“Oh, it’s Sarah, all right,” he told the lawyer. “One hundred percent. She dyed her hair a dishwater brown and slapped on a pair of glasses.”

“Which would beg the question why?”

“Why what?” Kevin replied, smooth as an ice-cold slug of Grey Goose, but he knew what was being inferred. He inched his car forward, his mouth bitter with memories. The Rainsfords hadn’t thought he was good enough to marry their darling, shit-don’t-stink daughter, and it was clear Phillip Clarke shared their narrow-minded opinion. When Sarah refused to give him up, her parents arranged for her to meet with Phillip to draw up a prenup. Stupid bitch.

Well, Kevin had shown them who was in charge. Instead of taking Sarah to Central Park for the promised picnic, he’d driven the two of them to the airport for a “surprise getaway to Vegas, baby.” He’d crossed all the t’s and dotted his i’s. Had prearranged a spa day for her. While she was getting pampered, he’d snagged her driver’s license, cased the casino until he found a stripper who was similar in looks, height, and weight. Took a little bit of convincing and a thousand bucks, but it was totally worth it. An hour and a half later, he and “Destiny” exited the courthouse with a marriage license tucked in his back pocket. “Don’t forget,” the Clark County clerk had said as she handed over the document. “This license is only valid for use within the State of Nevada and must be used within a year from the date of issue.”

“Won’t be a problem, ma’am,” he’d replied. “Me and my little honey are planning on tying the knot tonight.” He’d given Destiny a big old kiss and slap on the ass for good measure, and then they’d strolled out of the office hand in hand. All that playacting had made the two of them horny, so she’d thrown in a BJ on the ride back to the hotel for good measure.