Husband for a Day

chapter 3

“You’re definitely not going ahead with this s**t, are you?”

Luca Cruz didn’t look up. He leaned against the edge of the sleek black marble countertop in his penthouse apartment, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms flexed as he slowly stirred his espresso. Calm, quiet, and maddeningly unreadable.

Across from him, his best friend and longtime business partner, *Jasper Lane*, sat with both hands clasped behind his head, exasperated.

“I am going ahead with it,” Luca replied smoothly, placing the cup down. “And did you get the file I asked for?”

With a heavy sigh, Jasper slid a thick brown envelope across the marble.

Luca took it with quiet interest and opened it. Inside were printed documents, photos, news clippings—*Savannah Leclerc*, the only daughter of Albert Leclerc, heiress to the Leclerc fortune, philanthropic darling, and recent subject of society gossip. Her résumé read like a billionaire’s dream child—ivy league education, fluent in three languages, director of two family-owned companies.

“She’s loaded,” Jasper muttered. “Why the hell would she walk up to a random man on the street and ask him to marry her?”

Luca flipped through the pages in silence, pausing on a candid image of Savannah at a charity event, laughing, unaware she was being photographed. Even in the photo, she looked… real.

“She thought I was broke,” Luca said absently, still staring at the image.

Jasper snorted. “Are you serious?”

“My bike broke down,” Luca replied with a shrug. “I was out of the Bugatti, no suit, oil on my hands. Looked like some grease monkey from a street garage. My stupid assistant didn’t get to me on time with the car.”

Jasper stared at him. “So let me get this straight. She saw you, thought you were poor, and then asked you to marry her. And now, instead of correcting her, you’re going along with it?”

Luca didn’t answer at first. He closed the envelope and laid it flat on the counter.

“I want to see where this goes.”

“Bro. That’s not curiosity talking—that’s insanity.”

“She offered divorce papers right after. Said it’d be over in a day.” He lifted his gaze to Jasper, his usual smirk returning. “Maybe I want to see what makes an heiress that desperate. What kind of secrets lie behind perfect designer smiles.”

Jasper stood. “You really think this is going to end well?”

“No,” Luca said coolly. “But since when have I cared about endings?”

As if on cue, his phone lit up on the counter. *Savannah Leclerc*.

Luca didn’t move to answer it yet. He just stared at the screen for a long second before picking it up and swiping.

He didn’t say hello.

He just said, “Where should I meet you?”

Luca stood in front of the floor-length mirror in his room, inspecting his outfit with a raised brow. A simple black round-neck tee, snug enough to show the muscle in his arms, paired with a distressed pair of dark denim jeans. To most people, he looked effortlessly laid-back—almost rugged. But everything he wore was outrageously expensive: limited edition Saint Laurent jeans, an Armani tee, and a jacket that probably cost more than an average car.

He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and then reached for his matte-black sunglasses, sliding them on as he grabbed his jacket off the leather stool.

The biker look was working.

He needed to sell the illusion. *The broke, hot stranger* she thought he was.

Just as he headed toward the elevator, *Jasper* called from the open kitchen, still shirtless, nursing a beer.

“At least have a damn proper wedding!” he shouted. “Let me be best man and make a speech about your poor life choices!”

Luca smirked, one hand on the elevator door. “Not a wedding. It’s a transaction,” he called back. “But I’ll let you hold the pen during the signing.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “That’s not even romantic!”

But the elevator had already swallowed him up.

***

The *streets of Los Angeles* were buzzing with late afternoon traffic, tourists with cameras, influencers posing in front of walls, and the distant echo of music from beachside restaurants. Luca weaved between cars on his sleek black Ducati, his movements fluid, precise—years of riding showing in how he moved like the city belonged to him.

Within minutes, he pulled up to a stylish but cozy *rooftop restaurant* nestled in West Hollywood. A hostess opened her mouth to greet him, but Luca gave a nod and walked past, like he’d been there a hundred times before.

He spotted *Savannah* immediately. She sat with her friend—*Naomi*, if he remembered correctly—with a large pair of sunglasses shielding half her face, a glass of water in hand. She looked elegant even though her shoulders were stiff, her posture guarded. The air around her screamed heartbreak and pride in equal measure.

Naomi saw him first.

And her jaw damn near dropped.

She blinked twice, scanning from his boots to his hands, to the way his shirt clung to his frame. “Holy... Savannah,” she whispered. “That’s your *fake husband*?”

Savannah turned. Her lips parted.

He walked up to the table, pulled off his sunglasses in one slow motion, and nodded politely. “Ladies.”

Naomi swallowed hard. “Wow.”

Savannah didn’t speak at first. She just stared at him. The sunlight caught on his hair, highlighting the strands of dark brown. His jawline looked criminally sharp, and even in a basic tee and jeans, he exuded quiet danger.

“You clean up… rough,” Naomi said, still shamelessly staring.

“I’m trying to keep up the poor boy act,” Luca replied coolly, sliding into the seat across from them.

Savannah finally found her voice. “I didn’t expect you to show up so fast.”

“You called,” he shrugged. “I figured husbands should show up when their wives call.”

Naomi almost choked on her drink. “This is insane.”

Luca glanced between them. “You both ready? We’re still doing this, right?”

Savannah nodded slowly. “We head to the courthouse in an hour. After that, I introduce you to my aunt at dinner and pretend I’m head-over-heels married so I don’t lose my company.”

“Right,” Luca said, drumming his fingers on the table. “And then we disappear from each other’s lives after the ink dries.”

“That’s the deal,” she said flatly.

Naomi leaned forward, voice low but mischievous. “Yeah, except you didn’t say the husband would look like a Calvin Klein ad gone rogue.”

Luca gave her a lazy half-smile. “I get that a lot.”

Savannah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at her lips. Just for a second, the tension cracked.

But Luca noticed. And tucked it away like ammunition.

“I’ll be outside with the bike,” he said, standing smoothly.

Naomi blinked. “Wait—you’re *taking her to her courthouse wedding on a bike*?”

Luca flashed a grin over his shoulder. “What, no limo? I thought poor boys were supposed to ride dirty.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving two stunned women behind.

Naomi leaned into Savannah. “Girl… if you *don’t* fall in love with that, I might.”

Savannah sighed, heart pounding in her ears.

One ride. One courthouse. One day.

And yet, she already felt like everything was spiraling.