Page 36 of The Wrong Husband

Marcela seemed to consider me, trying to figure out what I was saying between the lines. If only she knew, I could barely speak straight—I wouldn't know how to string words together smartly, so they had a subtext.

"You say you've always had a thing for him so why not stay married to him," Marcela mused.

"The wedding with Elvis was momentary insanity. No one wants this level of drama." I waved around as if indicating the drama, I was talking about was between her and me. "I don't want the Archer soap opera. Anyway, you said there's a third document?"

"That's the post-nuptial. It says that upon dissolution of marriage if you behave like a good little girl and don't violate terms and the NDA, you will get one million dollars."

I blinked. These people had so much money.

"Duncan said it was going to be a hundred thousand dollars," I glowered. They thought they could just buy me. Well, fuck them. I wasn't for sale.

"We think a million is fair. After all, as you said, no one deserves the Archer soap opera," she smirked.

I wasn't sure if she was laughing at me or with me. Frankly, I didn't care.

"No."

"A million isn't enough for you?"

"Yes. No. I mean…I don't want the money. Any money! Keep it. I don't need to be compensated for making a mistake. This shitshow is my punishment. Next time, if I'm ever in Vegas…actually, you know what, never going there again." I put a hand to my heart. "Taking that vow right now. I, Emilia Winters, solemnly swear, that I'll never ever marry anyone in Vegas again or even go to that blasted city."

This time Marcela grinned.

I picked up the documents. "I'll get my…ah…legal person to review these. Could you ask your lawyers to send this to me via email? Damian has my email address."

"The documents should be hitting your inbox shortly."

"Thank you. I won't be taking any money."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "I like to earn my money. I don't need anyone's handout."

"But this would be earned. You snagged an Archer, there should be compensation."

Okay, now that was offensive.

"I didn't snag Damian. We just got swept away in the moment. That's all. And I don't care if Damian's an Archer or a…Smith or whatever. I…," I paused because I was giving too much away. Poor plain Emilia had to get Damian drunk to get him to marry her.

Marcela stood up then. "Show me your art."

I gaped at her. "What?"

I was married to Damian Archer and the great art aficionado Marcela Archer wanted to see my art? This was obviously an alternate universe. I'd wake up any minute and be right back in the normal world where things like this didn't happen to me.

"I said I want to see your art."

She walked to the studio, and I followed her, my hands shaking. If she hated my art, it would gut me and end my career before it even started. But what if she likes it? Yeah, like that could happen.

Her steps were purposeful and confident as she looked at the canvases leaning against the walls, each one a window into my whimsical interpretation of the world.

Marcela paused in front of a large painting titled Dreamscape in the Bay. It depicted the Golden Gate Bridge melting into a sea of swirling, vibrant colors, with floating islands populated by bizarre, dreamlike creatures. A clock tower from the Ferry Building twisted and spiraled up into the sky, blending reality with the surreal.

"This one is very interesting," she remarked. "You're definitely inspired by Dali."

Salvador Dali was one of my favorite artists and the king of surrealism.

"Well, isn't every surrealism artist inspired by Dali?"