Chapter 1 - Forty-Seven Cents
I was stranded on an Arizona highway with two hungry children, forty-seven cents in my pocket, and nowhere left to go when a black armored sedan stopped beside us.
I begged the stranger inside for any job that could feed my kids.
After studying me in silence, he said, “I don’t need a housekeeper.”
Then his eyes shifted toward my children.
“I need a wife.”
My name is Emily Parker, and that evening the Arizona desert felt cruel enough to punish us simply for being poor.
The sun was dropping behind distant purple mountains, but the heat still rose from the highway in shimmering waves. Every passing truck pushed hot wind against our faces.
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, sat on our battered black suitcase with an empty lunchbox resting on her knees.
Every few minutes, she opened it.
Then closed it.
Opened it again.
As though crackers might appear if she waited patiently enough.
My seven-year-old son, Noah, tried to drag our second suitcase toward the road.
“If the bus doesn’t come, we can walk,” he said.
I almost broke.
Seven years old.
Already trying to solve adult problems because his mother couldn’t.
“There’s nowhere to walk to, sweetheart.”
“Maybe there’s a gas station.”
“The sign said twenty-two miles.”
He considered that with heartbreaking seriousness.
“I can do twenty-two.”
“No.”
“I’m strong.”
“I know.”
I pulled him against me.
“You’re allowed to be seven.”
His little shoulders relaxed for exactly three seconds.
Then Lily whispered, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
That sentence hurt more than every insult my ex-husband had ever thrown at me.
The bus had been due at eleven that morning.
It was nearly six.
My phone battery was at nine percent.
The nearest shelter had already told me they were full.
My bank account held seventy-three cents, but the card had been declined at the vending machine anyway.
What I had physically was forty-seven cents.
Two dimes.
Five nickels.
Two pennies.
I had counted them twice.
Then headlights appeared.
Not one vehicle.
Three.
A long black sedan approached first, polished enough to reflect the burning orange sky. Behind it came two black SUVs.
All three slowed.
“Stay behind me,” I told the kids.
The sedan stopped on the gravel shoulder.
The SUVs stopped behind it.
Four men stepped out.
Dark suits.
Sunglasses.
Broad shoulders.
One had a visible shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
My stomach dropped.
Noah moved closer.
“Mom?”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t.
Then the rear door of the sedan opened.
A tall man stepped into the sunset.
He wasn’t dressed like the others.
Black shirt.
Dark trousers.
No jacket.
Steel watch.
Maybe thirty-nine or forty.
Dark hair swept back from a face that would have been handsome if it weren’t so intimidating.
He had the kind of eyes that seemed to measure the distance between what you said and what you meant.
He looked less like a businessman and more like the man businessmen called when things stopped being polite.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
His voice was calm.
I tightened my hand around Noah’s.
“We’re waiting for the bus.”
“There hasn’t been a bus on this route for three days.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Flash flooding damaged a bridge north of here. Route was suspended.”
Nobody had told me.
Of course nobody had told me.
The ticket counter at the station had been closed, and I had bought the ticket online two weeks earlier.
I sat down hard on the suitcase.
The stranger looked at Lily.
More specifically, at the empty lunchbox.
“When did you eat last?”
“Yesterday,” Noah said.
“Noah.”
“What?”
He looked confused.
“He asked.”
The stranger’s jaw tightened.
He turned slightly.
“Marco.”
One of the suited men stepped forward.
“Food.”
“Boss—”
“Now.”
Marco went to the SUV.
Less than a minute later, he returned carrying a cooler.
Sandwiches.
Apples.
Bananas.
Crackers.
Bottled water.
Even two little chocolate cookies.
Lily stared like she was looking at treasure.
“We can’t pay you,” I said.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
I hesitated.
Pride is an expensive thing when your children are hungry.
I let them eat.
Noah tried to eat slowly, probably because he thought the food needed to last.
The stranger noticed.
“There’s more.”
Noah glanced at him.
“For tomorrow?”
“If you want.”
Only then did my son take a real bite.
I hated myself for nearly crying.
The stranger looked at me.
“Where are you going?”
“Tucson.”
“For family?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
“Then why Tucson?”
“Work.”
“What kind?”
“Anything.”
He waited.
I swallowed.
“Cleaning. Cooking. Laundry. Childcare. Office work. Motel housekeeping. I don’t care. I just need somewhere safe for my children to sleep.”
His eyes moved over our luggage.
Everything we owned fit into two suitcases and Noah’s backpack.
“What’s your name?”
“Emily.”
“Theirs?”
“Noah and Lily.”
“I’m Nathan.”
“Nathan what?”
“Brooks.”
I didn’t recognize the name.
Not yet.
“You said you’d take any job,” he continued.
“I meant legal.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
“Smart qualification.”
“I’ve learned to add it.”
He studied me for another few seconds.
“I may have a job.”
Hope hit so quickly it embarrassed me.
“What?”
His face became unreadable.
“I need a wife.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes life becomes so absurd your body picks the wrong reaction.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
“I have two children.”
“I noticed.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you’ve been stranded here nearly seven hours, and you still gave your daughter the last full bottle of water.”
My face warmed.
“You’ve been watching us?”
“Since we came around the bend.”
That should have frightened me.
Somehow it didn’t.
Nathan looked toward his security men.
“My mother is ill.”
“What kind of ill?”
“Cancer.”
His voice changed slightly.
“She doesn’t have much time.”
I said nothing.
“She wants to see me married.”
“That’s sad, but it doesn’t explain why you’re proposing to a stranger beside a highway.”
“There are business reasons.”
“What business?”
“The kind that doesn’t appear on the stock exchange.”
I looked at the armed men again.
Then at him.
“You’re a criminal.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t hesitate.
That frightened me more than a lie would have.
I grabbed Noah’s hand.
“We’re leaving.”
Nathan looked down the empty highway.
“Where?”
I stopped.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t seem pleased by the question.
“Where are you going with forty-seven cents and two children after sunset?”
My face burned.
“How do you know how much money I have?”
“You counted it twice.”
He noticed everything.
Then his voice softened.
“Whether you accept anything from me or not, my driver will take you to Tucson tonight.”
I stared at him.
“Hotel. Food. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give you enough cash to travel wherever you choose.”
“Why?”
His gaze shifted toward Lily.
She had fallen asleep sitting against the suitcase, half a sandwich still in one hand.
“Because children shouldn’t sleep beside highways.”
Something inside me cracked.
I looked away before he could see it.
“And the marriage?”
“One year.”
“An actual marriage?”
“Legal.”
“Separate rooms?”
“Yes.”
“My kids?”
“Live with us.”
“Us?”
“My home outside Scottsdale.”
“What happens to them?”
“School. Doctors. Food. Clothing. Security.”
“You make it sound like a benefits package.”
“In some ways, it is.”
“And after one year?”
“We divorce.”
“Then what?”
“You leave with enough money to buy a modest home outright.”
My throat tightened.
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
I almost laughed again.
“That’s insane.”
“To me, it isn’t.”
That answered more questions than I wanted answered.
“What do you expect from me?”
“Appear beside me when necessary.”
“Pretend we’re in love?”
His dark eyes held mine.
“Pretend we’re married.”
“What else?”
“No romantic obligation.”
“No sharing a bed?”
“No.”
“No touching unless I agree?”
His expression sharpened.
“Correct.”
“My children don’t become collateral for anything.”
“Never.”
“If I want out?”
“Then you leave.”
“Even before the year?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would I stay?”
“Because I keep agreements.”
That wasn’t an answer.
Yet something about the way he said it made me believe him.
Noah had been listening.
Of course he had.
“Would we have to call you Dad?”
Every armed guard suddenly found the horizon fascinating.
Nathan crouched.
“No.”
Noah looked suspicious.
“Nathan is fine?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Nathan?”
“If your mother prefers.”
I groaned.
Noah continued.
“Do you have a pool?”
Nathan blinked.
“Two.”
Noah frowned.
“That’s unnecessary.”
One of the guards coughed.
Nathan laughed.
A real laugh.
For one second, I saw a lonely man beneath whatever dangerous thing the rest of the world knew.
Then he opened the sedan door.
“You don’t have to decide tonight.”
I looked inside.
Cream leather.
Air conditioning.
Safety.
Food.
My children.
“And if I say no tomorrow?”
“You walk away.”
“No consequences?”
“None.”
I searched his face.
Nathan reached into the vehicle and pressed a button.
Every door unlocked.
“If I have to imprison a woman to make her stay,” he said, “I don’t deserve a wife.”
That was the first moment I seriously considered saying yes.
What I didn’t know was that Nathan Brooks controlled organized crime territory from Tucson to Phoenix.
I didn’t know three rival families were waiting for proof that his mother was dying.
I didn’t know a clause buried in his father’s estate documents could strip Nathan of nearly everything if his uncle convinced the family council he had no stable household.
And I definitely didn’t know that twelve hours later, Nathan’s dying mother would look at me, then at my children, then at her son—
May you like
and whisper:
“So this is the woman you’ve been waiting for.”
