I’m in a predicament of historic proportions. I’ve learned I can’t inherit my grandfather’s highly profitable business unless I’m married? Yes, an entirely ridiculous rule. I live with a herd of rescue cats and nary a boyfriend in sight. I’m also considered plain, sharp-tongued and overweight. And I’ve never, once been interested in marriage. Hence my reason for applying for a mail-order husband. The next morning I scream with fright when I find a huge, satanic-looking alien lurking on my doorstep. Even my cats dart away in fear. Apparently, I screwed up the application and my invite went on blast to the entire four sectors. Now I’m legally married in absentia to a flame-throwing Hyrrokin male fifteen years my senior. He growls when I mention divorce. Ugh. He needs to go. But then…he gently coaxes a sick, feral kitten into his massive arms and gives it medicine. My heart instantly melts and my body heats up like never before. Well, maybe I can give this a try.