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“I don’t think anything happened. Hang on,” I say, sitting upright and scanning the room for any signs of sex. Condoms, lube, ripped clothing, but there’s nothing except our discarded clothes at the foot of the bed as though we took them off and collapsed in here—sans sex. “I think we’re good. No sex was had.”
“Do you… feel like we had sex?” he questions, pushing his hair back, but it’s sticking up all over the place and I can’t help but smile. His eyes flit to my thong that’s doing a poor job of covering me. I glance down too and think about what he means.
“No, I feel normal.”
“You’d know if we had sex,” he says, scratching the scruff on his face. He says it so casually, like he hasn’t just piqued my interest to find out what’s under my sheets. My gaze drops to where he’s rocking something I want to see. Just as I’m about to question it he cocks his head, staring at my hand. “Why are you holding your head? Did you hurt yourself?”
Oh, yeah. “My hand is stuck. Help me.”
He leans in, smelling like tequila and smoke and a little sweat, inspecting the mess on my head and then begins pulling apart the knot in my hair. I feel it the moment my hand is free, all the blood rushes to my finger, making it tingle. I pull my hand out and wiggle my fingers.
Harrison’s face whitens to match my sheets and I realise it’s probably because my hair is sticking up in every direction, and I’m nowhere near as cute as he is to pull it off. I daren’t run my hand through it again in case it gets stuck.
“I guess I should probably brush this nest on my head today,” I say. When I glance at him as I slowly move to the edge of the bed, he looks paler. Oh God, I really hope he isn’t about to throw up. “Uh, you okay?” I ask warily.
He clears his throat, but his face remains as pale as a ghost. He points to my hand. “Zoey, where did you get that?”
I follow to where he’s pointing. My left ring finger which is sporting a very large round diamond. It glistens in the sliver of sunshine that’s peeking in around the edge of the blackout blinds. “Huh, I have no idea,” I reply, examining it with a shrug. “Maybe I got it from one of those gumball machines. Do you think it’s real?”
“Zoey, did we… did we get married last night?” he whispers, bringing his hand to my face, showing me a silver band adorning his left ring finger.
I laugh incredulously. I would never. More laughter rises in my throat, except this time tears begin to form in my eyes from the hilarity of the situation. There’s no way… but Harrison isn’t laughing at all. We didn’t get married. We absolutely did not.
I stare at him, willing my memory to return, but when it does, I lose the ability to breathe. Instead, my wedding ring wearing hand flies up to cover my open mouth.
A chapel. A white chapel.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
“Oh, no, no, no.” I spiral at the reality of my memories, hitting me square in the face with a slap.
“We’re married,” Harrison says as though he can’t compute the information, his brows so close together they look joined.
I might throw up. “We can’t be married!” I shriek and leap out of the bed, my feet hitting the floor, making my bum jiggle. “I’m… and you… and we… my brothers…” I gesture wildly between us, not making any sense and unable to complete a sentence. It doesn’t feel like my limbs are attached to my body. I’m having some sort of stroke, I swear. “I have to…” I speed out of the bedroom, grabbing a white hotel robe on my way to my bathroom slamming the door.
My eyes fill with tears at the thought that I did something so fucking stupid last night, and I didn’t even have any clue I did it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper under my breath.
Harrison knocks on my door. “Zoey, please let me in.”
“I-I’m just going to shower. Give me a minute, okay?” I stand there on wobbly feet, swiping the tears from my wet cheeks.
He doesn’t push, and I let out a sigh of relief as I hear his footsteps retreat from the door.
Once I’m inside the shower, I slump against the back tiled wall, letting the hot water rain down over me as I sink to the ground and cry.
Chapter 14
Harrison
Ipauseoutsideherdoor, trying to figure out how I went from making smart decisions like taking care of Zoey to marrying the woman. Pulling on my hair, I try to recall more of the night. She and I left the club, walked—or stumbled, more likely—down the Vegas strip, where she flirted with some actor. Then we walked some more when we went past a couple posing for wedding pictures in front of the fountain. I swallow, remembering the feeling I had when she looked at me. She said, ‘I want to get married one day’, but I don’t remember much after that.
I twirl my ring on my left hand, noticing that it doesn’t feel as foreign as I thought it would. I’m guessing at some point we talked about it and went to buy jewellery at some ungodly hour of the night, and went to the chapel because, of course, this is Vegas, where it’s apparently never too late to make life changing decisions.
Walking into my room, I open my banking app to see if we used my card to buy the rings. “Oh fucking hell,” I mutter to myself. There’s a transaction for a hefty few hundred grand spent at Tiffany’s last night. But the money doesn’t actually bother me. I know I’d want to spoil Zoey if she were mine… which I guess she is now. I huff a laugh at the whole situation.
I decide to shower and take a minute because this is a lot. As I stand in the open wet room and let the hot water beat down on my back, I try to let my body relax and think about last night. It wasn’t just us being drunk; I remember talking about Vanessa, and I wish I hadn’t. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember Zoey saying she would kill her for me. Stress begins to crawl up my spine and into my shoulders, knotting like it always does when I think about my ex. And then, like a puzzle piece finding its place, it all slots together, and I remember everything. I see her. Outside the chapel, Elvis shouts about being pretend married. I’m almost convinced from that memory that we just bought rings and didn’t go into a chapel.
Fuck, I need to talk to her.
