Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I grab the trash can from the bathroom and start picking up the pieces of the broken lamp.
“You married Renn last night.”
Now that the shock has worn off—and some of the alcohol, thanks to the Gatorade and a breakfast sandwich Ella got somewhere—the sentence doesn’t make me quite as ill.
Memories have slowly come back to me over the last hour. We went to a show on the Strip. There’s a fuzzy recollection of roulette, a limo, maybe, and visions of a small room draped in white with a man smelling of too much cheap cologne.
Apparently, that’s where we pledged to love one another until death do us part.
I can’t help it. I grin.
It’s almost funny. It might be funny if it didn’t have the potential to bring so much negativity on me, Renn—probably even his dad.
My stomach twists and pulls, wondering what Renn is doing. How is he sorting this out on his end?
I pluck a few wood fragments off the floor and deposit them in the trash can.
“Hey.”
I look over my shoulder and find Renn standing in the doorway. He’s fresh out of the shower. A pair of jeans hang low on his hips, and a plain black T-shirt is stretched over his frame.
I could’ve done worse in the husband department. The thought has me choking back a laugh. Yup. I’m still in shock.
“You and Brock did some damage,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’m soaking the sheets, but I don’t know what to do with the mattress. And this end table is busted. The lamp is toast.”
Renn looks around the room, his gaze falling on the imprint on the glass. He fights a smile. “Is that … what it looks like?”
I look at the silhouette. “Palms and boobs? Maybe.”
“What the hell did we do last night?” he asks, chuckling softly.
The sound washes over me. It undoes some of my anxiety since the marriage thing was dropped in my lap.
“Renn, I don’t know,” I say. “I’m getting pieces of it coming back to me here and there. I think we rented a limo, played roulette, and I keep having this recurring image of riding a mechanical bull.”
He grins. “Sounds like a good night.”
“I wish I could remember it.”
He leans against the doorframe, looking at me curiously. “Do you happen to have any tattoos this morning?”
My eyes grow wide. “No. Why? Should I?”
He walks to me, his eyes glued to mine. “Check this out.” He lifts his shirt over his chest and his stacked abs. The bandage from this morning is gone.
I cover my mouth. “No.”
“I guess we did this instead of rings.”
“Renn. Oh my God.” I suck in a breath, laughing in disbelief. “You got a tattoo? Of my name?”
He drops his shirt. “Complete with a heart. And I think you wrote it there. I have these flashbacks of you with a marker.”
“Yeah, well, it does look like my handwriting.”
We stare at each other for a few long seconds. Finally, we begin to laugh. Loudly.
It’s such a relief to laugh with him— to know his life didn’t spiral completely out of control downstairs and that I managed to keep mine together up here. And that we’re still … friends.
For now.
“Ella and I looked up what we’re supposed to do,” I say, picking up another piece of the lamp. “I think we can get an annulment based on lack of understanding because we were obviously drunk.” I drop the shard in the trash. “But it can take one to three weeks.”
Renn watches me warily.
“Our amateurish investigation did say that we might run into problems, though.” I search the floor for anything else I can pick up—anything to avoid his gaze. “Apparently, proving a lack of understanding can be tricky. If that doesn’t work, our only option seems to be an actual divorce. We both want to avoid that and get this done as quickly and quietly as possible.”
He runs a hand down his face.
“Look, I know this is really bad for you,” I say, my heart hurting for him. “This really fucks up your good boy clause, I’m sure.”
He drops his hand, a crooked grin on his lips. “A little bit.”
“And your dad’s business deal?”
His smile falters. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Okay …”
He roams through the room like he owns the place. Casually confident—like a man gearing up for a war he knows he’ll win. I would swoon if I wasn’t a combatant in this battle … and worried that I might end up being his opponent.
“Blakely, do you have any clue what the media is going to say about you?”
I still, my insides reminding me that tequila or not—puke is still a possibility.
Renn stops moving and faces me. There’s a somberness, a seriousness in his eyes that scares me.
Yeah. I might need a toilet.
“They’re going to say you’re after my money—”