THE CONTRACT SEEMED STRAIGHTFORWARD.
Claire Thompson needs a visa extension and career boost in London's competitive art world. James Ashford—12th Earl of Westmore, forty-five, billionaire in his own right—needs a wife before his forty-sixth birthday or loses his £50 million inheritance.
Six months. Fake engagement. Marriage if necessary. Divorce after one year. Split the inheritance 50/50.
Professional. Transactional. Simple.
Except James Ashford is impossibly attractive, devastatingly proper, and when he teaches her British customs—how to curtsy, hold a teacup, address nobility—every lesson feels like seduction.
When photographers demand they kiss for engagement photos, what starts as performance becomes visceral. She calls him "daddy" without thinking. He nearly loses his legendary control.
The pretense continues: Weekend at his ancestral estate (one bedroom). Meeting his aristocratic family (skeptical but warming). Public appearances as the perfect couple (chemistry undeniable).
Behind closed doors, the contract dissolves. He teaches her more than etiquette. She discovers that surrender to this proper British daddy is the most freeing thing she's ever done.
But as his birthday approaches and their contract nears its end, reality intrudes. Can fake become forever? Will he choose inheritance or love? Can she trust this wasn't just business?
Sometimes the best love stories start with a signature on a contract—and end with vows that mean everything.
