The Billionaire I Married by Mistake

Nora Bennett woke with the distinct and deeply unpleasant certainty that someone had replaced the inside of her skull with a construction site.

The first thing she noticed was the pounding behind her eyes. The second was the dry, bitter taste in her mouth. The third was the fact that the sheets beneath her were far too soft to belong to any hotel she would willingly pay for.

She kept her eyes closed for several seconds, hoping that if she remained completely still, the previous night might return to her in a neat and orderly sequence. Instead, she got fragments.

Champagne.

A casino floor glowing under chandeliers.

A stranger laughing beside her.

Her own voice saying something she absolutely did not remember agreeing to.

Then nothing.

Nora groaned and rolled onto her back.

The ceiling above her was high, white, and edged with recessed lighting. Morning sunlight poured through a wall of glass overlooking the Las Vegas Strip, turning the room gold. The suite around her looked like something designed for people who considered a thousand dollars a reasonable amount to spend on a bottle of water.

She stared at the view.

Then at the silk sheets.

Then at the black dress crumpled on the floor.

Her dress.

That was not encouraging.

Nora pushed herself upright slowly and immediately regretted it. The room tilted just enough to remind her that several glasses of champagne had not, in fact, been a sensible dinner.

She pressed one hand to her temple and tried again to remember.

She had come to Vegas for Chloe’s birthday weekend. That part was clear. They had checked into a perfectly normal hotel, spent the afternoon by the pool, and promised each other they would not do anything reckless.

Which, in hindsight, had clearly been an invitation for disaster.

Nora remembered dinner. She remembered Chloe flirting with a bartender. She remembered losing forty dollars at blackjack and declaring the entire gambling industry morally corrupt.

After that, the memories became less dependable.

There had been another bar.

A rooftop.

A man.

Nora froze.

Not just any man.

A tall, dark-haired man in a black suit who had looked as though smiling was an activity he had abandoned years ago.

She remembered him because he had been impossible not to notice.

He had been standing at the bar alone, one hand around a glass of whiskey, with the kind of calm, controlled arrogance that made everyone else in the room seem slightly underdressed. He had sharp features, broad shoulders, and the sort of expression that suggested the world disappointed him on a regular basis.

And Nora, already several drinks past the point of good judgment, had decided to tell him so.

She shut her eyes.

“Oh, God.”

A low voice beside her said, “That was approximately my reaction.”

Nora stopped breathing.

Very slowly, she turned her head.

There was a man in the bed.

The man.

He was sitting against the headboard, fully awake, wearing nothing but black trousers and an expression of exhausted irritation. His white dress shirt was open at the collar and hanging loose from his shoulders, as though he had put it on in a hurry or had never properly taken it off.

His dark hair was slightly disordered, which somehow made him look even more unfairly attractive.

Nora stared at him.

He stared back.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Nora pulled the sheet higher over herself.

“Why are you in my room?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“This is my suite.”

Nora looked around again.

Of course it was.

Naturally.

She swallowed.

“Why am I in your room?”

“That is a better question.”

His voice was deep, controlled, and far too calm for the situation.

Nora glanced down at herself beneath the sheet. She was still wearing the black slip dress she had worn out the night before, though one strap had fallen from her shoulder.

Relief hit her so quickly she nearly laughed.

At least she had not woken up naked.

That was something.

A very small something, but something.

She looked back at him.

“Did we sleep together?”

His expression did not change, but something unreadable moved in his eyes.

“No.”

Nora exhaled.

“Good.”

“I am delighted you find that reassuring.”

She frowned.

“You do not?”

“I find very little about this morning reassuring.”

That was fair.

Nora pushed the tangled hair away from her face and tried to gather what little dignity remained to her.

“All right. Fine. We did not sleep together. I ended up in your suite. I can live with that.”

The man let out a slow breath.

“I suspect you may want to reconsider that statement.”

Nora studied him.

“What does that mean?”

He did not answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze dropped to her left hand.

Nora followed it.

At first, she did not understand what she was seeing.

There was a ring on her finger.

A simple gold band.

Her brain refused to process it.

She lifted her hand closer to her face.

The ring remained there.

Gold.

Solid.

Very real.

She stared at it for so long that the silence became uncomfortable.

Then she whispered, “No.”

The man closed his eyes briefly.

Nora looked at him.

“No.”

“Nora.”

She stiffened.

“How do you know my name?”

His jaw tightened.

“That is not the question you should be asking.”

Her heart began to beat faster.

“What question should I be asking?”

He raised his left hand.

There was a matching gold band on his finger.

Nora stopped moving.

The room seemed to go unnaturally quiet.

She looked at his hand.

Then at hers.

Then at him.

“No.”

“You have already said that.”

“Because it is still true.”

“I am afraid that does not appear to be the case.”

Nora threw the sheet aside and got out of bed too quickly.

The room tilted violently.

She grabbed the edge of the mattress and waited for the floor to stop moving.

“Careful.”

“I am fine.”

“You are visibly not fine.”

“I said I am fine.”

She found one shoe near the sofa and the other beside a champagne bucket.

That was also not encouraging.

Her handbag was on the table.

She grabbed it and searched frantically until she found her phone.

Thirty-two missed calls.

Fifteen from Chloe.

Six from her mother.

The rest from numbers she did not recognize.

“Oh, no.”

She unlocked the screen.

There were photographs.

So many photographs.

At least twenty had been sent by Chloe.

Nora opened the first.

It showed her standing beside the man from the bed, both of them beneath an arch of white flowers.

She was wearing the same black dress.

He was wearing the same suit.

There was a small chapel behind them.

Nora swiped to the next image.

She was laughing.

He was not laughing, but his arm was around her waist.

Next.

They were holding hands.

Next.

He was looking at her with an expression she could not understand.

Next.

A man dressed as Elvis was standing between them.

Nora closed her eyes.

“No.”

“Again,” the man said quietly.

She ignored him.

Her fingers shook as she opened a video.

Chloe’s face filled the screen.

She was laughing so hard the image was moving.

Then the camera swung toward the chapel altar.

Nora appeared on-screen.

Very drunk.

Very happy.

Very clearly saying, “I do.”

She stopped the video.

For several seconds, she could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing.

Then she turned toward the man.

“You married me.”

His expression became colder.

“That is an interesting choice of phrasing.”

“You married me.”

“You married me as well.”

“I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

“You do not look drunk.”

“I have been told I hide it well.”

Nora stared at him as though he had personally engineered the entire situation.

“This cannot be legal.”

“It is legal.”

“You do not know that.”

“I checked.”

That answer was somehow worse.

Nora narrowed her eyes.

“When?”

“Approximately forty minutes ago.”

She looked toward the bedside table.

His phone was there beside a glass of water.

“You woke up and checked whether our accidental wedding was legally binding?”

“Yes.”

“Before waking me?”

“You looked like you needed the sleep.”

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“That is very thoughtful of you.”

“I was not trying to be thoughtful.”

“Obviously.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Nora hated the fact that she noticed how tall he was.

She hated even more that the shirt hanging open at his collar showed enough of his chest to make concentration unnecessarily difficult.

This was not the time to notice anything about him.

She barely knew him.

Apparently, she had married him.

Those two facts should not have existed in the same sentence.

He walked toward a side table, picked up a glass of water, and handed it to her.

Nora stared at it.

“What is this?”

“Water.”

“I know what water is.”

“Your behavior suggests otherwise.”

She took the glass from him mostly so she would not throw it.

“What is your name?”

He paused.

For the first time, his expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough to reveal surprise.

“You do not remember.”

“That is why I asked.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Julian Cross.”

The name meant nothing to her.

At least, she thought it meant nothing.

Then something faint stirred at the edge of her memory.

Cross.

Cross something.

Business.

Hotels.

Finance.

Maybe real estate.

She looked at him more carefully.

“You are famous.”

His mouth tightened.

“I would not use that word.”

“Rich?”

“That depends on your definition.”

Nora gestured around the suite.

“My definition currently includes a hotel room larger than my apartment.”

He did not respond.

She searched his face.

“You are very rich.”

“I am comfortable.”

Nora laughed.

“That is the most offensive rich-person answer I have ever heard.”

For the first time, the corner of his mouth moved.

It was not quite a smile.

It disappeared quickly.

Nora took a sip of water and glanced down at the ring again.

Her stomach twisted.

“We need to fix this.”

“I agree.”

“Immediately.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She grabbed her other shoe.

“I will call the chapel. We can get an annulment.”

Julian said nothing.

Nora stopped.

She looked at him.

“What?”

“There may be a complication.”

She stared at him.

“Of course there is.”

He folded his arms.

“The marriage license was filed.”

“That is not a complication. That is the problem.”

“There is more.”

Nora slowly lowered the shoe in her hand.

“What did we do?”

He watched her for a moment before answering.

“We signed a prenuptial agreement.”

Nora went completely still.

“I am sorry?”

“A prenuptial agreement.”

“I know what the words mean.”

“Then I am unsure why you asked.”

“Because people do not accidentally sign prenups.”

“Apparently, we do.”

Nora put the shoe down before she threw it at him.

“How?”

Julian walked toward the table and picked up a folder.

A folder.

There was an actual folder.

He opened it and held out several pages.

Nora took them.

Her name was there.

Nora Elise Bennett.

His name was beneath it.

Julian Alexander Cross.

There were signatures.

Her signature.

His signature.

A notary stamp.

Nora read the first paragraph twice.

Then a third time.

She looked up.

“You had a lawyer at the chapel?”

“No.”

“Then how does this exist?”

“I had my attorney email a standard agreement.”

Nora stared at him.

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

“While drunk?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Julian’s expression became unreadable.

“You insisted.”

Nora blinked.

“I insisted on a prenup?”

“You said you refused to marry a billionaire without one.”

She covered her face with both hands.

“That sounds like something I would say.”

“I am beginning to understand that.”

She lowered her hands.

“You told me you were a billionaire?”

“You found out.”

“How?”

“You searched my name.”

Nora groaned.

“Of course I did.”

“Then you accused me of being emotionally unavailable, fiscally suspicious, and probably incapable of ordering my own coffee.”

She looked at him.

“Was I wrong?”

His gaze sharpened.

“You knew me for approximately three hours.”

“That is not an answer.”

For one brief moment, he looked almost amused.

Then his phone rang.

Julian glanced at the screen.

Whatever he saw erased the faint trace of humor from his face.

He rejected the call.

Nora noticed.

“Problem?”

“No.”

His phone rang again.

He rejected it again.

Nora looked at him suspiciously.

“That seems like a problem.”

“It is business.”

“On a Saturday morning?”

“My business does not care what day it is.”

The phone rang a third time.

This time Julian answered.

“What?”

His tone changed instantly.

Colder.

Sharper.

Nora turned away, pretending not to listen while she searched for the rest of her belongings.

“Yes, I know.”

Pause.

“No.”

Another pause.

His jaw tightened.

“How did they get that?”

Nora stopped.

Julian looked toward her.

“What happened?” she asked silently.

He held up one finger.

She did not appreciate being silenced but decided, for once, not to argue.

“When?” Julian asked.

He listened.

Then something in his face changed.

Not panic.

Julian Cross did not look like a man who panicked.

But the control slipped for half a second.

“Send it to me.”

He ended the call.

Nora waited.

He did not speak.

“What is it?”

Julian picked up his phone.

A message arrived almost immediately.

He opened it.

His expression darkened.

Nora walked closer.

“What?”

He turned the screen toward her.

It was a photograph.

The two of them leaving the chapel.

Her hand was in his.

His jacket was around her shoulders.

The gold rings were clearly visible.

Across the bottom of the image was a headline from an entertainment site.

BILLIONAIRE JULIAN CROSS SECRETLY MARRIES MYSTERY WOMAN IN VEGAS.

Nora stared at the screen.

Her hangover suddenly became the least of her problems.

She looked at Julian.

“How many people have seen this?”

His gaze moved to hers.

“Enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the story is already spreading.”

Nora felt the blood drain from her face.

“I have a job.”

“I assumed so.”

“My mother has social media.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“This is not funny.”

“I am not joking.”

She paced away from him, running both hands through her hair.

“This cannot be happening.”

Julian remained silent.

Nora turned back.

“We get an annulment today.”

His eyes stayed on hers.

“If it were that simple, I would already have arranged it.”

A cold feeling settled in her stomach.

“What are you not telling me?”

Julian did not answer.

That was answer enough.

Nora stepped closer.

“What are you not telling me?”

His phone rang again.

This time he looked at the screen and went completely still.

Nora had the sudden, unpleasant impression that whatever problem they already had was about to become significantly worse.

Julian answered.

“Yes.”

He listened.

His gaze remained fixed on Nora.

Then his expression hardened.

“No, do not do anything yet.”

Another pause.

“When was the will changed?”

Nora frowned.

Will?

Julian closed his eyes for one second.

When he opened them again, the controlled mask was back.

“Send me the clause.”

He ended the call.

Nora waited.

Julian looked at her.

For the first time since she had woken up, he seemed genuinely uncertain what to say.

That frightened her more than anything else.

“What clause?”

He said nothing.

“Julian.”

His jaw tightened.

“My grandfather died three weeks ago.”

Nora’s anger stalled.

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be. We were not close.”

She did not know what to say to that.

He continued.

“His will contains several conditions regarding control of Cross Holdings.”

Nora stared at him.

“And?”

Julian’s phone buzzed.

He opened the message.

Read it.

Then read it again.

The silence stretched.

Nora folded her arms.

“And?”

He looked up.

“One of the conditions concerns marriage.”

She felt something inside her sink.

“Of course it does.”

Julian’s eyes remained on hers.

“To receive full voting control of the company, I must be legally married.”

Nora blinked.

“For how long?”

He did not answer immediately.

Her voice rose.

“For how long?”

“Six months.”

The words hung between them.

Nora stared at him.

Then at her ring.

Then back at him.

“No.”

Julian let out a slow breath.

“I suspected you might say that.”

“You are getting an annulment.”

“Yes.”

“Today.”

He said nothing.

Nora’s eyes narrowed.

“Julian.”

He looked at her with the expression of a man who had spent his entire life making difficult decisions and had just realized that the most inconvenient one imaginable was standing in front of him wearing one shoe.

“Nora,” he said carefully, “I think we need to discuss our options.”

She stared at him.

“We have one option.”

“I no longer believe that is true.”

Her heart began pounding for an entirely different reason.

“What are you suggesting?”

Julian’s gaze dropped briefly to the gold ring on her finger.

Then returned to her face.

“That perhaps getting married last night was a mistake.”

Nora waited.

He continued.

“But ending it this morning may be an even more expensive one.”