He needs a wife in order to save the vineyard. I need a place to live with my four-year-old daughter.

 

All I have to do is pretend I’m madly in love with Beckham Lawrence, and I get to live rent-free for the next year.

 

There’s just one problem.

 

Beckham Lawrence hates me.

 

The last thing I expect is for the tattooed grump to give my daughter the bedroom of her dreams.

 

Or for him to read her bedtime stories.

 

Or for him to fight for her when her sperm donor makes a surprise appearance after all this time.

 

This was just supposed to be pretend.

 

But with every day, I start to imagine what it would be like for him to call me his wife and mean it.