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“Are you kidding me?” Claire shoots me an incredulous look. “Tess, you are currently married to a billionaire. You’re entitled to some of his shit. You could get alimony, some of his assets – hell, you could just stay married to him!”
I shake my head. “I don’t want any of his money. I just want this all to go away, for last night to be erased. Then I can start fresh, just like I was planning.”
“Tess, babe, it’s Luke Alder.” My friend looks completely bemused. “Think about this for a second. This could be an amazing opportunity for you. You could be set up for life if you do this properly. Never have to worry about money ever again. Never have to work. Live a life of luxury with me, your best pal.”
To be honest, I wasn’t going to pretend that it wasn’t tempting. I’d spent so long being dirt poor, worrying about money, bills, rent payments, that to never have to think about that stuff ever again was extremely seductive.
“I hear what you’re saying,” I reply, “but it would feel . . . wrong, somehow. I didn’t do anything to earn any of that.”
“What? Of course you did! That’s the law, and if loverboy didn’t want it to happen, well maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to marry you!”
If I did choose to go down that route . . .
It’s probably fair to say that someone like Luke Alder hasn’t become as rich as he is by being loose and free with his money. He probably has money managers, wealth consultants, and lawyers out the wazoo.
Meanwhile, all I have is . . . Well, I don’t have anything at all. No money, no legal knowhow, no support network. If I demand money from him, it’ll end up in court, I’ll have to pay lawyers, show up to hearings, and on and on and on. I don’t really have the time or the inclination.
“It was just a moment of drunken craziness, Claire,” I say. “A mistake on both our parts. I’m sure he’ll agree, once he wakes up and realizes what we did. Hell, he’s probably freaking out right now, watching the news.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so damn blasé about this whole thing, Tess!” She frowns. “There are millions of women around the world who would do terrible, awful things to be in the position you’re in right now. I mean, to be married to a billionaire . . . and not just any billionaire; a young, hot one! You’ve hit the goddamn jackpot!”
“But I don’t even know him!” I reply. “We spent one evening together, and sure, it was a fun evening—as far as I can remember, at least—but you don’t just go marrying people after one fun night! I wouldn’t be surprised if he never even wants to speak to me again. He’ll probably get his lawyers to handle the whole thing so he can go back to sleeping with random sluts and making more money.”
And then, right on cue, my phone starts ringing.
Claire is way quicker then me in my hungover state, and jumps up off the bed and grabs it. She takes one look at the caller ID and her eyes light up.
“You couldn’t be more wrong!” she yells. “Look!”
She hands the phone to me, and I look down at the screen, dread creeping up from my stomach.
The caller ID says Hubby.
“Hubby?” I groan. “Really? Holy crap, I need to stop drinking.”
It rings on and on, and I just stare at it dumbly, not knowing what to do.
“Uhhh,” Claire says, “so are you going to answer it or not? He clearly wants to talk to you.”
I hang up and throw the phone down on the bed. I can’t face talking to him right now. Hell, I can barely even remember what he looks like. But as soon as the phone hits the bedsheets, it starts ringing again.
Persistent, isn’t he?
“Tess, you’re being childish,” Claire says, exasperated. “If you won’t talk to him, I will. You need to know what’s going on, and I want to find out just what you two lovebirds got up to last night…”
Before she can answer the phone, I spring forward with a surprising burst of speed and wrestle it from her.
“No!” I shout. “I just can’t! It’s too embarrassing, and I don’t want to make this any more complicated than it needs to be.”
I turn the phone off.
“I’ll send him an email,” I say firmly. “That way I can organize my thoughts, only say what I need to, and we can get this whole mess sorted out and I can forget it ever happened.”
“An email?!” Claire says. “Are you for real?”
But I’m already booting up my laptop. Just one problem – I don’t even know my husband’s middle name, let alone his goddamn email address.
