When I step out of the shower, dry myself and put a fresh towel around my waist, something flashes, reflecting the dim light from the mirror. Something on my left hand…
All the blood drains from my head. Or at least it feels that way.
Holy fucking mother of God! What the hell is this?
A golden band sits on my ring finger. Not just sits, is shining. I try to flick it off, like a
n unwanted spider, but it stays. Shit.
Where the hell did it come from? And how the fuck did it get on my finger?
And if I have this…
Oh, shit. Who the hell did I marry? Was Evie there too? Why didn’t she stop me? It’s her damn job to stop me from doing stupid shit! She’s my assistant, isn’t she?
I rush out fast. Well, as fast as I can without killing myself. Evie’s still on the bed, her face on the pillow. I reach out to shake her until I see something glinting on her finger.
A golden band. Just like the one on my finger. I reel back, a giant, invisible ice pick spearing into my head.
No fucking way. Did I…? Did we…?
I shove my hands into my hair. I don’t remember anything, but there’s no way this wedding is valid. We didn’t even consummate it. If we had, I would remember that for sure. I wouldn’t have sex with a woman I’ve been lusting after for months and forget all about it the next day—what would be the point?
And I’m certain there weren’t any proper witnesses. Who the hell can find witnesses that fast? And even if you could find them, how would you know they were sober, legally binding witnesses?
I fish my phone from the bedside table. At least I had enough brain cells left not to lose it. I pull up a browser and start Googling: Is a wedding legit without proper witnesses?
Results pop up. They’re all over the place, though. Some say yes, some say no, some say it depends.
Fuck you, Google. If I wanted a yes—no—maybe, I would’ve asked myself.
Who can I ask then? Not Ken. He’s the family lawyer, and this would go straight into Barron’s ear. Not Vanessa. She has no secrets from Justin, and I do not need my brother ragging on me.
Court! He probably knows. Or he can ask his lawyer.
I step out of the bedroom, close the door behind me and call.
“Hey, man,” Court says. “How’s the date?”
It’s so like him to ask. Normally I’d be more social, but it’s awkward to have to lie about it, so I try to keep it short without sounding too weird. “It’s…good. Great. Nothing goes wrong in Vegas.” I clear my throat. “Hey, listen, is a wedding ceremony valid without proper witnesses?”
A moment of silence is the answer. I hope he isn’t wasting his time trying to Google.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Don’t you have lawyers on retainer for that sort of question?”
“I’m not asking them.” Does he not know who they really answer to? “Google didn’t help, but I thought you might know.”
“Uh… Nate? Are you okay?”
No! Would I be asking you this crazy question if I were okay? But I can’t talk about it right now because I still have no freakin’ clue what the hell happened. “Yeah, I told you that already. Hey, can you ask your lawyer?”
“I don’t have a lawyer. Percy is Dad’s lawyer.”
It’s like Court to get technical. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to owe anything to his dad, so there’s no way he’s going to ask Percy. “All right. Never mind.”
I hang up, my brain working overtime. Or at least trying to, because it’s damn hard for a brain to function while floating in alcohol.
I have another bottle of water, then call down for two more pitchers, plus a thermos full of strong coffee and six dry pieces of toast. I need to fortify myself, get rid of this hangover and figure out just what the hell happened.