The Prince's Cinderella Bride

They had always been big on inappropriate sex and full of tales of devious female conniving. And big on underestimating him—though they weren’t wrong about him having wildly inappropriate...

Who was he kidding?

It was appropriate.

It felt appropriate.

It felt like a damn lightning bolt—illuminating to the point of scorching.

One enterprising journalist had caught a picture of them together and had gone off to investigate the court records of their divorce. Although apparently there were no court records. It must be a mix-up. It had to be a mix-up.

“Are you listening, Quinn?”

“Yeah, I hear you. You’re angry. You don’t know how it could have happened. I wish I had the answer for you.”

Philip sat back down and stared hard at the photo of Quinn and Anais. “What’s she wearing?”

“Workout clothes. She...runs. Or maybe boxes. I don’t know. She works at the rehabilitation facility. She probably exercises all the time. It wasn’t some kind of cheap ploy to get my attention.”

Even though it had gotten his attention, or just focused his attention.

“When did you start defending her? You never...”

“You never attacked like this before. I know you’re stressed out, but she literally did nothing wrong.” Nothing that was caught on camera, he prayed. “She’d been working out when I left Ben for the evening, and since she wanted to talk to me about his care, I went to speak with her. The documents she’s handing me in that photo are something to do with the medical care. I haven’t read them yet.”