Chapter 1 - The Breakfast Trap
Odette Bellweather tried to ruin me with oatmeal.
That should tell you almost everything about the woman.
At seven fifteen on a gray Seattle morning, I walked into the Bellweather breakfast room wearing a soft cream robe, fuzzy slippers, and the serene expression of a person who had slept eight full hours and intended to keep making that everyone else’s problem.
The lake shimmered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft morning light stretched across the polished wooden table. A stone fireplace warmed the far wall. On the table sat smoked salmon, fresh fruit, cinnamon brioche, herb omelets, hand-cut pastries, ginger tea, coffee, and oatmeal so elegant it looked like it had received private education.
Odette stood beside the table in a cream silk robe, her blonde hair pinned into a flawless updo.
Her face did not move at first.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“What is this?”
I reached for toast.
“Breakfast.”
Kellan Bellweather, my husband of twelve days and actual stranger of fifteen, stepped into the room in a charcoal suit. Behind him came Tate Merrick, his chief legal officer and longtime friend, carrying a coffee cup like emotional support.
Kellan looked from Odette to me, then to the hotel-style spread.
Odette’s voice sharpened.
“I told you to make it.”
I smiled politely and slid a receipt across the table.
“I arranged it.”
Tate lifted his coffee to hide a smile.
Odette stared at the blurred total and went very still.
“This cost three thousand dollars.”
“You requested freshness,” I said sweetly.
Kellan sat, tasted the oatmeal, and paused.
That was the moment Odette realized she was losing the room.
He set down his spoon and looked at me with something dangerously close to interest.
“You are either lazy or dangerously efficient.”
I spread jam on my toast.
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
May you like
For the first time since our wedding, Kellan Bellweather smiled.
And that was when I realized my fake marriage had just become inconvenient.
