My Husband Faked Our Love

Twenty-three million people are watching me marry the man who tried to kill me.

They just don't know it yet.

Asher Cole never left my hospital bed for two years.

He told the cameras I forgot everything except how to love him.

He told me we'd been together seven years, that I crashed the car going out for his birthday cake.

He never let me learn to drive again.

He said my best friend Mia moved overseas, and somehow she never called once in two years.

He didn't know that cedar cologne makes a nail drive straight through my temple.

At the altar his cuff slides back and the smell hits me and the whole night caves in.

He was driving.

Mia was in the passenger seat, his mistress, my best friend of twelve years.

I was in the back with my phone recording the two of them planning to take my company.

He looked at me in the mirror and said I couldn't get out of that car.

Then he steered us into the rail.

For two years he signed eleven documents in my name with a hand that wasn't mine.

The officiant smiles and asks if I take this man.

I reach into my bouquet.

I pull out the recorder I lifted from his safe this morning.

I look straight into the lens, into all twenty-three million of them, and I press play.

***

"Smile for the twenty-three million people watching, Nora."

Asher's fingers dug into my waist, bruising the skin beneath my silk gown. Behind us, the massive LED screen flashed a towering hashtag: #TheMostDevotedHusband.

"I am smiling, Asher," I said, keeping my teeth gritted together.

"Make it reach your eyes," he muttered, waving to the cheering studio audience. "You look like a hostage."

"Maybe because I feel like one."

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that fooled everyone in the room. "Don't start this today. Not in front of the cameras."

"Mr. Thorne," the interviewer, a woman wearing sharp scarlet lipstick, thrust a microphone toward us. "Two years ago, your fiancée founded Vale Technologies. She was a titan in Silicon Valley. Now, she rarely leaves the estate. How has the transition been?"

"I handle the heavy lifting now," Asher said. He adjusted his silk tie. "Nora's health comes first. I don't even let her drive anymore."

"You forbid her from driving?" the interviewer asked, her eyes wide.

"To protect her," he answered smoothly. "The roads are too dangerous for someone in her fragile state. One small panic attack behind the wheel, and I could lose her forever."

"You're so protective," the interviewer cooed, turning to the audience. "Isn't he wonderful?"

The crowd erupted into applause.

I stared at the blinking red light of the center camera. Two years ago, I commanded boardrooms. I negotiated million-dollar mergers. Now, I needed an escort to visit the grocery store.

Asher reached over and grabbed my left hand, lifting it to his lips for the audience to see. The sudden movement made his gold cufflink slide down his wrist. A heavy wave of cedar cologne rushed into my nose.

A sharp, piercing pain spiked through my right temple. It felt like a rusted nail driving directly into my skull.

I flinched, pulling my hand back a fraction of an inch.

Asher's grip tightened like a vice.

"Are you alright, darling?" he asked. His voice oozed fake concern.

"I'm perfectly fine," I managed to say. I forced my jaw to unclench.

"She gets these headaches," Asher explained to the host. "Side effects from the trauma."

"Vale Technologies just launched the new quantum processor series," the host pointed out. "Nora, you drafted the original blueprints for that project. How does it feel to see it hit the market?"

I opened my mouth to speak. "It feels—"

"It feels overwhelming for her," Asher cut in, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "The technical jargon stresses her out these days. The doctors advised us to keep her away from the stressful side of the business."

"I can answer the question, Asher," I said, keeping my voice light, though my eyes locked onto his.

"There's no need to strain yourself, sweetheart," he insisted.

"She's so modest," the host laughed. "Speaking of the business, the media had a field day when the Vale Trust transferred its voting rights to you, Asher. Some critics called it a hostile takeover."

"Critics will say anything for a headline," Asher scoffed.

"It was a complete transfer of power," the host noted. "Handing over the controlling stakes of your mother's trust. Letting Asher manage the entire Vale portfolio while you recover."

"She signed the power of attorney right before the accident," Asher answered for me. He ground my knuckles together. "It was her idea."

"I wanted him to have full control," I lied, keeping my tone entirely flat.

"Was it a difficult choice to step down entirely?" the reporter asked me directly.

"Asher makes all the choices now," I said.

He shot me a warning glance. "Nora realized that family matters more than profit margins. The trust is safe with me."

I couldn't even recall the clauses in that document. Only the blank spaces, the heavy oak desk in his office, and his urging voice telling me to just sign on the dotted line.

The interviewer clasped her hands against her chest. "It's a modern fairy tale. A tragic accident, memory loss, and a partner who stayed through the darkest times."

Asher leaned into the microphone. "It wasn't easy. The doctors said she might never walk again. She might never remember her own name."

"But she remembered you," the host prompted.

"She forgot everything," Asher said, staring directly into the lens. "She only remembers loving me."

The studio audience let out a collective, sympathetic sigh.

My nails bit into my palms. An amnesiac doll. A hollow vessel filled only with devotion for the man who controlled her bank accounts. That was the character he wrote for me.

I shifted my weight, bringing my bridal bouquet higher against my chest. White roses and baby's breath brushed my collarbone. Deep inside the stems, my index finger found cold, hard plastic.

The voice recorder.

I had pulled it from the wall safe in his study at dawn, right before the makeup artists arrived. He thought I didn't know the combination. He thought I didn't know a lot of things.

"It takes a strong man to carry that burden," the host said, wiping a fake tear from her eye. "And now, you two are finally making it official."

"We wouldn't want to wait another day," Asher said.

"Let's move to the main event," the officiant announced, stepping into the center of the stage. He wore a crisp white suit and carried a leather-bound book. "The vows."

The stage lights dimmed, leaving a single, bright spotlight hitting the two of us.

"Are we ready for this?" Asher whispered. He leaned his mouth close to my ear, hiding his face from the cameras.

"More than ready," I replied.

"You look pale."

"It's just the heat from the lights."

"Don't ruin this broadcast, Nora. The shareholders are watching. The board needs to see stability."

"I know exactly who is watching."

He pulled back, searching my face for a fraction of a second. His brow furrowed. I kept my expression blank, offering him nothing.

"Good," he muttered. "Just smile and say your lines."

The officiant cleared his throat, tapping his microphone. "We are gathered here, live across the globe, to witness the union of Asher Thorne and Nora Vale."

The camera crane swooped down, hovering just inches from my face. The red recording light glared at me like a single, unblinking eye.

"Asher," the officiant started. "Do you take Nora to be your wedded wife? To live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health?"

I tuned out the rest of the standard vows. My thumb traced the textured edge of the recorder hidden in the flowers. The plastic felt warm against my skin.

"I do," Asher said loudly. His voice echoed through the massive studio, confident and unwavering.

The officiant turned to me. "And Nora. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Silence stretched across the stage. The teleprompter operator paused the scrolling text. The audience held their breath.

"Nora?" Asher prompted. His tone dropped an octave, carrying a sharp edge meant only for me.

My lips parted slightly, my thumb finding the small, ridged switch on the side of the hidden device, resting right against the play position.