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I can still pinpoint the exact second when my life became two truths and a lie.
You don't forget delivering a mountain of fresh-baked sweets to a man like Dexter Rory.
I never wanted to see his scowling, bossy, brutally godlike face again, no matter how well he tipped.
If you told me I'd wind up wearing his ring, I would've died laughing.
But here I am, trying to cling to my sanity while I confront the undeniable.
Truth #1: I'm spiritually allergic to this man.
He's as grumpy as a storm, twice as unpredictable, and he thinks my life's work is the devil.
Truth #2: I need his money—it's the only Hail Mary I have to keep my family bakery alive.
That's why we're living a ginormous lie that can't last.
I mean, who would believe we're engaged when we can barely share the same oxygen?
But Dexter can be wickedly convincing when he needs a win.
And the way he kisses me dizzy right in front of my adoring grandmother...
Hello, butterflies.
What happens when the truth matters less by the day?
What happens when you start falling in love with a lie?
