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I shushed her as Emmie made another displeased sound. “I’m looking at the marriage license right now, Abigail. It was emailed to me an hour ago. Mieke checked it as well. It’s legit. Everything was filed correctly. You are officially Mrs. Christian Vaughn.”
As if I’d taken a physical blow, all the oxygen was suddenly pushed from my lungs, while a wave of pain exploded inside me. “Wh-what?”
How did she know his name? I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Hayat knew about my relationship with Vaughn, what he’d meant to me. She thought he was nothing more than my professor whom I dreamed about every night.
My head began to pound right along with my heart. I was dreaming. This had to be a dream. One that was a mixture of sweet and terrifying. Was I really Vaughn’s wife? But…how? I didn’t remember getting married—or being asked. I would have remembered something that important, damn it.
And holy shit, if it was true, what the fuck was I going to tell my parents?
“Aunt Emmie, I swear—”
“Who the hell is Christian Vaughn anyway?” she demanded, cutting off my protest.
“What did you say?” I choked out, needing her to clarify.
“It’s right here in black and white, Abi. You married Christian Victor Vaughn on Thursday of last week in Creswell Springs. Who is he? How long did you know him? Gods, we need him to sign a postnuptial agreement.” She kept talking, throwing questions and commands at me that she expected me to answer and follow through with.
But I didn’t hear anything she said. My head was spinning. With a cry, I hung up on a still-ranting Emmie. Which was about as dangerous as someone shooting at Sammy’s megamansion.
Breaths coming in gasps, I nearly tripped as I got out of bed, one foot getting tangled in the covers. Heart pounding, I stumbled half blindly to the door. Fumbling it open, I crashed into the wall in my rush to get to the stairs.
A flicker of hope burned through me as I staggered down the steps and out the front door. Giant tears spilled down my cheeks as I got it open and stepped onto the porch. “Vaughn!”
Footsteps pounded behind me. “Abi, what—”
Ignoring Hayat, I jumped down from the porch and twirled in a circle, looking in every direction for something. Anything.
Please, please, please.
He was out here. He had to be. He wouldn’t leave me. If he was alive, he would be watching. Waiting. Protecting me. Maybe Sammy hadn’t taken him from me. Maybe she’d been lying. Why, I didn’t know. But maybe…
“Vaughn!”
“You’ve officially lost your mind,” Hayat muttered behind me. Wrapping an arm around my waist, she urged me back to the porch while I continued to glance around. “Come on. I’ll make you something to eat, and then you can explain to me what Aunt Emmie was all hyped up about.”
“Vaughn?” I whimpered.
“Sorry, babe,” Hayat murmured, unknowingly breaking my heart all over again. “There’s no Vaughn here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
abi
My head was pounding as I walked into First Bass. Hayat tugged me over to the bar, already ordering us virgin strawberry daiquiris. Nate, the bartender and assistant manager, gave us a wink as he hit the blender. After the day I’d had, finally explaining everything to Hayat that had happened the previous weekend, then telling her that apparently I was married, I was emotionally and physically exhausted.
Thankfully, my parents weren’t home since they were spending the weekend in Vegas with Hayat’s parents. They went together at least once a month, just the four of them, but they had thought about canceling this trip since I was home. With Mom and Dad’s Australian tour starting soon, they wouldn’t get to spend time with their best friends for the entire summer. I refused to let them miss out just because they were worried about me.
“He saw us coming,” my best friend said with a smirk as she looked out over the VIP crowd.
“No, he saw you coming. Did your hair get even curlier while I was at school?” I twirled a few ringlets around my fingers, the smell of honeysuckles making me smile despite how crappy I felt.
Her hair was a chaotic, beautiful mess, just like she was. Ringlets fell past her waist, heavy and silky soft. She was obsessed with her hair, something she’d apparently inherited from her Pop-Pop. We all teased Devlin Cutter that he had his hair insured, but I wasn’t completely sure it was a joke.
Dressed in a pair of black sweats that were held up by tight drawstrings and a hoodie that she had taken a pair of scissors to, with a corset bra underneath, Hayat didn’t exactly match the dress code other women in the club followed. She only cared about one thing when it came to clothes, and that was comfort. That she looked sexy as hell in something as simple as sweats was grossly unfair.
Her simple white running shoes might have been designer, but they weren’t the red-soled heels that so many of the other patrons were wearing. But unlike most of the body-hugging, short-skirt attired, Hayat owned her fashion style, whereas so many others around us only pretended to be confident.
Two glasses were set in front of us as Nate poured our drinks before adding whipped cream with fresh sliced berries on top. “It’s good to have you back.” He tilted his head toward Hayat. “This one gets into way too much trouble when you’re not around.”
