Prologue

Prologue

Four years ago in Reno, Nevada

“Excuse me?”

Max Romero looked up from contemplating the bottom of his empty whisky glass to find a woman, with eyes the same color as his favorite drink, hovering nervously by his side. He’d already been approached by a couple of women looking for company and had politely turned them down. This one wore a flowery dress, a pink cardigan, and a strand of pearls draped around a delicate neck, which made him do a double take.

“Hey.”

He was pretty sure they weren’t acquainted, but he was just drunk enough not to be certain, and he’d never been one to offend a lady.

“Hi! You don’t know me, but—”

He held up one finger. “You British?”

“Yes, I am, but—”

“I like your accent.”

“Thank you, it’s—”

“Like talking to Princess Di.”

“Actually, my mother went to school with her at some point.” She frowned. “Not that she knew her well or anything.”

“Like, really?”

Max made quick eye contact with the bartender who came over. It wasn’t busy at the casino yet. Only the serious gamblers and drinkers were on the floor during daylight and stayed until it was dawn again. He didn’t have the money to gamble, and he’d been nursing his last whisky for long enough that the guy behind the bar was giving him the stink eye. The truth was he didn’t want to go out and face the real world just yet. Chatting to a sweet-faced Brit was a diversion he was more than willing to embrace.

He patted the bar stool beside him. “Do you want to sit down? Looking up is giving me a crick in the neck.”

“Sorry.” She blushed, staining her perfect complexion with a rosy glow. “I know I’m tall.”

She took the seat and swung around to face him. Her hair was cinnamon brown and cut in a short bob, her mouth was bow shaped, and her eyes were . . . kind of sweet like a spaniel’s. She looked as out of place in a Reno bar as he would look at a coronation.

“What would you like to drink?” Max asked.

“A glass of white wine would be lovely.” Her quick smile transformed her face from average to pretty. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” Max said to the bartender before refocusing his attention on the woman beside him. “Now, tell me about your mom and Lady Di.”

She fiddled with the coaster on the counter, and ducked her head, her hair swinging around to half cover her face. “There isn’t much to tell, really. Just that she mentioned the school thing once.”

“And you never asked about it?”

She shrugged. “It didn’t mean much at the time. She went to school with all sorts of people like that.”

“I guess she was posh like you?”

“I suppose she was.” She paused. “One doesn’t consider things like that until it’s pointed out by someone else.”

“One doesn’t.” Max nodded.

Their drinks arrived and she took a huge swig of wine, which made her cough.

“Ugh, I wasn’t expecting it to be lukewarm.” She shuddered and used a bar napkin to daintily wipe her mouth. “I’ve never understood why wine is warm here and beer is freezing.”

“I guess we just like messing with your heads.” Max held up his bottle and clinked it against her glass. “Here’s to the differences between us.”

This time he got the full blast of her smile and something inside him reacted to its genuine warmth, making him smile in return.

“Bottoms up,” she said.

“Cheers.”

She drank the rest of her wine in one gulp and Max wondered why she needed a jolt of courage. She didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who usually approached a guy at the bar of a seedy Reno casino, but he’d learned to be open to all possibilities.

“I’m Max,” he said, just in case she needed somewhere to start.

“Phoebe.”

“Freebie?”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” She rolled her eyes. “People have been making fun of my name since I was born. Some people call me Fee.”

He was quietly impressed by her refusal to react to him. “I prefer Freebie or Furby myself.”

“We had one of those. It went feral and Nanny had to hide it in the laundry room wrapped up in a towel because it wouldn’t turn itself off.”

“Nanny.” Max took a slug of beer. “Like Mary Poppins?”

“Exactly like that.” She held his gaze. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know—like you’re teasing me all the time.”

“Yeah, that’s how I roll because I refuse to take life too seriously.”

His day job as a Marine meant he took the life of his team very seriously indeed, but when he was stateside, he wanted nothing to do with orders, routines, or life-threatening situations. Most of his friends assumed he’d be in the thick of a loud gang of people and activities when he was on leave, but sometimes he preferred to be completely by himself. He was due to meet his two best buds in Reno before they were deployed on their next mission, but they weren’t arriving for a couple of days.

The bartender placed another glass of wine at Phoebe’s elbow, and she thanked him.

“Nanny made sure you had excellent manners,” Max said.

“She did. My parents weren’t around much so she was our rock before we went off to boarding school.”

“How old were you when that happened?”

“Seven?” She frowned. “I think that was about it. I cried myself sick until I got used to it.”

Max was certain that the military-style institution he’d been forced to attend by the courts as a teenager wasn’t quite the same experience, but he’d cried a couple of times, too.

She cleared her throat. “Do you live in Reno?”

“Nope, I’m just visiting. I’m meeting a couple of friends here at the end of the week and we’ll travel onward together.”

“I ended up here by mistake.” She half-smiled. “My connections got messed up due to the storm and the plane got re-routed through Reno.”

“So, you’re off back home tomorrow?”

“Possibly.” She hesitated. “It depends.”

“On what?”

She met his gaze. “You.”

* * *

The man sitting beside her blinked his sapphire-blue eyes. His hair was black, he had cheekbones and dimples to die for, and he was completely in the dark about what she was about to ask him, and who could blame him, when she couldn’t believe it herself. But needs must and she refused to allow the fates to destroy her. She’d been in the States to visit an old friend who had advised her to show some spirit and take command of her own destiny, so here she was, her knees shaking, taking command . . .

“Come again?”

Phoebe gripped her wineglass in her fingers. “I was hoping you might help me with something.”

His eyebrows rose. “Now I’m getting worried.”

“But first, I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Shoot.”

She took a deep breath. “Are you married or involved with someone?”

“Nope and nope, and I’m not gay if that was your next question.”

“Have you ever considered a marriage of convenience?”

He sat up straight. “A what the hell now?”

Phoebe’s cheeks heated. “A marriage that suits both parties but doesn’t necessarily involve love or a commitment to stay together forever.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Are you after a green card?”

“Goodness no!” Phoebe waved that suggestion aside with a flick of her fingers. “I just need a husband for a few months while I . . . sort out some family issues.”

He studied her for a long moment, but she was encouraged by the hint of a smile on his lips. “Are you nuts?” He glanced around. “Am I about to star on some reality TV show?”

“Not at all. I’m just trying to find a solution to a problem in an amicable fashion.”

“And you picked me?”

She shrugged. “You just looked right somehow.”

She’d watched him deal with several approaches from other women with good humor and a politeness that sent them away still smiling. There was just something about him that drew her in, and she knew that when he turned her down, he’d do it nicely.

He made a sound under his breath. “Sweetheart, I am a monumental screwup. No one with any sense would want to marry me.”

“Well, if that is the case, a marriage in name only might suit you rather well.” Phoebe risked smiling encouragingly at him. “It really doesn’t need to be for long—a year maybe? And then we can go our separate ways.”

“Why do you need to get married?”

“Because—” She paused, unwilling to speak unkindly of her family, who were as tied to the stupid rules as she was. “There is a specific legal situation I need to sort out and that involves me being married. Technically, I’m supposed to ask for permission to even get married, but—”

“From the king?”

She regarded him seriously. “No. May I continue?”

“Be my guest.”

“I’ve decided that if I present my family with a fait accompli—” He opened his mouth, and she kept talking. “An accomplished fact, then they’ll just have to get used to it.”

“And you think that will solve your little legal problem.” He studied her face. “Does it involve money?”

She hesitated. “Indirectly, but it’s more about my right to live my life without interference from an outmoded, and quite frankly, ridiculous tradition that only affects the women in the family.”

“Okay.” He finished his beer and set the bottle down on the counter with a decisive thump. “When do you want to get married?”

Phoebe gazed at him. “You’ll do it?” She might have squeaked a bit because he winced.

“Sure. Why not?” He held her gaze, her blue eyes steady. “I’m all about destroying the patriarchy.”