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My family called it a marriage. I called it what it was: a sale with flowers on the table. At twenty-eight, I had already earned a reputation in Manhattan for being difficult, sharp-tongued, and impossible to control. My stepmother preferred the word wicked. So when my father’s company found itself drowning in debt and Alistair Blackwood offered a merger that included marrying me, my family signed away my future with the enthusiasm of people escaping a burning building.
Chapter 1 My stepmother drove me to the hotel herself. “Oh, Vivian,” she said at the curb, pretending to dab nonexistent tears from her eyes....
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