It was supposed to be a simple weekend away to forget the heartache caused by my cheating husband. But the man sitting next to me in 1B has different plans. Cash’s whiskey-colored eyes and easy smile beg me to dance beneath the stars, kiss in the moonlight, and walk hand in hand down the streets of Boston. Unfortunately, life has other plans because I’m still married, and Cash James is the billionaire playboy standing between me and my dream promotion.

Lola Penelope Caruso is my favorite person to torment. When she’s had enough of me, her freckled cheeks go rosy, her tiny hands ball into fists, and she pulls at her signature tight braid and lets down her long red hair. I thought I'd seen her at her worst when we told her she’d have to move from New York City to a dump in Jersey with our law firm. But then a six-year-old showed up at my office with a note around his neck and my smile on his face, and she had to ask: Who's your daddy?

Lennox Kennedy is beautiful, loud, and the love of my life. She's also my ex-girlfriend. The first time I saw her after ten years apart, I slammed into the plexiglass minutes before our game was set to begin. The second time I threw up. The third time's a charm apparently because as my fiancée and I walked into an appointment to meet the woman hired to plan our nuptials—there she was again. Obviously, I did what any smart man would do—I called off the wedding. I don't have a plan per se, other than winning back the only girl I've ever loved.

Beckett Langfield is grumpy, rich and hates kids. I’m an overworked, overstressed, and overweight single mom. The only reason we’re getting married is because he needs to fix a PR disaster and I am available. As in sitting next to him, in a bar, when he has this brilliant idea. Considering I just got divorced, I’m not looking to do that again. But Beckett makes me an offer that I literally can’t refuse, so I don’t.

With green eyes and an easy smile, Frank McCabe stole me away from the nightmares that awaited me at home. But the son of the Irish Mob would never be mine. I belonged to the Italians. And the moment my mother sold me to the head of the Italian Mafia, I became the one the people of Boston were warned about. The only person more feared than me in our city is the Irish Ghost. When I finally flee my marital prison with my sons and my sister in tow, I unwittingly run straight into the ghost of the Irishman who died in a fiery explosion years ago.