I was rich, single, and connected, which meant a steady diet of beautiful women wherever I went.
I really did think I had the perfect life.
Until I went and married a supermodel I’d just met, and everything changed.
Of course there were choices. But the word annulment meant giving her up, and I never give up anything. Still, I was a bachelor at heart, and having a wife, well, I didn’t really know what to do with that.
After only forty-eight hours of marriage, I had already gone and screwed everything up.
Now I have thirty days to prove to my new wife that I’m husband material. There’s only one problem—I don’t even know what husband material means. However, I’m certain that won’t stop me from excelling at it.
My wife tells me it isn’t going to be easy. That I have numerous issues to overcome.
First, there’s my jealousy. It needs to be tamed. Did I flip over the fact that her latest picture was causing men around the world to do dirty things all over the covers she graced? Hell, yes. I couldn’t help myself though. When her photo went viral, my caveman instincts kicked in, and I demanded she quit her job and stay home—barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen. I can work on that, right?
Then there’s my mother. I need to convince her that my new wife is not the money hungry floozy she called her. Did my mother actually call her that? Yes. I can’t help it that my mother wants me to get rid of my new wife. The problem is what my mother wants, she always gets one way or another. Still, turning my mother’s opinion around can’t be that hard, can it?
There are many other issues, but according to my new wife, those are minor compared to the biggest one—she says I will never be able to accept being tied down.
Don’t worry—I got this one. I intend to prove to her in no uncertain terms that being tied up, down, or horizontal is just what this Upper East Sider needs.