The Magnate's Bride : A Small-Town Secrets, Holiday Homecoming Billionaire Romance, livre ebook

One out of four. A twenty-five percent success rate. Nadia Patel has been sleeping on the cot in the corner of her Brooklyn studio for three nights trying to salvage the commission, and the Diwali Lights Gala at the Plaza is in four hours, and she promised the event coordinator a set of six.
The phone keeps buzzing. Three missed calls from Willow Creek Memory Care: her mother was found in the hallway at three in the morning, confused, asking for Nadia's father. He has been dead six years. He left the studio when Nadia was twelve with one brown leather suitcase, the one from their honeymoon to Jaipur, and clicked the door shut behind him rather than slamming it, as though leaving your wife and daughter were something you could do politely.
The landlord's knock comes at eleven-thirty, right on schedule. Nadia asks him for twenty-four hours.
At the gala, a friend texts her: *Rohan Kapoor is here. His father owns half of Manhattan. Make eye contact.*
What Rohan eventually puts in front of her is a folder. Two years. They live together, they appear together at events and family functions. In exchange, he covers the six thousand a month her mother's care costs, he saves the studio, and he has a cheque delivered to a man named Sal Mancini by noon, because her brother Dev owes Mancini thirty-two thousand dollars and is hiding in a motel in Astoria on a prepaid phone, eighty dollars to his name from pawning their father's jacket.
There is also a clause in the folder assigning the intellectual property in everything she makes. Every design, every glaze formula, every technique she develops, for two years, all of it his.
And much later, in a box of old letters, she finds proof that the two families were tangled together long before either of them was born.
A contract-marriage billionaire romance about clay that remembers every touch, a woman who promised herself at twelve that she would never need anyone again, and the price of breaking that promise. It ends in a studio full of eight-year-olds being told that their first pot will collapse, and that this is good; closed-door.