Bourbon promises

I went to Las Vegas for the weekend and came back with a husband. Gideon James isn’t just any husband. He’s the successful CEO of a Las Vegas casino and hotel—and, as it happens, he was born in my small hometown in Montana. His family’s land is the very property my brothers are about to buy from his father. Our marriage isn’t exactly typical, either. I’m a teacher in my thirties, and I’m tired of men letting me down. I haven’t managed to find someone to settle down with, but I did find a man willing to help me have a child. And the fact that he looks drop-dead gorgeous in a suit is a definite bonus. In exchange, we’ll pretend to be newlyweds and convince his father to call off the sale—and make an offer to Gideon instead. You know, for the sake of the "happy family" we’re about to create. Gideon will stay in Bourbon Canyon, we’ll live out our dream, and his father will cancel the sale. Afterward, we’ll each go our separate ways. Except, the more time we spend under the same roof, the harder it becomes to remember that our relationship is a sham. It gets easier to forget that this arrangement has an expiration date. And it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that I want this marriage to be more than just a few promises made over a glass of bourbon.