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Hannah nods. “I was in a bad place. Mostly about stuff that had nothing to do with Crew, but that was an easy target. I said some shit to him—and to Scarlett.”
I take a seat beside her on the floor. “Were you in love with him?” A question that I have no right to ask but one that’s been stuck in my head since she said his name.
She shakes her head, and the relief is intense. Immediate. Inexplicable. “No. I felt stuck. In my job. In other relationships. Crew was an escape from all that. Something different and exciting. I hated losing that distraction, way more than I hated losing him.”
“He’ll never know about this, if that’s what you’re worried about. Crew and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”
Hannah’s lips purse, none of the anxiety leaving her expression. That spikes mine. “Do you have any regrets, Oliver?”
My throat feels thick. “Yeah. A lot of them, actually.”
“You can add this to the list.” Her hand lifts, holding the piece of paper out to me.
I take it, glancing at her questioningly. Her eyes close again. I can’t figure out her behavior. She doesn’t strike me as someone who tends to be overly dramatic.
But I know hardly anything about her. Maybe she is, and it just wasn’t obvious last night.
I glance down.
My stomach falls the fifty or so stories we’re suspended in the air.
I barely know anything about Hannah, except she used to have sex with my brother and that, according to the state of Nevada, she’s mywife.
For a few seconds, it feels like everything around me is frozen. There’s a part of my brain that’s chantingfuck, fuck, fuckon repeat. Another section that’s desperately flipping through a list of everyone I know who could help this go away. And the rest of me is too stunned by the realizationI got married in Vegasto so much as twitch.
I drop the paper and blink at it. My eyes feel gritty from sleep deprivation and too much alcohol. “How the fuck—is thisreal?”
Hannah sighs. “I’ve never seen a marriage certificate before. But it looks legit to me.”
I exhale, shakily. “I…”
Honestly, I’m at a complete loss for what to say. Marriage has never struck me as an appealing prospect. It was always a possible inevitability, outside of my control.
Even drunk, I can’t believe the thought crossed my mind. More than crossed it, obviously, according to the paper I’m holding. Just a simple, unassuming sheet that made me ahusband.
What.
The.
Fuck.
“We got married.”
“Apparently. I thoughtFuck nosummed up your thoughts about marriage.”
“It does. You must be awfully convincing.”
I can’t believe I’mjokingabout this. I rarely joke about anything.
“Aside from a brief phase in fourth grade when I told complete strangers I was going to have my wedding in the same church as my parents, I’ve never wanted to get married,” Hannah informs me. “So I doubt I was very convincing.”
“I never even had a brief phase.”
“Weren’t you going to marry Scarlett?”
When I don’t answer, she glances over.
“Drunk New Yorkers are chatty. Especially about Kensingtons.”
