ARC Review: The Marriage Auction (Season One) by Audrey Carlan

FAITH

I would not cry. I’d shed enough tears over the past four years to fill an Olympic-sized pool. This step, however morally corrupt, was me taking control of my destiny. Ensuring the ability to provide for those I held close to my heart and escape the devil who would destroy any hope I had for a future.

“Sign here, and here.” An elegantly dressed woman who looked somewhere north of fifty pointed to the newest set of signatures that would be required on the lengthy contract sitting on the table before me. Her silky black hair was pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. The red suit she wore fit her slinky, thin form as though it was tailored to perfection. Probably was. The woman reeked of money, clout, and an air of importance. From the slick hairdo down to the four-inch spiked black stilettos that she walked on with zero concern for balance, this woman was filled with confidence. Something that had been beaten out of me over the last few years.

I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat and scanned the page more thoroughly before adding my signature. It wouldn’t do me any good to not fully understand the parameters to which I was literally signing my life away.

Three years.

Over a thousand days.

By the time the contract was up, I’d be twenty-seven and rich. Losing three years of my youth didn’t matter to me. Losing three years with those I loved was a harder pill to swallow. I gritted my teeth and re-read one particular section of the contract. This part reiterated what I was willingly committing to for the next three years.

Faith Marino agrees to the following:

• Serve as “wife/husband” to the highest bidder for a period of three years.
• Consummate the marriage agreement within fourteen days of the marital ceremony.
• Regular sexual intercourse with highest bidder as defined in Amendment A.
• Host and attend events as desired by highest bidder.
• Travel as requested.
• Reside in dwelling(s) provided by highest bidder.
• Participate in all required public relations/networking/media events as a happy, willing mate to highest bidder.
• Serve as “stepmother/stepfather” to any progeny highest bidder may have in his/her care.

My breath caught as a scratchy, ugly sensation swirled in my gut at reading that line item. Children had been mentioned only once in the inch-high stack of papers that comprised the insanely detailed contract I was signing. However, I’d focused my attention on the references to any accidental children that might come of a marriage where regular sexual encounters were involved. I wasn’t concerned with that part as I had an IUD to prevent accidental pregnancies. My heart started pounding as I lifted my head to look at the beautiful woman who’d introduced herself simply as “Madam Alana.”

“Excuse me, Madam Alana?”

Her inquisitive dark-eyed gaze snapped to mine from where she sat behind a glass desk that had nothing but a computer and a telephone on it.

“Yes, Ms. Marino?”

“Um, this part here. About being a stepmother to the highest bidder’s child?” Acid spun around like a vortex within my gut, but I held back the need to vomit.

She didn’t say a word, waiting patiently for me to spell out what I wanted to know—which honestly was all the more intimidating.

“Do a lot of the bidders have children?” I asked.

“A few, yes. Most of the bidders are aged twenty-five to forty-five. It stands to reason those men and women in that age bracket, with such affluence, might have children, no?” A French lilt to her answer made her explanation sound beautiful, even if the reality was frightening.

“Is it possible to ensure that I do n-not get a bidder with a child?” My voice cracked, clearly exposing my fear as much as I tried desperately to hide it.

Madam Alana narrowed her gaze. “No. If you are not willing to accept every item as highlighted and fully explained in the contract, perhaps this lifestyle is not for you.”

Dread, cold and slick, slithered over the surface of my skin.

I needed this deal.

It wasn’t only my life that depended on it.

I would need the money and power behind every bidder in the auction if I wanted to survive the situation I’d found myself in. Not signing wasn’t an option. I’d chosen this path as it was the surest way toward having the life I wanted, and it provided the funding I urgently needed. The initial deposit would go into my account the very minute the buyer signed and paid for his prize.

Me.

That money would go a long way, and I had to stick to the plan.

The fear, the disgust of selling myself in a way that felt very much like high-priced prostitution and self-degradation, was nothing compared to what I’d already lived through. Most importantly, it would give me what I wanted more than anything.

A way out.

The exhaustion, the endless hours of running, looking over my shoulder, and the infinite worry for the one soul who mattered more than any other would end tomorrow night.

One more day.