Chapter 1
I'm five-four and 192 pounds.
One day, a woman in an expensive suit introduces herself as Mrs. Holloway and hands me a contract.
"Sign this, and you'll become my heir's wife."
My grandfather needs surgery, so I sign it.
Three days later, I walk into the Holloway estate and realize there's one problem.
The Holloways don't have one heir.
They have two.
Alistair Holloway, the golden heir. Tall, lean, perfect grades, student government president.
Kieran Holloway, the other heir. Taller, broader, heavily muscled from years of boxing.
Girls all over campus stuff their lockers with love letters, and neither of them cares.
And they both fall for me.
--
My name is Tate Jennings. Nineteen. Five-four. A hundred and ninety-two pounds.
I've always been strong. Freakishly strong. The kind of strength that makes people uncomfortable instead of impressed.
I learned to hide it when I was little. At school, I got good at pretending I couldn't lift something when everyone else was struggling with it.
I also got used to ignoring the way people stared at me like my body was public property.
What girl doesn't dream of being delicate? The kind of girl some boy can pick up and carry like she weighs nothing?
Then, one Saturday, everything changes.
A black sedan loses control and comes barreling straight toward my dad's restaurant.
Through the window, I can see the restaurant is packed.
Dad is carrying a fresh pan of his famous slow-cooked ribs to a table.
I don't think. I throw myself in front of the car and slam both hands onto the hood.
Tires scream against the pavement. Two paving stones crack under my feet. The car stops less than two feet from the storefront.
Through the windshield, an old woman sits in the back seat, white-haired and trembling.
The next morning, she walks into Jennings' Grill.
"Tate." She sets down her cup. "What if I offered you a different life?"
"My grandson needs a fiancée. One year."
The older Mrs. Holloway slides a contract across the table.
"For one year, you'll go with him to family events and public functions and keep up appearances."
"In return, the Holloway family covers your grandfather's medical bills in full, purchases the building your father's restaurant sits in, and pays for the rest of your time at Aldworth University."
Dad's knuckles go white around his coffee mug.
Grandpa's surgery can't wait. The restaurant is three months behind on rent.
My acceptance letter from Aldworth is sitting on my nightstand, and I can't even afford the housing deposit.
I read every line of that contract.
"Deal."
Mrs. Holloway smiles.
"But I have one condition," I say.
She raises an eyebrow.
"Can you throw in health insurance too? Doctor visits are expensive, and I'd really like to be covered if I get sick."
Under the table, Dad stomps on my foot.
Mrs. Holloway laughs out loud.
That Sunday night, I haul two suitcases up the steps to the Holloway family's estate. The Holloways had arranged for me to live here instead of in the dorms.
The driver offers to help. I tell him I'm fine.
The second I set them down, one of the wheels pops off and goes rolling into the flower bed.
The front door opens.
Alistair Holloway stands there in a white button-down, the second button undone and his hair still damp. His sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and cold eyes make me feel like I've already wasted his time.
He looks me over, from my round face to the shirt stretched tight across my waist, then down to the broken suitcase handle in my hand.
"What did the suitcase do to you?"
"It looked expensive. I got nervous."
He pauses, like he doesn't expect me to talk back.
"Three rules." His voice goes flat. "First, don't touch me when no one's watching. Second, don't call me your fiancé when the family's not around. Third, don't mistake any of this for love."
He turns to walk inside, then stops.
"My grandmother has never arranged a fiancée for me before. She didn't even consider Serena Wynn."
He looks back at me, his expression cold.
"So what exactly is so special about you?"
I look down at myself.
My loose T-shirt can't hide my thick arms, and my thighs are squeezed tight in my jeans.
I feel like I've shown up to a black-tie party in a hoodie and sneakers.
What's so special about me?
Maybe the fact that I'm spectacularly fat.