“Elise,” he says, his tone letting me know he’s serious.

“Yes?”

“Earlier today, during the ceremony, did you think about . . .?” His voice trails off as the unfinished question hovers like thick smoke.

“It’s hard not to think about Eduardo. But mostly, I thought about how incredibly different this is because we’ve been so open about everything. What about you? Did you think about Hannah?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he scrubs a hand over his chin as if in deep thought as we reach the steps of the Ferris wheel. “I don’t know if this makes me sound totally calloused, but I so rarely think about her.” I pump a virtual fist because surely that’s a con, that he doesn’t even think about his first love. “Sometimes it feels like what happened between us was so long ago, it’s like it was another lifetime.”

“And you were a different person?”

He nods as he holds open the gate at the top of the steps for me. “I think I was in some ways.”

The ride attendant says hello and gestures to one of the Ferris wheel cars. We go inside. “What’s the biggest difference between the Christian of today and the twenty-one-year-old you? Besides nine years,” I add, since I bet he’ll go for some sort of age punchline. Could that be a con? Maybe he’s not too serious about anything. Yes, that will definitely keep the chains up high around my heart if he’s simply a shallow fellow.

He wiggles his eyebrows and punches his stomach. “Abs are still chiseled.”

“I knew you were going to say something like that.”

He loops his arm over my shoulders. “But they are. Chiseled.”

I pat his belly. “Yes, and I like them. But I’d like you if your belly was soft.”

“You would?”

I laugh and tap his temple. “I like the upstairs. That’s what entertains me. So entertain me. Tell me something else.”

And yes, there it is. I’ve found it. Christian is entertainment, pure and simple. He’s fun and games. That’s a pro, but in the end, it’ll be a con when he can’t take things seriously. When he can’t take me seriously. And a good con, because it’ll protect me. It’ll keep the lemon gumdrop center of me from melting. Besides, peeling away his layers is wise. The more I know, the less likely I can be taken advantage of again. Knowledge is power.

“Tell me something I wouldn’t recognize about you nine years ago,” I add.

The car cranks loudly, making its first circle as he taps his chin. “I was more wound up then. Like I was turbo-charged and caffeinated.”

I squint, trying to picture a manic Christian. “I can’t see you that way at all.” He has a relaxed ease about him. Perhaps that’s because he’s a true man of leisure. Young retirees can come and go as they please.

“I was like a coiled spring when I was twenty-one. I worked non-stop. I wanted so much. I think the fact that I’d had so little focus in uni for a while changed me. Once I had it, I was filled with the need to do things. To make money, to buy and sell, and keep flipping investments into bigger investments,” he says, as the car whirs higher in the air then stops as more passengers get on below.

“And all that ambition played a part in your marriage not working out?”

He nods. “We didn’t want the same things in life. We didn’t want the same things from the marriage. I suppose that’s similar to what happened to you.”

I scoff. “Safe to say we wanted very different things.”

The car ascends to the top of the wheel, rising in the twilight sky above the top of the other rides. The panorama of the capital city comes into view—palaces and canals, and all the twinkling red, white, and green lights of the park below us.

“But really, the hardest part of my marriage not working out was reconciling that I wasn’t like my father,” Christian adds, and I jerk my gaze back to him. This is the first time he’s mentioned his father.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been married and divorced three times. I think that’s another reason my grandfather was so specific about marriage in the details of his company handover. He didn’t want us to wind up like my dad, especially since Dad hurt my mum so much.”

The picture of him fills in, details and angles becoming crisper and clearer, and another pro reminds me of its existence—the way Christian cares for his mom. Hell, the woman herself is a pro in the list; she’s a doll, and I love her. “He was looking out for you, and for his daughter, in a way.”

Christian nods as the ride circles low then rises once more. “He didn’t like the way our dad treated our mum. He wanted to see us all happily together forever like he was. I think Erik got that from him.” He hums, a sad little sound. “And look at us, all split up, just like dad. But it’s for the best, for me at least. I’m completely content with my single life.”

There.

That’s it.

The big con.

He’s married to his lifestyle, and that’s exactly what I needed to know. And what I wanted to hear, in fact. It’s better this way. Knowing he’ll never fall in love makes it easier to enjoy the pure entertainment value of Christian Ellison. Who cares if he has so many pros? They won’t ever amount to anything that can hurt me, since we’ll never truly get close enough.

He grabs my hand. “And I’m pretty content with our arrangement so far. With one exception.”

Oh. Perhaps there’s an even bigger con. A girl can hope. “What’s that?”

When we reach the top once more, the ride slows as it begins letting people off below us. “It’s our wedding night and we’re not screwing right now. Instead, we’re talking about our previous marriages. That’s backward.”

I laugh. That is indeed a drawback, but it’s easily rectified. “In our defense, screwing is an inevitability.”

Sex with Christian sounds delicious, and a clear pro. In fact, it sounds so delicious, I’m pretty much done with the fun and games of Tivoli, especially since I know this marriage will be like this park—just fun and games, no matter how many times he’s thoughtful and asks how I am.

As the Ferris wheel chugs down, I tug him close, and whisper, “Want to get out of here?”

He lets out a dirty groan. “It’s all I want. To get you back to my house and show you exactly what a wedding night should be like.”

We exit the ride and practically race past the sparkling lights in the center of the park. This might not be the field of flowers I dreamed of as a little girl, and it’s not the vineyard where my family toasted with Eduardo and his friend. Instead, I’m at an amusement park, with a husband who hardly asks anything of me, but the glittery setting is a fairy-tale land in its own strange, unexpected way.

Do fairy-tale heroines have hot sex?

Of course they do.

Especially if they get married to save the hero’s brother’s company.

A fresh urgency powers us as Christian takes my hand and guides me through the park. We have to weave through the carnival games to reach the closest exit, marching past a group of rowdy teens playing basketball.

They’re having a blast, and I am too.

Until someone shouts duck and a basketball slams into the back of my head, knocking me down.

21CHRISTIAN

I open my palm. “Take these.”

She pops the two Tylenol in her mouth and chases them with a glass of orange juice I give her.

“I’m shocked.”