Marriage of Convenience, Real Feelings: Writing Silver Lies

I love a marriage-of-convenience romance because the contract is honest. Both people admit they need something—custody, credibility, cover—and pretend the rest can stay transactional. Silver Lies starts there and refuses to let them off easy.

One Client, One Hearing

She is a family-law attorney whose firm is one bad quarter from closing. He is a single dad on a Seattle hockey team with a custody hearing that requires stability on paper and chaos in the locker room. The lie they file together is supposed to be temporary.

Grumpy-sunshine is easy to label and hard to write well. I wanted the sunshine to be competence under pressure—not cheerfulness. I wanted the grump to be grief wearing a jersey, not mood for mood's sake.

Seattle as Pressure Cooker

Rain, rink cold, legal deadlines, and a city that notices when a athlete's plus-one changes. The setting keeps the lie visible. Every public appearance is evidence. Every private kindness is a breach of contract they both signed.

Why the Lie Has to Hurt

If you read my romances for high heat and emotional payoff, this one delivers—but only after the characters stop treating love like a clause they can strike through. The marriage saves them on paper. Staying honest is what saves them for real.