Untouched Until Her Ultra-Rich Husband

“Thank you,” Luli said with bewilderment to his retreating back.

“Your birth certificate is in there with your marriage certificate and my contact details,” his assistant continued. “Please reach out at any time with questions or concerns. I’m Mr. Dean’s feet on the ground here in Europe, but I can quickly direct any inquiries to another party if it’s outside my bailiwick.”

“Thank you.” Luli’s eyes were big as beach balls, glossy and bright. She blinked rapidly.

Gabriel nodded his thanks and steered her into the back of the car.

Luli’s hands shook as she tried to pull the certificate from the envelope without damaging its pristine condition.

“It is my birth certificate,” she said to him with awe. “This is me.”

“Good,” he commented.

Her hands continued to shake as she took great care folding the document exactly right so it fit into a pocket of her blue wallet. She transferred her passport and his assistant’s card and their marriage certificate into the same pocket, then secured the zipper, anchoring the little tab with her thumb.

“Are you cold?” He reached to take hold of her hand, only wanting to test her temperature.

She twisted her hand to squeeze his tightly and turned a wet look on him. “Thank you,” she choked, using her free hand to press the wallet into her navel.

“Why are you crying?” Alarmed, he reached for the box of handkerchiefs, each square of ultrasoft bamboo dyed a different shade from ruby to emerald to amethyst.

“Because—” Her voice broke. She dabbed one beneath her eyes, then beneath her nose. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for this, but I will. I promise.”

“For what? It was nothing.” He had paid a premium to fast-track the paperwork, but the fees were a tenth of what his chauffeur carried in his money clip for incidentals.

“No, I was nothing. Now I have the most important thing in the world. Me.” She wrapped both hands around the wallet and pressed it between her breasts, breathing still shaky. “Thank you.”

* * *

You told me what you were worth, Luli. Act like you believe it.

She had been acting. The whole time. Still was, especially as a handful of designers whose names she knew from Mae’s glossy magazines behaved with deference as they welcomed her to a private showroom complete with catwalk.

She had to fight back laughing with incredulity as they offered her champagne, caviar, even a pedicure.

“I—” She glanced at Gabriel, expecting him to tell them she aspired to model and should be treated like a clothes horse, not royalty.

“A full wardrobe,” he said. “Top to bottom, morning to night, office to evening. Do what you can overnight, send the rest to my address in New York.”

“Mais bien sûr, monsieur,” the couturier said without a hint of falter in her smile. “Our pleasure.”

“Gabriel—” Luli started to protest as the women scattered.

“You remember what I said about this?” he tapped the wallet that held her phone. “I need you to stay on-brand.”

“Reflect who you are?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you?” she asked ruefully. “I only met you ten minutes ago.”

“I’m a man who doesn’t settle for anything less than the best.” He touched her chin. “The world is going to have a lot of questions about why we married. Give them an answer.”

His words roused the competitor who still lurked inside her. She wanted to prove to the world she was worthy to be his wife. Maybe she wanted to prove her worth to him, too. Definitely she longed to prove something to herself.

Either way, she made sure those long-ago years of preparation paid off. She had always been ruthless in evaluating her own shortcomings and knew how to play to her strengths. She might not be trying to win a crown today, but she hadn’t been then, either. She’d been trying to win the approval of a woman who hadn’t deserved her idolatry.

She pushed aside those dark memories and clung instead to the education she had gained in those difficult years.

“That neckline will make my shoulders look narrow,” she said, making quick up-down choices. “The sweetheart style is better, but no ruffles at my hips. Don’t show me yellow. Tangerine is better. A more verdant green. That one is too pale.” In her head, she was sectioning out the building blocks of a cohesive stage presence. Youthful, but not too trendy. Sensual, but not overtly sexual. Charismatic without being showy.