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But my relief is short-lived as my eyes focus. I’m not in my cozy, familiar bed. I’m not in my bedroom. I…I don’t even know where I am.
A slimy feeling crawls over me as I discover that I’m waking up in a strange, unknown place.
Pulling the duvet up to my chin, I cautiously glance around. Oh, shit.
The room is tastefully decorated. All shades of gray and charcoal, all masculine. The dark silky sheets and the strong, wooden furnishings all scream ‘male’.
An unamused chuckle spills from my lips when my eyes land on the far wall. If the paint colors or the furniture didn’t spell it out for me, the glass-framed football jerseys on the wall smack me in the face.
Harry.
I’m waking up in Harry’s bedroom.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
A cold panic spikes through me. I sit up in a daze, trying to brush my matted hair away from my face. But my hair gets tangled around a ring on my hand, and I wince as I lose a few coiled tendrils. I start pulling those sad loose strands out of the ring. That’s when I see it. Like really, really see it.
A wedding ring.
On my wedding finger.
Fuck, fuck, and more fucks.
What-did-I-do? What-did-I-do? What. Did. I. Do?
Is this a joke? Maybe the ugly ring on my hand is just a big inside joke. Maybe, right?
I spot a crumpled sheet of paper that’s partially hidden under the bed.
I lean over and glare at the offending piece of paper, zeroing in on the words printed on it.
It has my name on it. And Harry’s.
It’s our completely signed and perfectly official marriage certificate. This is more than just a nightmare. It’s real. It’s legal.
Life as I know it flashes before my eyes. My job. My reputation. My big, fat paycheck. I can definitely kiss all that goodbye now.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and release a ragged breath.
In a fog of hungover bewilderment, I roll out of Harry’s too-big bed. I nearly faceplant when the sheets tighten around my legs and ankles and try to mummify me.
I yank and straighten out the wrinkled material, when it hits me. “Wait. I’m naked. I’m fucking naked…”
With a frantic glance across the bedroom, I find my dress from the gala neatly hung on the closet door together with my cold, damp panties and my tangled up bra.
I hustle over to the closet and gracelessly yank my clothes on.
My stomach goes mushy when I realize something. Harry did that.
