Lick (Stage Dive, #1)(2)

What had happened last night? My head remained a tangled, throbbing mess, the details hazy, incomplete.

“We should get something into you,” he said. “You want me to order some dry toast or something?”

“No.” The thought of food was not fun. Not even coffee appealed and coffee always appealed. I was half tempted to check myself for a pulse, just in case. Instead, I pushed my hand through my crappy hair, getting it out of my eyes. “No, I … ow!” Strands caught on something, tugging hard at my scalp. “Crap.”

“Hang on.” He reached out and carefully disentangled my messy do from whatever was causing the trouble. “There we go.”

“Thanks.” Something winked at me from my left hand, snagging my attention. A ring, but not just any ring. An amazing ring, a stupendous one.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

It couldn’t be real. It was so big it bordered on obscene. A stone that size would cost a fortune. I stared, bemused, turning my hand to catch the light. The band beneath was thick, solid, and the rock sure shone and sparkled like the real deal.

As if.

“Ah, yeah. About that …” he said, dark brows drawn down. He looked vaguely embarrassed by the ice rink on my finger. “If you still wanna change it for something smaller, that’s okay with me. It is kinda big. I do get your point about that.”

I couldn’t shake the feeling I knew him from somewhere. Somewhere that wasn’t last night or this morning or anything to do with the ridiculous beautiful ring on my finger.

“You bought me this?” I asked.

He nodded. “Last night at Cartier.”

“Cartier?” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Huh.”

For a long moment he just stared at me. “You don’t remember?”

I really didn’t want to answer that. “What is that even? Two, three carats?”

“Five.”

“Five? Wow.”

“What do you remember?” he asked, voice hardening just a little.

“Well … it’s hazy.”

“No.” His frown increased until it owned his handsome face. “You have got to be f*cking kidding me. You seriously don’t know?”

What to say? My mouth hung open, useless. There was a lot I didn’t know. To my knowledge, however, Cartier didn’t do costume jewelry. My head swam. Bad feelings unfurled within my stomach and bile burnt the back of my throat. Worse even than before.

I was not puking in front of this guy.

Not again.

He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “I didn’t realize you’d had that much to drink. I mean, I knew you’d had a bit, but … shit. Seriously? You don’t remember us going on the gondolas at The Venetian?”

“We went on gondolas?”

“Fuck. Ah, how about when you bought me a burger? Do you remember that?”

“Sorry.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, watching me through narrowed eyes. “You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m so sorry.”

He physically recoiled from me. “Let me get this straight, you don’t remember anything?”

“No,” I said, swallowing hard. “What did we do last night?”

“We got f*cking married,” he growled.

This time, I didn’t make it to the toilet.

*

I decided on divorce while I brushed my teeth, practiced what I would say to him as I washed my hair. But you couldn’t rush these things. Unlike last night when I’d apparently rushed into marriage. Rushing again would be wrong, foolish. That, or I was a coward taking the world’s longest shower. Odds were on the latter.

Holy, holy hell. What a mess. I couldn’t even begin to get my head wrapped around it. Married. Me. My lungs wouldn’t work. Panic waited right around the corner.

No way could my desire for this disaster to go away come as a surprise to him. Puking on the floor had to have been a huge hint. I groaned and covered my face with my hands at the memory. His look of disgust would haunt me all my days.

My parents would kill me if they ever found out. I had plans, priorities. I was studying to be an architect like my father. Marriage to anyone at this stage didn’t fit into those plans. In another ten, fifteen years maybe. But marriage at twenty-one? Hell no. I hadn’t even been on a second date in years and now I had a ring on my finger. No way did that make sense. I was doomed. This crazy wedding caper wasn’t something I could hide from.

Or could I?

Unless my parents could not find out. Ever. Over the years I had made something of a habit of not involving them in things that might be seen as unsavory, unnecessary, or just plain stupid. This marriage quite possibly fell under all three categories.

Actually, maybe no one need know. If I didn’t tell, how would they find out? They wouldn’t. The answer was awe-inspiring in its simplicity.

“Yes!” I hissed and punched the air, clipping the shower head with the side of my fist. Water sprayed everywhere including straight in my eyes, blinding me. Never mind, I had the answer.

Denial. I’d take the secret to my grave. No one would ever know of my extreme drunken idiocy.

I smiled with relief, my panic attack receding enough so that I could breathe. Oh, thank goodness. Everything would be okay. I had a new plan to get me back on track with the old one. Brilliant. I’d brave up, go and face him, and set things straight. Twenty-one-year-olds with grand life plans didn’t marry complete strangers in Vegas, no matter how beautiful those strangers happened to be. It would be fine. He’d understand. In all likelihood, he sat out there right now, working out the most efficient method to dump and run.