“As I said, your options are limited. But they aren’t completely nonexistent.” He hesitated, so I nodded eagerly for him to continue. If there was even a shred of hope that I could pull this shitty situation out of the crapper, I’d take it. With gusto.

“Are you in a relationship?”

I frowned, now completely puzzled at his non sequitur question. I opened my mouth to answer, but he held up his hand. “Don’t answer me, please. Just consider. If you were, for example, about to marry a legal American citizen, that would be grounds to allow you to stay, provided the deal be sealed legally very soon.”

I gulped.

Shit. He wanted me to get married?

“And…there’s no other way?”

He looked at me. “Given your circumstances? Probably not.”

Crap. I had no boyfriend. I’d dated only a few guys since coming to California, and nobody—in any way, shape, or form—that could be construed as seriously. I worked too damn much and didn’t get out, and it had been months, really, while I focused on my Twitch TV channel and my other goals for career advancement…

Heath? Could I ask Heath to do it?

“My, um, roommate…”

“Heath?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. He’d do it. I knew he would.

“Be careful. Heath is openly gay. It’s probably clear from his social media, too.” I sat back, surprised that he knew all that about Heath. Before I could ask, he supplied the answer. “Heath is a friend of a friend. That’s how I know—and why he called me. Anyway, something like that—a gay man entering into a heterosexual union—would be a dead giveaway that this is a mariage blanc.”

A white marriage. Hey, one instance where my limited French actually came through for me.

A marriage of convenience so that I could stay in the US. Where, apparently, they really didn’t want me. Was it worth it?

My mind raced. If not Heath, then who? I needed to marry someone, goddamn it!

Sam asked me a few more questions, scribbling notes. The door was yanked open again, and this time, two people I’d never seen before entered. As there were no more empty chairs handy in my tiny little cell, they stood, looking straight at me and ignoring Sam.

One of them held my cell phone in his hand.

I held out my hand. “I want my phone, please.”

The two shared a look before he slowly bent to give it to me. I laid it on the table beside me. In doing so, I pressed the home button and the screen lit up with my text updates. There were at least five messages from Lucas, bitching me out for not replying to him.

Dumbass needed to take a chill pill and stop harassing me.

“Ms. Ellis, we’ve made note of the contacts and messages on your phone and have been able to confirm that you have been employed by a US company without the legal right to work in the United States. How—”

“I’m getting married!” I blurted.

Yeah. Those words came out of my mouth. My voice spoke them. It was definitely my voice. But I had no idea until the second they escaped my lips that that’s what I was going to say.

My entire body began to shake.

“You’re saying you’re engaged? To an American citizen?”

“Yes,” I nodded vigorously. “Um yeah, definitely.”

The other man grabbed a small pad of paper from his pocket and scooped up Sam’s pen. “Can you give us the name of your fiancé please?”

I glanced at my phone again. My contacts. I couldn’t make up a name—couldn’t channel my fourteen-year-old self and magic up a pretend boyfriend. It had to be someone in my contacts.

“Lucas,” I blurted again in that faraway voice. “My fiancé’s name is Lucas Walker.”