Page 6 of The Wrong Husband

He wanted me to sleep here with him? That was a good thing, right? He wasn't kicking me out.

"How? When?"

"I got it at the hotel boutique," he explained.

"Do you want me to go back to my room?" I asked.

He cupped my cheek. "No. It's our wedding night. Sleep with me."

He sounded more determined than happy. He regretted it, that much was obvious.

What did he regret more, the sex or the wedding? If we hadn't had sex maybe we could have just annulled the marriage. I almost rolled my eyes at myself. We could still annul the marriage. This wasn't the Victorian times where we had to prove that I was untouched and virginal.

"Thanks," I replied lamely, still staring at the lingerie.

"Let's get some sleep."

I was still in that stupid negligee. It was beautiful. Lacy and comfortable. La Perla according to the label. I couldn't afford things like this. I had a regular job. My family had money, but it was their money. My father was the CFO of Archer Galleries, an art and antiquities juggernaut, in the same league at the Sotheby's.

Damian was the CEO of Archer Galleries Worldwide, while his older brother Duncan managed the European business and Dean the Asian. His parents were officially retired but still involved as board members.

My mother and sister were entrepreneurs in their own right. Their salons weren't successful…yet, but they were well on their way according to everyone.

I was a struggling artist.

I had a small loft apartment on the wrong end of Market Street in San Francisco. It was more studio than apartment.

So far, I'd managed to win a few art awards and get my work into non-descript galleries. My parents had never thought I was a good enough artist. It stung because my father's business was art. But it was what I loved, and my teachers and various mentors told me that my surreal style was intense and thought provoking. They advised me to keep honing my skill.

When my mother and sister asked me to work for them because they didn’t have the funds to hire employees, I'd had a job offer with Sotheby's to restore art. It was what I wanted to do. But family came first so I turned down the job.

My relationship with my mother and sister wasn't tight—but I hoped that if I helped them with their new business we would become close; that they asked me meant they trusted me.

Instead of working on Renoirs, I spent a lot of time talking to distributors, making sure the products used in the salons were organic and were delivered on time. It was a hard job and took a lot out of me, but I still made time for my art. I was hoping that when I had a collection of fifteen paintings, I could create a portfolio and take it around to galleries. One day, I would get my chance.

Just like I had gotten a chance to be with Damian.

Obviously, it was all a big mistake and the minute he woke up he'd tell me that we needed to get this sham of a marriage annulled. I knew that. But I'd touched Damian and he'd been inside me.

His eyes opened then as if he could hear my thoughts. He looked at me still half asleep. I could literally see his brain process my presence.

"Good morning," I whispered and smiled tentatively.

"When's your flight?" he asked.

"In three hours."

"Maybe you should get ready."

I frowned. "Ah…Damian, I'd like to talk about last night."

He sat up. "We will. Let's do it when we're back at home, yeah?"

"Wouldn't…ah…wouldn't it be easier to get the…thing annulled or whatever right away?"

He stared at me like I'd asked him to dance at Chippendales in a tutu. "Annulled?"

I licked my lips. "Look, you were drunk and…I know you don't want to be married to me."