A Wedded Arrangement

Savannah Emerson sometimes wondered if her story looked like a cheesy romantic movie.

Smart-mouthed girl from the wrong side of the tracks meets spoiled rich boy with a hidden heart of gold. Conflict, banter, and misunderstandings ensue until they both change for the better, overcoming their differences and coming together after an overblown gesture of love. A future of wedded bliss awaits them as soon as the credits roll.

Her story was like that. Except for the parts about overcoming differences and falling in love. And the bliss. She hadn’t had much of that for the past nine months.

The marriage thing—that had happened to her. She’d found her very own spoiled rich boy to wed.

She’d despised Lance Carlyle for most of her life. He was the only son of one of the wealthiest families in the very wealthy town of Green Valley, North Carolina, and he’d spent his thirty-four years getting everything he wanted exactly when he wanted it. She’d known he was an entitled jackass since he was eight and she was five and he’d cheated to win the town’s Easter egg hunt, beating her out of a hundred-dollar prize that he had absolutely no use for.

At thirteen, she’d given the Porsche he’d gotten for his sixteenth birthday a shaving-cream-and-toilet-paper special. He’d deserved it after laughing at her indignation when she didn’t win the town’s junior photography contest. (She still occasionally compared the photograph she’d entered with the winning photo, and hers was unquestionably better.)

At seventeen, she’d been working at a local coffee shop, and he’d come in one afternoon while he was home on a college break. He’d complained to the manager about the service, and she’d ended up fired from her job.

She’d gotten out of Green Valley just as soon as she could—earning a college degree and an MFA in filmmaking—but she’d moved back home at twenty-six because her parents needed help when her mother got sick. Lance had never left town. His corporate consulting business was already thriving at that point, and she’d had to struggle not to sneer every time she saw him around town in his ridiculously expensive suits and his disgracefully indulgent Aston Martin. Most of the time they’d pretended the other didn’t exist since they didn’t share anything but a zip code, but occasionally his smirk was simply too infuriating. She’d make a smart remark—never quite under her breath—which would always prompt a response from him.

The man was clever. She had to give him that. He was every bit as quick with his tongue as she was, so she only sometimes got the better of him in an argument. Usually their encounters ended in a resentful draw.

Which was why she was so surprised when he approached her last year with a proposal.

An actual proposal.

Lance wanted nothing to do with his parents, and he’d been living on his own resources since he finished graduate school. His business evidently did very well, but men like him always wanted more. So when his grandmother died and left him as the sole beneficiary of her fortune, he was willing to do anything to get it.

Even marry a woman he disliked.

His grandmother’s will required he be married for a year before he could gain access to the money.

Savannah was the lucky bride. She’d had no delusions about why. She was obviously the most financially desperate woman Lance knew and the only one who would agree to the deal he wanted to make.

Her parents were drowning in medical bills from the extended treatment for her mother’s cancer, and Savannah was already underwater with student loans and credit cards. On the day she married Lance, he gave her a check for $200,000, which paid off all her and her parents’ debt, including the remaining mortgage on their row house.

On the day she and Lance signed their divorce papers—three months from now—she’d get another check for the same amount. She wouldn’t be rich, but she’d be secure. She could buy a place of her own and a car that didn’t have to be tinkered with constantly to keep running. She wouldn’t have to stress about how to pay her bills every month the way she’d done her entire life.

And all it took was marrying Lance Carlyle for one year.

Maybe she was a mercenary gold digger, but she didn’t really think so. She figured a lot of people might have done the same in her situation.

For the past nine months, she’d been living in Lance’s lakeside condo in one of the two exclusive gated communities in Green Valley. He had the entire top floor of the four-story building, and he’d given her the second bedroom, which on its own was almost as large as the inexpensive apartment she’d been renting before she married him.

At seven fifteen on a morning in late September, she was sitting on a stool at the granite island, drinking coffee and scrolling through Instagram on her phone. She paused at a photo of Lance posted by one of his friends.

It was from the night before. He was grinning as he got off his boat at the community marina. His thick, curly hair was blowing in the breeze. His teeth were white, and his skin was golden. His khakis and pale blue polo were casually expensive. He was the embodiment of health. Vigor. Privilege.

Her husband for three more months.