A fiancรฉe. Iโm going to Chicago to pretend to be some Italian Stallionโs future wife. Why a massive hunk, boxer, and rich restaurateur needs a fake bride is beyond me. Then again, Iโm not paid to know why. Iโm paid $100,000 to be his escort, or in this case, the woman heโs supposedly โgoingโ to marry.
The moment I met Antony โTonyโ Fasano, I thought I might have lost my ability to breathe. In my twenty four years of life, Iโd not seen anything like him. Clad only in a small towel precariously dangling from his hips--water droplets streaming down every inch of his muscular frame--I knew right then and there, Iโd finally seen male perfection in all its raw glory.
What happened next blew me away. It was now abundantly clear why he needed me...a fake fiancรฉe.