Enemies to French Kisses by Elsie Woods

It was just a little amnesia, the doctor said. Then why is my arch enemy calling me “wife”, and how did I end up feeding his cat?
I don’t care how good he smells, I will not let hotshot, womanizer Marc Lemaire traipse all over my professional reputation like it’s a square dancing floor. He is just another arrogant idea-thief, and I escaped small-town Texas to make a name for myself in the city of lights.
But when a minor incident with my Vespa lands Marc in the emergency room, the words that escape his lips have me collapsing onto the gurney. Who is this “wife” he’s talking about? He can’t be serious… how badly did he hit his head?
Now I’m stuck at his (super fancy) apartment, feeding his (world-dominating) cat, while pretending to be his wife for the sake of his (hopefully temporary) amnesia.
Turns out, there is a lot more to Marc Lemaire than meets the eye.