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“Cream and one sugar, right?”
I nod, dazed at the situation. It’s as if I blinked and suddenly have a husband that knows my coffee order overnight. Actually, it’s exactly that.
“Thank you.”
“Last night…” he starts.
I lift my hand, showing him the matching gold band there. Not bothering to analyze why I didn’t take it off when I showered. “We got married.” I try to laugh, but it falls flat. What have we done?
He’s my husband. Myhusband.
I think we know alcohol is to blame. Also, my roaming hands in the dance club might have urged me in that direction. The sensory input that his muscular body was giving me was enough to prevent my brain from making rational decisions.
“Yeah.” He drops his gaze to his finger and rotates the band there before meeting my eyes again. “We did.”
“Like how did this even happen?!” I exclaim.
Griffin opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. I’m overwhelmed and anxious and confused and it all comes spilling out.
“People don’t get married to strangers.” I wave my hands in his direction. “No offense. It’s not you personally that is upsetting. I mean, you’re you,” I motion toward him again. “You look like that and you’re a really good kisser, but I think we both know that this isn’t normal. There are procedures for this kind of thing. Marriage, that is. Like getting to know someone. Dating. An actual proposal.”
He clears his throat. “You did propose.” He grips the back of his neck and presses his lips together. “On the rollercoaster.”
“What?!” I blink, confused. That doesn’t sound like something I would do. But then there’s that nagging feeling again. That I do remember, and Griffin’s mentioning it brings the memory to the forefront of my mind.
Oh my God. He’s right.
We were at the rollercoaster, talking to a couple in line. They had just gotten married at a little chapel north of The Strip. They loved rollercoasters and said they took every opportunity to ride one when they could. That a rollercoaster is like a relationship, there are ups and downs, turns you don’t see coming, but if you have someone you love and trust beside you to hold your hand through it all, someone to laugh and cry and scream with, then you can get through anything. I thought it was terribly romantic.
The rollercoaster was a blast. Wind in my hair, screaming and laughing so hard I had tears running down my cheeks, and gripping Griffin’s arm as we flew along the track at nearly seventy miles an hour. I remember feeling it in those moments. I knew what they had been talking about. So, it made perfect sense when we pulled back into the loading zone and I turned toward Griffin—he had a huge smile on his face as he lifted his thumb to wipe the tear from the corner of my eye.
Marry me.
The words had fallen out so easily.
He’d cradled my face and kissed me breathless until the coaster operator had asked us to get out. We stumbled off the ride and onto the street to find a taxi. No, it was an Uber. The driver’s name was Felix or Felipe or Felicity. Heck, Britney Spears could have been driving the car and I wouldn’t have noticed. At that point, I couldn’t see anyone but Griffin.
I did this. I proposed to a man I’d known for a mere handful of hours.
“And you saidyes?” I attempt to hold back a screech, but it fails.
“Yeah.” His green eyes rake over the length of me and I swear my bathrobe just caught on fire. “I did.”
Beneath my ribcage, my heart flutters.
It’s stupid, because Griffin didn’t say yes to me, the alcohol and wild night we were having just prevented him from saying no. There’s a big difference.
The juxtaposition of spending years with Alec, the man I desperately wanted a proposal from, and Griffin, a stranger I had a fun night with, saying yes to my marriage proposal, is baffling.
What am I even saying? We were drunk. And horny.
I rack my brain for memories of sweaty, passionate sex but I come up empty. My eyes drift over to the unmade bed. The sheets and duvet are pulled back from my exit, but nowhere near messy enough to have been subjected to a wild night of hot sex. Nothing in the room is broken, or even out of place. Even the pillows on the sofa are still resting in their respective corners, housekeeping’s signature indent on the top from fluffing them yesterday while I was out.
“We didn’t…?”
Somehow Griffin understands my non-question.
He shakes his head. “No.”
