I hurried down the stairs after hearing the commotion at the front door. The nanny had just announced that my "husband" had arrived, which left me utterly confused. Nathaniel and I had no plans to meet my family today—or any day, for that matter.
As I reached the bottom of the staircase, I saw a man standing awkwardly in our foyer. He wore mud-stained work boots, faded jeans with cement dust clinging to the knees, and a worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, muscular forearms. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and he clutched a familiar pink umbrella in his rough hands.
This wasn't Nathaniel. Not even close.
"Um, I'm looking for Juliana Johnson?" the man said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His accent was thick, nothing like the polished tones of the elite social circles my family inhabited.
Cameron Johnson stepped forward, looking the stranger up and down with undisguised contempt. "And who might you be?"
