And she needed a favor--the kind that takes nine months to deliver.

We had it all worked out, from the no-touching policy on our wedding night (her rule) to the no-falling-in-love decree (mine). She'd marry me, I'd give her the means to have the baby she'd always wanted, and one year later we'd amicably part ways with no hassle, no demands, and certainly no regrets.

After all, Bianca DeRossi and I are experts at infuriating one another--we've been doing it since we were kids. Trouble is, she grew up gorgeous and feisty, and she still knows exactly how to get under my skin.

And that wedding night? Well, it doesn't exactly go down hands-free.

Then she moves in with me, and I really start to lose my mind. From her sexy little pout to her wicked sense of humor to those meatball sandwiches she makes just because she knows they're my favorite . . . I find myself wanting to break every rule we put in place.

Our story was never supposed to end with happily ever after.

But call me crazy, I just might be in love with my wife.