A fiancee. I m going to Chicago to pretend to be some Italian Stallion s future wife. Why a massive hunk, boxer, and rich restaurateur needs a fake bride is beyond me. Then again, I m t paid to kw why. I m paid $100,000 to be his escort, or in this case, the woman he s supposedly going to marry. The moment I met Antony Tony Fasa, I thought I might have lost my ability to breathe. In my twenty four years of life, I d t seen anything like him. Clad only in a small towel precariously dangling from his hips water droplets streaming down every inch of his muscular frame I knew right then and there, I d finally seen male perfection in all its raw glory. What happened next blew me away. It was w abundantly clear why he needed me a fake fiancee.