6 Billionaires drive their wives too

At 8 am sharp on Saturday morning, I hear a car horn tapped lightly outside my window. I stick a hand out and wave to signal that I've heard and I'm on my way. Then I grab my weekend bag and sling it over one shoulder, casting one last glance around my apartment and praying that I've remembered everything.

The bag weighs about a thousand pounds. I wasn't sure what exactly to bring—careful research of the Mandarin Oriental's website told me it's a lot fancier than the type of restaurants or resorts I usually visit with friends. Those are more of the budget resort variety, and even then, we normally only go if there's some kind of package discount deal. I've never been somewhere like Mandarin Oriental. And Robin's compliments about my style aside, I'm not sure the outfits I own are fancy enough for this place, no matter how well-coordinated they might be.

Rich people can spot knockoff designer clothes from a mile away, I'm told. I don't know many ultra-rich people aside from Robin, and he's not that kind of person. He barely even notices if his own socks match, let alone if someone else's outfit is particularly posh or not.

Finally, I decide I've packed as well as I possibly can, and I close the door shut behind me and head downstairs. I threw on a cute sundress and hope it's the right thing to wear to something like this. On the curb, I pause.

Robin brought the Tesla. That means he's really showing off today. I suppress a smile and wonder who exactly this friend of his is. I've never heard Robin mention Shan, but if his other close friends and acquaintances are anything to judge by, he's probably from one of the other big competing tech firms.

Robin has a one-track mind, and that track is work. If you ask me, Shan made a smart bet with him years ago, gambling that Robin would never commit to anything other than his office.

The thought makes my heart sink a little, at least until I hear the driver's side door open. Then my heart stops altogether.

Robin looks resplendent in his favorite suit, the one I had pressed and steamed for him the other day. He comes around to my side of the car to take my bag, before opening the passenger door for me with a wink.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?" I ask, even though I have to suppress a grin to do it. "Husbands don't really open doors or carry their bags for them anymore."

"Yours does," he replies, in a low, confidential voice that makes my chest constrict.

As I step past him to slide into the car, his hand brushes my arm, just for a second and lightly enough that it could be a casual mistake. But it's a mistake that makes my belly tighten and my thighs clamp together.

What am I doing? For the first time, the full weight of what I've agreed to do this weekend hits home. Do I really think I'm going to be able to conceal my feelings for Robin all weekend? Especially in such close quarters, when we're pretending to be married.

My heart races as I watch Robin in the rearview, loading my bag into the trunk and then coming around to his side and settling in behind the wheel.

"I could have driven myself, you know," I babble, before my face flushes. "I mean, thank you, but—"

"Husbands drive their wives." He hesitates before he puts the car in gear and turns to face me. "Chunhua, I just wanted to say, before we go… I really need to go all in on this charade. Is that all right with you?" He smiles, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. "If you want to back out now, I won't blame you. Like I said, I know it's a lot to ask."

I square my shoulders, ignoring the rabbiting of my heart. No matter how worried I might be about my real feelings showing this weekend, there's no way I'm backing out now. The last thing I'd do would be to leave Robin in a lurch. Especially one like this.