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My throat clicks audibly with a dry swallow. “Did you propose to me?”
His hands wrap around my arms, and he pulls me toward him. “Maren, tell me you’re fucking with me right now because this isn’t funny.”
“You did,” I breathe. “You proposed.”
He releases me and steps back, running a hand over his face. “You really don’t remember. Christ, I knew you were drunk. We both were, but…I didn’t think you’d…” His words falter with a sigh. It feels more like he’s speaking to himself until he looks at me. “I didn’t propose. I planned to, but I didn’t get the chance.” Only a split second of relief belongs to me. “Because we got married.”
That’s impossible. Ridiculous. I’m hallucinating and hearing things. “We didn’t…” I whisper, sitting on the sofa as the room seems to tip sideways before righting itself.
Cooper stands in front of me. “What do you remember?”
With my aching head between my hands, I close my eyes and try to sort through the fog. The club, a lot of walking, how happy I felt. He stopped me from wading in a fountain. “We left a club. You wouldn’t let me get in a fountain.”
A tiny smile graces his lips when I look up at him. “You were going to get arrested.”
“We walked for a long time.” That’s what I remember the clearest, walking with his arm around me, or his hand always in mine. Laughing, talking, having the best night of my life. Other things are beginning to flash into existence. “Aliens? We went somewhere with alien stuff.”
He grabs a booklet from the top of the dresser and puts it in my hands. Two green aliens smile from the cover, one wearing a veil, the other a suit. The picture doesn’t matter as much as the headline splashed across the banner. Alien themed weddings twenty-four hours a day! The memories start trickling in. “A cab ride,” I mumble.
“To pick up the marriage licenses.”
This can’t be happening. I can’t be married. I’m not a girl who dreamed of her wedding day or anything like that. It’s not that I’m opposed to marriage or have sworn off it, but I’ve never really considered marriage as any kind of goal.
There’s no ring on my finger. Before I can say anything, I remember standing at the altar, laughing that we were so unprepared.
Cooper watches me touch my finger. “We were going to shop?—”
“For rings today,” I interrupt. “I remember.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Not everything, just bits and pieces.” He’s patient while I try to process, but after a minute or so of silence, he perches on the edge of the coffee table in front of me and looks me in the eye.
“Say something, sweetheart. I need to know where you’re at.”
“It’s okay. This shit happens in Vegas, right? You said we were both drunk. Surely, that’s grounds for an annulment. We can probably file today.”
The disappointment and pain that creases his face is reflected in his voice and sends a spike through my chest. “Is that what you want?”
Is it? It’s what I should want because marrying someone on a whim that you haven’t even known for six months is crazy. He wouldn’t have done this if he hadn’t been drinking. “Isn’t it what you want? We never talked about this. We hadn’t even figured out what we were going to do after you’re done at Happy Haven. We got drunk and did something stupid. That doesn’t mean you’re stuck or—” A sudden realization strikes me. “Oh my god, your money! You have money. Like a shitload of money! I signed a prenup, right? We have a prenup?” My nod is frantic as if that will help him give the correct answer.
“Of course not. Why would you want that?”
Is he serious? The ensuing panic pushes me to my feet to pace the room. “Because I could take half your money if you divorce me!”
“Maren.”
“We can get a postnup, right? That’s a thing, isn’t it? It must be. If a prenup exists that logically means there’s a postnup.” I’m in full freakout mode now and ranting while I charge around the small living area. “Maybe that doesn’t matter if it’s annulled. Or we can file for a quick divorce. I swear on my life that I don’t want anything from you, and I can put it in writing.”
Cooper grabs me, holding me by my shoulders. “Hey, take a breath. Calm down. It’s okay.”
“Okay? This is how women end up on a true crime podcast!” A smile leaps to his lips before he can stop it, and he laughs. I’m fighting for my life over here and he laughs. “It’s not funny!”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Then stop smiling!”
He leads me over to sit on the couch. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I’m not stuck. This isn’t a drunken mistake to me. I would’ve done it sober. I’d marry you again right this second without hesitation. We can have whatever kind of wedding you’d like later if that’s what you want. I didn’t plan for it to go this way, but when you proposed, it was too?—”
