Our marriage is fake. But our baby is real. My ex-fiancé handed me over to one of his buddies. I’m a prop. A plaything. A fake wife. I can tell when Damian Oakman looks at me what he wants: Me, on my knees, begging him for faster, harder, more. With washboard abs and an icy, piercing stare, part of me wants to give it to him. And if I want to survive this cruise, I have to do exactly that. I have to play the part: Perfect wife. Perfect life. I wanted to hate it. I wanted to hate him. But as Damian’s hardened defenses peel away one by one, so do my clothes… And so does my resistance. Before long, I’m the one moaning for just one more touch. It’s all a web of lies. I don’t know what’s real or what’s fake. All I know is this: I belong to the hitman now. And nothing will ever be the same.