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He shrugged. “It seems a shame, that’s all. Now we’ll never know if we were any good together.”
“I was fabulous. You, on the other hand, were as selfish as ever.” A momentary stab of pain reminded her of the girl she’d been.
“I doubt that.” He pushed away from the table and headed into the bedroom. She studied the strawberries, trying to convince herself she could eat another one. A loud curse interrupted her thoughts.
Bram stormed back into the living room. His jeans were unzipped and his dress shirt hung open, the French cuffs flapping. She found it hard to relate those solid chest muscles with the bonier body of his youth.
He thrust a sheet of paper under her nose. She was used to his sneers and his mockery, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing him look genuinely upset. “I found this under my clothes,” he said.
“A note from your parole officer?”
“Go ahead and enjoy yourself while you can.”
She examined the paper, but what she saw made no sense. “Why would someone leave their marriage license here? It’s—” Her throat closed, and she started to choke. “No! This is a joke, right? Tell me this is one of your sick jokes.”
“Even I’m not this sick.”
His face was ashen. She jumped up out of the chair and snatched the paper from him. “We got—” She could barely say the word. “We got married?”
He winced.
“But why would we do that? I hate you!”
“Those cocktails we drank last night must have had enough happy pills in them to make both of us overcome our mutual loathing.”
She was starting to hyperventilate. “This can’t be. They changed the law in Vegas. I read about it. The marriage license bureau is closed at night so exactly this kind of thing can’t happen.”
His lips tightened into a sneer. “We’re celebrities. Apparently we found someone willing to bend the rules just for us.”
“But…Maybe it’s not legal. Maybe this is a—a joke certificate.”
“Run your fingers over the official seal of the state of Nevada and tell me that feels like a fucking joke.”
The raised bumps scraped her fingertips. She rounded on him. “This was your idea. I know it.”
“Mine? You’re the one who’s desperate for a husband.” His eyes narrowed, and he shoved his index finger in her face. “You used me.”
“I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Not before I call mine.”
They ran for the nearest phone, but his legs were longer, and he got there first. She made a dash for her purse and dug out her cell. He punched the buttons. “This should be the easiest annulment on record.”
The word “record” sent a chill through her. “Wait!” She dropped her cell, rushed to him, and grabbed the hotel room phone out of his hands.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me think for a minute.” She shoved the phone back on the cradle.
“You can think later.”
He started to reach for the phone again, but she jammed her hand over it. “The marriage—the annulment—will be a matter of public record.” She plowed her free hand through her tangled hair. “Within twenty-four hours, everyone will know. There’ll be a media circus complete with helicopters and car chases.”
“You’re used to it.”
Her fingers were icy, her stomach nauseated. “I’m not going through another scandal. If I even stumble on the sidewalk, somebody reports that I tried to kill myself. Imagine what they’ll do with this.”
“Not my problem. You brought it on yourself by marrying The Loser.”
