A Wife for One Year. Brenda Harlen

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      A conservative estimate of the cost: eighty thousand dollars.

      Just thinking about the enormity of the sum made Kenna’s stomach cramp. While she’d finally paid off her secondhand car, she’d barely begun to make a dent in her student loans and the doctor wanted a fifty percent deposit before he would even book the surgery.

      She hadn’t had the first clue how she might scrounge up that kind of money, but she’d promised her sister she’d figure out a way. A lengthy conversation with their mother had garnered nothing but tears and regrets. Sue Ellen Duncan had always been good at both—it was handling her finances that proved to be a struggle. So when Daniel had stopped by to see Kenna later that night, she’d been desperate for a solution.

      That was when he’d suggested they get married.

      She’d stared at him blankly, waiting for the punch line, certain it had to be some kind of joke. He’d assured her that it was not. Kenna needed money for her sister’s surgery; he wanted access to his trust fund; a quick ceremony in Vegas would give them each what they desired.

      They’d been friends for so long that she sometimes forgot about the drastic differences in their backgrounds and social status. Which was ironic, considering that it had been such an impediment to their friendship in the beginning.

      Aside from the fact that Daniel’s family owned Garrett Furniture, his maternal grandfather, Jake Willson, had made a ton of money in real estate in the sixties. He’d spent as much of it as he could in his lifetime, left a substantial amount to his only child and put the rest into trust funds for his three grandsons.

      Kenna’s initial response to Daniel’s proposal had been equal parts intrigue and revulsion. She liked the idea of earning the money, but the method he was suggesting made her wonder if she’d be selling herself, à la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He immediately assured her that he was looking for a temporary marriage in name only—just one year out of her life in exchange for one hundred thousand dollars.

      Or $273.97 per day to wear his ring on her finger.

      She’d finally said yes.

      Now as the taxi pulled up in front of the Courtland Resort & Casino, Kenna tried not to gawk. She’d never been to Las Vegas. In fact, she’d never ventured any farther from her hometown of Charisma, North Carolina, than Daytona Beach, Florida, so she experienced a little bit of culture shock just looking around.

      The opulence of the luxury hotel was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Glossy marble floors, life-size statues, spectacular waterfalls and exotic flowers. It was like a tropical paradise inside a hotel lobby that was probably bigger than any other hotel she’d ever stayed in.

      Check-in was expedited, no doubt by Daniel’s platinum credit card, and although they each had only a small overnight bag, the desk clerk called for a bellman to assist with their luggage. The man, whose nameplate identified him as Alex, led them briskly down a wide corridor to a bank of elevators.

      Each door of the elevator had an ornately scrolled C etched into the polished surface, and the doors opened without a sound. She stepped inside and noted there were specific buttons for Spa and Casino, but Alex pressed 7 and the elevator began its ascent. The ride was as smooth as it was quick, and then she was stepping out into a long hallway. The gold-and-cream decor continued here, from the patterned carpet beneath her feet and luxurious silk on the walls to the sconces that illuminated their path and the elaborately framed artwork along the way. The bellman slipped a key card into the slot of Room 722, and the lock released with a quiet click.

      The first thing she noticed, with no small amount of relief, were the two queen-size beds that Alex informed her were custom luxury mattresses triple-sheeted with five-hundred-thread-count linens. The tablet on the bedside table controlled the lighting, the forty-inch flat-screen LCD TV, the iHome music system, programmable coffeemaker and draperies.

      “Draperies?” Kenna echoed, not sure she’d heard him correctly.

      In response to which he picked up the tablet and tapped the screen a few times, which caused the thick brocade curtains to slide across the floor-to-ceiling windows.

      “Wow.”

      He smiled kindly. “Is this your first trip to Las Vegas, ma’am?”

      “Yes,” she admitted.

      “Then we hope it’s the first of many,” he said. “And if there’s anything at all we can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

      “Thank you,” she said.

      Alex opened the drapes again, and she moved closer to the window, taking in the view of the Strip. Even this early in the day, the streets were bustling with activity. She couldn’t wait to see it at night, lit up as it always was in the movies.

      “The directory on the tablet has all the information you will require about the hotel—our three restaurants, spa services, shops and, of course, the casino.”

      He opened another door to reveal an Italian marble bath with deep soaker tub, separate glass-enclosed shower, double sinks, exclusive designer toiletries and thick Egyptian cotton towels on heated bars.

      Daniel pressed a folded bill into his hand.

      “Thank you very much, sir,” Alex said, making his exit.

      Kenna turned in a slow circle in the middle of the room, still trying to take it all in. “How long are we staying?”

      Daniel chuckled at her obvious pleasure. “I only booked one night, but we can extend that, if you want.”

      “I want.” She dropped onto the closest bed and let herself sink back into the mountain of pillows. Then she sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to work on Monday—and so do you.”

      He shrugged. “I could finagle a few extra days...if it was for a honeymoon.”

      She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t.”

      He stretched out beside her, linked their fingers together. It was an easy, companionable gesture that nevertheless stirred something inside her. “You can’t take a few extra days...or you can’t marry me?”

      “I can’t take even one extra day.” She squeezed his hand. “But I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t planning to go through with the wedding.”

      She could almost see the tension leak out of his body. She knew his eagerness to tie the knot had nothing to do with love or happily-ever-after but was an indication of how much he wanted to accept Josh Slater’s business proposition. For a five-million-dollar investment, he could be his friend’s partner in the ownership of a professional stock car racing team under the banner of Garrett/Slater Racing.

      “Are you sure?” he asked, giving her one last out.

      She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

      His brows lifted. “Do it?”

      Belatedly she remembered that they were lying side by side on a queen-size bed, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.

      “Get married,” she clarified, ignoring the awareness that hummed through her veins.

      “Now?”

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