pretty much the same size as Natasha. Should be fine."

I blink. Me? Same size as the beautiful fit woman Ronan chose as his wife for a day? There's no way.

"W-what size?"

"Twelve."

Ronan gives me a little smirk as I pick my jaw off the floor.

"Right. Well..." I try not to think too hard about the fact that the woman I thought could have been an athletics-wear model wears the same dress size as me. I bet she has bigger boobs. And a perkier ass.

"Perfect." Ronan's large hand behind my back steers me over the ramp and onto the vessel while I'm still gathering my thoughts. "Glad you're being reasonable."

I let him lead me all the way to the main deck where the crew and captain are waiting.

"There's been a change of plans," the casting director says.

Most of the crew roll their eyes. I know the feeling. I hurry to mollify them. "We're all set now, though. I'll be um... I'll be standing in for Natasha."

I expect chatter. Surprise or something other than complete silence. I don't know how to take that.

"So we can get underway?" says one guy.

"Yeah."

"Good." The captain stands up from the bench seat and speaks quietly to another member of the crew. They all begin to go about their business. That leaves me alone on the main deck with Mr. Kernos.

"I'll be in my cabin if anyone needs something. I've got work to do." He turns and heads down the stairs to the large main cabin that makes up his private quarters. The trip isn't a long one, but Mr. Kernos insisted on being able to take advantage of every spare minute for work.

With a shaking hand, I flick open the schedule for the day of filming. We're due to arrive on Northpoint Island in an hour and forty minutes to stage the arrival and wedding scene. Holy shit! The wedding scene. I don't even know if I'll fit into the dress.

Walking to the railing, I stare out at the water rushing past below the yacht. Little white flecks kick up against the hull, but the main body of water is a deep, untouchable blue. I wish I could do that. Let the surface stuff be just that.

I feel more like the gulls bobbing crazily on the waves, though.

Married to Mr. Kernos? Does that mean I should start calling him Ronan now? That feels weird, even inside my head.

I know the wedding and marriage thing is not for real, but it feels way more intimate than I'm prepared for. Mr. Kernos feels big and impenetrable. And, even though things have been going well lately, I'm terrified I'll stuff something up and annoy him. Then I'll end up right back where I was a few days ago. About to lose my job.

Worse, I hate the thought of letting him down like that. This whole thing was my idea after all.

Twenty minutes later, I'm swaying backward and forward with the motion of the yacht in the cabin on the main deck. One lady kneels at my feet fixing the hem of the long white dress and another yanks in the corset to pin it tighter across my breasts.

"That's it. I told you it was an easy fix."

I stare at myself in the mirror, not quite able to believe the beautiful bride staring back is me. My long red hair still hangs in untidy tresses over my shoulders after they pulled it out of my ponytail, but the bodice of the dress fits snugly against my torso, tucking me in a little, making my waist look smaller than it is. The skirt sits too snugly around my hips and belly for my liking, but there's nothing to be done about that. We have literally no other options.

I smooth my hands over the little swell my lower belly makes in the white fabric with a grimace. I've never had a perfectly flat belly like the models and actresses I admire. Even the ones with curves somehow make them look good. Not like me. I just look flabby.

The woman at my feet speaks through gritted teeth filled with pins. "Have you thought about what you'll do tonight, dear?"

"Hmm?"

"Well it's the wedding night, isn't it? Are you going to sleep in the same bed? Are you going to sleep?" She looks up and waggles her eyebrows at me. I trip and stumble off the little pedestal I'm standing on for her to fix the dress.

Three sharp pins prick into my ankle and I squeak in surprise. I'm not focused on that, though. Suddenly, all I can focus on is the image in my mind of a large, thick body taking up most of the mattress, making a dip in the middle that draws me like gravity while his large curved horns spread out on either side of us.

I swallow. "Ah... maybe I'll just sleep on the floor."

The seamstress snorts. "Yeah right. If I had the chance to sleep in the same bed as Ronan Kernos, I know I'd be taking it."

"I—I..."

She helps me back onto the pedestal. The woman behind me whispers, "No one would blame you."

Oh, God.

Now, not only are my pits sweaty and my hands shaky, my pussy floods with so much moisture it threatens to ruin the pretty lacy underwear that hair and makeup felt was necessary for this scene.

It's a bed. A freakin' bed!

No, it's more than that. It's only one bed. Like in all my favorite romance novels. What the hell am I doing here and how is this my life?