I’m in a predicament of historic proportions. I’ve learned I can’t inherit my great-grandfather’s highly profitable business unless I’m married? Yes, an entirely ridiculous rule.

I live in the middle of nowhere with a herd of rescue cats and nary a boyfriend in sight. I’m also considered plain, sharp-tongued and overweight. And I’ve never, once been interested in marriage. Hence my reason for applying for a mail-order husband.

One week later I open my front door and scream with fright when I find a huge, satanic-looking alien on my doorstep.

Even my cats dart away in fear.

Apparently, I screwed up the application and my invite went on blast to the entire four sectors. Now I’m legally married in absentia to a flame-throwing Hyrrokin male fifteen years my senior. He growls when I mention divorce. Ugh. He needs to go.

But then…he gently coaxes a sick, feral cat into his massive arms and gives it medicine. My heart instantly melts and my body heats up like never before.

Well, maybe I can give this a try.