Trevor’s POV
The pen scratched against the heavy vellum, a sound as final as a gavel. I kept my hand over hers, feeling the frantic, bird-like skip of her pulse beneath my palm. She was terrified – a small creature caught in a golden cage – yet she didn't flinch. When she finally lifted the nib, Freya Miller was gone. In its place was a ghost – the future Mrs Stone.
I looked at her closely. She possessed a natural, startling beauty – long, dark hair and bright brown eyes that shone like starlight - even before the makeover. I had never seen anyone look so regal in an old, bobbled, woolly jumper.
Of course, I had to remind myself that this was strictly a business agreement. The fact that she was beautiful merely made the charade more tolerable, more believable. At least, that was the lie
