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Back Sweet Surrender
Chapters (73)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. TABLE OF CONTENTS
  3. PRAISE FOR K. BROMBERG
  4. ALSO WRITTEN BY K. BROMBERG
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  54. CHAPTER FIFTY
  55. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  64. CHAPTER SIXTY
  65. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  71. EPILOGUE
  72. EPILOGUE TWO
  73. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The last forty-eight hours have been a doozy. I’ve packed and unpacked my things about ten times. They’re sitting in the trunk of my car while I debate pulling them out and going through them again. What exactly does one bring to move in with her soon-to-be pretend husband when she doesn’t even know what’s expected of her?

Do you bring books to read because there will be bouts of awkward silence? What about pajamas? Do you bring onesies so there’s no temptation to unzip anything to save face from you liking him more than he likes you? Will there be food or does he have a private chef who cooks for him every night?

Then there’s the whole fact that I’m going to be married in less than two days. I’ve been sent a plane ticket, been told where to meet the car and go once I get there . . . but everything else feels . . . “Ugh,” I say into the silence.

There’s no manual on how to prepare for a fake marriage, nor for the unknown of the next few months.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hendrix

Overwhelmed is an understatement.

I glance around the suite at the Four Seasons Hotel Las Vegas and shake my head. It’s like a tornado and a hurricane hit the room all at once. The far end of the space holds racks and racks of clothing. When I said I needed a shopping budget to beef up my wardrobe and make me look the part of Jase’s wife, I didn’t expect to walk into the suite in Las Vegas and find a personal shopper complete with what felt like a whole store to take my pick from.

What I’d expected to find was Jase sitting there with that cocky smile and a how are we going to laugh our way through this one expression.

Instead, I was met with a team of people. First, the personal shopper came in and spent more than an hour walking me through outfit combinations and accessories that coordinated with each. I was measured and sized, and then all I had to do was say yes or no like some purchasing agent for an upscale company. If I said yes, it was to be shipped and delivered to Jase’s house. If I said no, it was placed on a rejection rack and carted away.

Then there were shoes, purses, and jewelry to accessorize with.

I felt like I was in some bizarre movie where I didn’t belong. One where I longed to call my mom and have someone to share this ridiculous scenario with. She’d laugh at how ludicrous this is and gasp with her hand over her mouth before asking me the same thing I’m thinking—how is this real?

The guilt in not telling her about this hits hard.