The Dare

What do you do when you're allergic to cameras and the backpacking hottie you spent the summer with a year ago turns out to be Hollywood's sexiest man alive?
You avoid him at all costs.
What do you do when he drags you to a secluded beach and asks you to play a drunken version of truth or dare? You select truth, right?
Except I didn't. I took the dare, we're technically married and now I'm dodging cameras left and right trying to hide my relationship status and retain my normal life.

I've got 90 days to keep him at arms length and out of my bed, until my lawyer can execute the escape clause. If there's one thing I'm great at, it's keeping up my part of the deal.
Between Hollywood starlets, dodging the paparazzi and a late night skinny dipping excursion gone wrong all I want to do is join the mile high club on the corporate jet over and over again.

She's changed a lot from the girl I met in Europe. Stuffy, poised, workaholic. Some kind of no fun requirement embedded in her employment contract. She thinks it was a drunken dare and assumes I had no idea what I was saying or doing. She couldn't be more wrong. We're married and she's going out of her way to avoid her wifely duties.
I play make believe for a living. I can act like I don't want to push her into a corner and reenact every love scene ever written whenever she walks by. Enter stage right a hot mike and relentless entertainment reporters and our secret is out. Now I have 90 days to remind her how to have fun, keep her hidden from the cameras and convince her we belong together.