Interim Spouse

Isabella Rosewood sat on the floor of her apartment and cupped her chin, her pale brows

drawn together in thought. “Do you know what I really need, Sophia?”

Her friend snorted, folding clothes into a large moving box. “Sure I know. You

need to have your head examined if you still intend to go through with this ridiculous

idea.”

“No…What I really need is a knight in shining armor. A protector.”

Sophia shoved the box to one side and glared. “Oh, for crying out loud! Why don’t

you just wish for Perfect Match, a beautiful palace and a million dollars while you’re at it? It’s

just as realistic.” She threw up her hands in despair. “Listen to me talking about realism,

and to you of all people. A woman planning to marry a complete stranger wouldn’t

recognize reality if it bit her on the—”

“Yes?” Isabella questioned, amusement clear in her voice. “Bit me where?”

“Oh, forget it,” Sophia muttered. “Why do I bother?”

Isabella smiled, not in the least offended by her friend’s bluntness. “Because you

care. And in case you’ve forgotten, I know all about reality and being realistic. It hasn’t

worked for me, which is why I’m willing to give the alternative a try.”

“I know,” Sophia said, contritely. “But to marry a complete stranger—”

“My point exactly. Since I am going to marry a complete stranger, why not pick

one with all the qualities I need?”

“Because it’s crazy. It’s just asking for trouble.” Sophia’s gaze grew concerned.

“Please, don’t do this. There has to be another solution.”

“You know there isn’t,” Isabella said with calm finality. “I’ve lost my job, my

apartment and I’m out of money. This is the only option left. It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

Sophia frowned. “What do you mean you’re out of money?” she demanded. “What

happened to your savings?”

“I spent every last penny on my ticket to the gala. I had to. It was the only way to

find a husband by the end of the month.”

A long silence stretched between them. Isabella Rosewood knew she’d upset her friend, but

she had no choice. From the moment she’d found out about the enchanted gala, she’d

known it was the answer to her prayers. It had been a fluke that she’d seen the

advertisement at all—a newspaper left at the restaurant where she’d worked, a gust of

wind from an open doorway, pages of newsprint blowing to the floor and…And there it

was. A small, elegant ad that had caught her eye and offered a chance of a lifetime.

The enchanted gala, it had read. Find romance. Find your Perfect Match. Find

the woman of your dreams. The enchanted gala offers the opportunity for immediate

matrimony. Come to the gala single and leave happily wed. And it had given a phone

number, a number she’d called that very night. A ticket to the gala had been exorbitant,the application form detailed and thorough. But she’d apparently passed whatever

investigative process they required and been accepted as a guest to the gala.

Unable to resist, Isabella crossed to the scarred dining table at the far end of the

room and stared down at the thick gold-embossed envelope she’d placed on her best

remaining china plate. It had arrived earlier that day, hand-delivered by a liveried

messenger along with a card that read, “The Montagues wish you joy and success as

you embark on your search for matrimonial happiness.” Taking a deep breath, she

opened the envelope again, removing the white velvet pouch inside.

Reverently she ran a callused fingertip over the pouch, then slid the surprisingly

heavy gilt “ticket” from its nest. The metallic wafer caught the light from the overhead

bulb and shimmered as though alive, flooding the drab room with a brilliant, golden

promise. She’d done the right thing, she assured herself, made, the only possible

decision. Just holding the engraved ticket filled her with that certainty.

Sophia came to stand behind her. “I’m sorry, Isabella,” she said. “I didn’t mean to

criticize. It’s just…I worry about you. You don’t always see people the way they really

are, and I’m afraid one of these days someone will take advantage of you.”

'I suppose that gives me even more incentive to tie the knot. With a husband by my side, he can ensure that such a situation never occurs.”

"What if he manipulates you for his own gain?"

Isabella laughed. "I wouldn't settle for a man like that. That's precisely why I'm eager to attend the Enchanted Gala. The man I encounter there will be remarkable." She smiled with dreamy certainty.

“He’ll be good and kind, patient and loving. Strong. Fair.”

“Yeah, right. A knight in shining armor. A protector.”

A small frown creased Isabella’s brow. “I know women aren’t supposed to need

protection. They’re not even supposed to want it anymore. Do you think he’ll mind? It

won’t be for long. Just until Mrs. Harper is taken care of.”

“You aren’t going to tell him, are you?” Sophia Kensington demanded bluntly. “Not

everything?”

“It’s only fair.”

Sophia planted her hands on Isabella’s shoulders and turned her around. “Listen, my

friend. I’ll go along with this crazy scheme, I’ll even help in any way I can. But there’s

one condition.”

“Only one?” Isabella teased.

“Just one. You aren’t to tell him the truth until after you’re married.”

“But—”

“Look what happened when Caleb found out. He ended your engagement.”

Isabella grimaced. “He obviously wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Nor was Julian. Nor was Lucas. The minute they found out, they both dumped

you, too.”

“All that means is that knights are in scarce supply these days,” Isabella insisted.

“My point exactly. So if you take my advice, you’ll pick out your knight, wed him,

bed him, then tell him the truth. That way he won’t have any choice but to help you.”

Reluctantly Isabella shook her head. “I can’t lie, Sophia. You know I can’t.”

“Fine. Just don’t give him all the details. Be vague.” Sophia glared. “You can be

vague, I know you can. I’ve seen you do it often enough.”

Isabella peeked up at her friend. “I believe that’s thoughtful, not vague,” she

offered.

“Trust me. I know vague when I see it and you’re vague.”

“Okay, but I can’t lie.”

“I’m not asking you to lie. Just be selective in what you tell him. I’m not joking,

Isabella. I want your promise. I know how seriously you take promises. Swear to me that

you’ll keep your mouth shut until the ring’s on your finger.”

Isabella frowned, hesitant to commit to something so contrary to her nature. “I

promise I won’t tell him until after we’re married…unless he asks.” She lifted an

eyebrow. “Is that good enough?”

“I guess it’ll have to do.” Sophia sighed. “Let’s just hope he’s so enthralled by big

green eyes and white-blond hair he doesn’t think to ask too many questions.”

“It’ll work out, you’ll see,” Isabella consoled. “Why, with any luck at all, he’ll be

vague, too.”