He’s one of the world’s most eligible billionaires, tall, hot, royal, and ripped, and he just drunk-married a stranger in Las Vegas.
Me. Nicolai Romanov drunk-married me, a recently dumped HR rep from Nebraska, though I was just trying to keep a hot drunk dude with sad eyes from face-planting into traffic.
Worse, he livestreamed the wedding on social media. Thousands of people saw it.
Including a Russian organized crime boss who’d had plans for Nicolai, and the Russian government that keeps tabs on people who might want to claim the rightful crown.
Now, Nicolai has offered me a shocking amount of money to stay married to him for one year so he can sort these fatal problems out.
One, long, hard, completely platonic year.
So now I’m trapped in a hotel suite at the Billionaire Sanctuary private club, eyeing the hottest man in history from across the room, while he eyes me back.
