My family had maneuvered him, plotting in the background, using Brett in the service of our biggest con.

Dmitri reached for his briefcase on the opposite seat. “I had my lawyers draw up a contract for you.” He pulled a folder out. “Here. I printed it before we landed.” Our jet had an office. Natch. “Read this, and sign it.”

Ah, the dreaded postnup. With all that talk about trust and spells and potentially love, I’d found myself getting caught up in the fairy-tale-esque nature of our courtship. Now reality reared its head.

Because fairy tales didn’t exist.

Though I would probably be divorced soon, I felt a twinge of disappointment in him. I opened the folder, finding only a couple of pages. One was the postnup, the second an identical copy. Both had been signed by Dmitri in a bold, sharp scrawl.

I read it, my bemusement deepening. “This . . . this says once the marriage is consummated, I get half of everything in the case of a divorce. Pretty much no questions asked.”

“I want you to feel comfortable about the international ramifications of this marriage. That contract will be filed in both the United States and Russia.”

Talk about trust. Or else craziness. “Are you dicking with me?” I would take a picture of the page and text it at the earliest.

“No. I am not.”

Only one thing about the wording pinged my suspicion radar. “Is a consummation clause standard in Russian marriage contracts?” To work my con, I’d have to sleep with him. It fully sank in that Dmitri Sevastyan and I would be having sex. Soon.

“Is that objectionable?”

“No, of course not.”

“If you will . . .” He gave me a pen.

I flattened my left hand on the page to sign, but my ring glared at me accusingly. Damn it! I faced Dmitri. “Look, why don’t we take care of business stuff tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to mull everything over?” asked the grifter who was one signature away from five hundred million dollars.

I was having a crisis of identity! All because of this man. His craziness was catching!

“Nyet. I need you to sign this now. I told you I dislike uncertainty. Do me this service.”

As in, do him a favor? He looked unbending.

Think of Mom and Dad, I repeated to myself. I signed my name to both copies and kept my own. Just because I could bilk Dmitri for half a billion didn’t mean I would. Right? I only need a nibble. “Speaking of uncertainty, will you tell me what you meant by issues?”

I got the sense he regretted mentioning that. “We have all the time in the world to discuss such things. For now, let’s enjoy our wedding day.”

As a grifter, I should let the subject drop right there. Nothing should be allowed to get in the way of our wedding day—and night—enjoyment. Consummation equaled payout.

But as a woman utterly fascinated with this man, I said, “If you’d like to talk, I’m right here.”

He wasn’t budging. “I will keep that in mind.”

I glanced out the window. We were still on the driveway? A brook flowed alongside the drive. Squirrels played on the lichen-covered logs, twitching their tails between rays of afternoon sunlight. Magical.

Any minute now I would wake up in my depressing apartment and realize this had all been a dream. Surreal did not begin to describe my day. And it was far from over. “How long have you lived here?” I asked him.

“I never have. I bought it with the idea that one day I might have a wife and children. The property’s size lends it privacy.”

“Lemme guess, you bought this place about a year ago?” I asked, angling to find out about his near-death experience.

He didn’t bite. “Approximately.”

“How big is the property?”

“Thousands of acres. And miles of frontage.”

I raised my brows. “Miles of the Cali coast? That must have been expensive.”

“I hope you will find it worth the price.” He motioned toward the window.

The drive widened, opening up to a breathtaking scene.

Fields of windswept wildflowers. Sun-dappled water. A mansion perched on an oceanfront cliff.

The spectacular structure was modern with glass everywhere. Glass doors, soaring windows, even some transparent walls.

My jaw dropped. “It . . . this place . . . I . . . seriously?”

“Vika, your reaction is even better than I had imagined. And I imagined it countless times.”

I could barely wait for the car to stop. I scrambled out to see better, Dmitri right behind me.

I followed that stream all the way to the front entrance. To reach the door, we crossed square stepping-stones over the water. “How cool is that!”

We entered, and I about fell over. The stream meandered under the house. I knew this because a winding swath of the floor was glass. “Holy shit.”

The open layout meant the Pacific was already visible. French doors allowed in a sea breeze and the muted sound of waves. A large pool and a hot tub dominated the terrace out front.

Between breezes, food scents hit me. I followed them to a dazzling modern kitchen.

Two men were finishing up what looked like a banquet for a hundred people. Dmitri explained they were our chef and his assistant.

Our chef. Of course. Why the hell not? The two men spoke to Dmitri in French. He translated: “The refrigerators and larders will be stocked for days.”

“Oh. Um, that’s great.” I thanked them, then resumed my exploration. I started toward the water, but a stairway came into view. The contemporary steps were unconnected, appearing to float in the air.