Misdiagnosis in andrology, My Billionaire Husband

The adrenaline had faded into a dull thrum of anxiety by the time they hit the tree-lined avenues of the Hamptons. Here, the hedges were manicured with nail scissors and the driveways were longer than city blocks.

Conrad pulled the SUV over to the side of the road, a mile from the gates.

"Rehearsal," he said, turning off the engine.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face her. "From this moment on, you call me Conrad. Or Honey. Or Darling."

Jeanine grimaced. "I can't call you 'Honey'. It sounds fake."

"Try it."

"Conrad."

"Too stiff. You sound like you're reporting a tax audit."

"Honey," she tried. It came out like a question.

Conrad leaned in. The scent of leather and cedar filled her nose. He was close. Too close. "Look me in the eyes. Say it like you want to drag me into a closet."

Jeanine's breath hitched. She looked into his dark eyes. "Honey."

"Better."

Before she could pull back, Conrad leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn't a deep kiss, but it was firm, possessive. Jeanine froze. Her brain short-circuited.

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "Practice," he said, though his voice was slightly rougher than before. "We'll have to do that in front of them. Don't look like you're going to vomit next time."

Jeanine touched her lips. They tingled. "Right. Practice."

They drove through the iron gates of the Marks Estate. It wasn't a house; it was a limestone castle. A massive fountain in the driveway sprayed water into the air. A line of staff stood waiting.

Conrad grabbed her hand as they got out. He interlaced their fingers. "Squeeze if you need an out."

A woman in a Chanel suit burst from the front door. She bypassed Conrad completely and launched herself at Jeanine.

"Oh, you're real!" Eleanor Marks cried, wrapping Jeanine in a hug that smelled of expensive floral perfume. "You are even prettier than on the phone!"

Jeanine was being crushed. She looked at Conrad, eyes wide.

Conrad gently pried his mother off. "Mom, let her breathe. You're going to bruise her."

Eleanor wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm just so happy. I thought you were gay, or worse, asexual. I thought the family line was ending with you and your consulting reports."

"Nice to see you too, Mom," Conrad deadpanned.

From the top of the stairs, a voice dripped like acid. "So, this is the hired help?"

Aunt Clara stood there, holding a martini. She looked Jeanine up and down with a sneer.

Conrad's grip on Jeanine's hand tightened to the point of pain. "Clara. Watch your mouth."

Jeanine felt the tension radiating off him. He was ready to fight. But she didn't need him to fight this battle.

She straightened her spine, channeling the posture lessons she'd had as a child in the Singleton house, before everything went wrong.

She walked up the steps, extending a hand. "I'm Jeanine. Conrad's girlfriend. It's lovely to meet you, Clara. I love your dress. Is it vintage?"

Clara blinked, thrown off balance by the politeness. "It's... custom."

"Charming," Jeanine smiled.

Conrad watched her, a flicker of genuine respect in his eyes.