I wake up buck-naked in a gazebo with a wedding ring on my finger and a tattoo of a flower on my chest. Not quite the honeymoon I'd planned, especially since the bride is my pastry chef, not my ex-fiancée. Last night, Calla and I were only supposed to be drowning my sorrows after my wedding went up in smoke. Instead, we got blackout drunk and married each other. Now, we're the town's hottest piece of gossip and the internet's latest obsession. Oh, and I've got a hundred thousand dollars in sponsored honeymoon content on the line. The only solution? Convince Calla to stick with this "marriage" act for six weeks. She gets the wedding-cake publicity she wanted. I keep my sponsors happy. There's just one problem: Calla's honest, adorable, and she's seriously too good at this fake-wife thing. Six weeks is all we need¿ but staying out of trouble, and out of her arms, might take a miracle.