A fiancée. I’m going to Chicago to pretend to be some Italian Stallion’s potential wife. Why an enormous hunk, boxer, and wealthy restaurateur needs a fake bride is normally beyond me. Then again, I’m not really paid to know why. I’m paid $100,000 to become his escort, or in cases like this, the woman he’s supposedly “going” to marry.The moment I met Antony “Tony” Fasano, I thought I would have dropped my ability to breathe. In my own twenty four years of life, I’d not seen anything like him. Clad just in a small towel precariously dangling from his hips-water droplets streaming down every inch of his muscular frame-I knew immediately, I’d finally seen male perfection in all its raw glory.What happened following blew me apart. It was now abundantly obvious why he required me…a fake fiancée.