The legality of the marriage certificate in your hands was unbreakable. The thickened paper notarized by a judge in the Austrian court had proven it. You didn’t know how or exactly why your father arranged the marriage—and you were even more clueless why the colonel accepted.

Regardless, you were here—standing on the threshold of an Austrian estate holding a marriage certificate with your name and his written in ink. With your newly arranged husband a few dozen feet behind you, carting in the belongings you brought with you.