Chapter 17
EBBA
Awareness slowly creeps in on the edges of my consciousness. It’s bright behind my closed lids and I groan. Did I forget to close the curtains? That’s not like me.
Groaning, I slowly blink my eyes open. My body is sore all over like I did a vigorous workout.
I knew wearing heels was a bad idea even with using my cane as a mobility aid, but I just couldn’t bear to wear sneakers with my dress.
Call me vain all you want, but I don’t think I should have to sacrifice the things I love and that includes heels.
Speaking of, I spot the sparkly hot pink mini dress in a pile on the floor. Also not like me.
It hits me then and everything from the past twelve hours or so pours in. The club, the chapel, more clubs, and—my eyes shoot to the window where I let Fisher press me up against the glass and fuck me. My hand prints along with his are all over the surface.
“Oh my God.” I press a hand to my forehead. My left hand. The cool metal of the rings on my finger has me dropping my hand and holding it out to find the most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen and matching band.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
My eyes slowly work their way over to the other side of the bed where I find Fisher on his stomach, one leg drawled up, and his arms wrapped around the pillow. His long lashes rest against the tops of his cheekbones.
Heart racing, I ease out of the bed and grab a t-shirt and leggings from my luggage.
I need a moment to think about things before I wake him.
Shutting the bathroom door quietly behind me, I pee and wash my hands.
“I’ve lost my damn mind,” I mutter at my reflection. “Where’s my common sense? This is the kind of shit that happens to someone not nearly as smart as me.”
Going through my motions like this is any kind of regular day, I wash my face and apply my morning skincare and makeup.
The trip to Texas might’ve begun to break down the walls I built up to protect myself from Fisher, but certainly not enough that I should be waking up married to the guy, right?
The worst part is, the more I think about it, the more I realize how aware I was last night.
I didn’t really drink that much. I think my confusion this morning stems more so from the fact that he thoroughly fucked my brains out between the first two bouts of sex and then the other tortuously slow session when he woke me up only about an hour after we’d finally gone to sleep.
Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths.
This was an unplanned occurrence and the smart thing to do is annul this marriage as soon as possible.
Yeah, that’s what we’ll do.
It’s great that I’ve finally let go of my anger toward him, but staying married makes no sense. We haven’t hung out as friends in years. We’re both different people.
Feeling somewhat calmer, I ease the door open and tiptoe toward the bed expecting to find Fisher still asleep, but he’s sitting up and his boxer-briefs are on. His hair is mussed from sex and sleep. The boyish smile on his face has my tummy dipping in a long-ago familiar feeling.
“Are you done freaking out yet?”
I straighten my shoulders in defense. “I wasn’t freaking out.”
His smile grows, crinkling the lines around his eyes—small wrinkles he’s gained since we were together. I don’t know what it says about me that I feel a sting of jealousy over the fact that I wasn’t the one making him smile and laugh.
“You should know by now that you can’t lie to me. I see right through you.”
“Ugh.” I grab up one of the pillows, tossing it at him. He deflects it easily.
“Should I order room service?” he asks, already reaching for the room’s telephone.
“We should be figuring out how to get this annulled.”
He pouts his lips. “Or we could not.”
A snort comes out of me, and my hands flies up to cover my face. I don’t think I’ve ever made that sounds in my entire life. Fisher must agree, because his brows raise.
“Did you snort?”
“No!”
He falls back on the bed in a fit of laughter.
“It’s not funny,” I whine. “We have bigger problems than whether I may or may not have snorted.”
“Well, you definitely did so there’s no may or may not about it.” I grab yet another pillow to throw at him and this time he’s not ready to deflect it. He tosses it off his face and rolls over to face me, resting his head in his hand. “That wasn’t nice.”
“We’re married,” I remind him, because clearly, he’s not fully awake and understanding.
“Oh? Is that what this ring on my finger means?” He wiggles his left hand at me.
“This isn’t funny, Fisher. This is a big deal.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He climbs off the bed and grabs his pants off the floor. He pulls them on but leaves them unbuttoned. “But annulment is a big deal too. Let’s order something to eat and some coffee and chat about this.”
“Not as big of a deal as a divorce,” I mutter under my breath. I pace back and forth, the plush carpet no match against my frustration. “I can’t believe the others aren’t trying to break the door down.”
He shrugs. “They’re probably still sleeping. So, should I order room service now?”
I plop in the chair in the corner of the room and draw my legs up to my chest. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I set my chin on my knees and nod.
“Good,” he says to my agreement. “Because I’m starving. Any requests?” He picks up the menu from the side table and holds it out to me.
I wave off the offer of the menu. “French toast.”
He picks up the phone and places an order. Hanging up, he stands with his hands on his hips and with his pants, open and low, the pose seems downright obscene which I know is ironic considering all the things we did last night … or early this morning, I suppose.
“Can we wait to eat before we continue this conversation?”
With a sigh, I say, “I guess so.”
I am starving, so food is probably a good idea. I never can think clearly when I’m hungry.
“I’m going to head over to my room and shower. Can I trust you won’t panic and leave in that time?” He arches a brow as he waits for my response. Mischief dances at the edges of his lips.
Narrowing my eyes on him, I swipe up my clutch from last night and pull out my phone. Dead as a doornail. Fantastic. “I’ll be just fine without you babysitting.”
He scratches his jaw before he cocks his head to the side. “I must not have done a good enough job.”
“At what?” I ask, brows knitting.
“Fucking the attitude out of you.” He smirks, looking me up and down.
My mouth pops open and before I can retort he lets himself through the adjoining door and shuts it behind him.
“Asshole!” I yell.
His laugh is my only answer.
The shower in Fisher’s room is still running when I manage to get a 5% charge on my phone, so that means I’m texting the girls and saying a prayer that at least one of them is awake. I click onto our group chat that Whimsy, with her Jurassic Park obsession, named The Clever Girls.
Me: Tell me at least one of you is awake.
I bite the edge of my nail—a habit I thought I’d long ago given up, but it appears that stress has decided to make it to turn up again. A minute passes, then two, before my phone vibrates.
Whimsy: What’s up?
Me: What’s up? That’s all you have to asy after you tww let me get married to FISHER last night?
Me: *say and *two
Me: I’m not drunk texting. Just ragey.
Whimsy: I didn’t think you were that drunk last night.
Sabrina: HIIIIIII MRS. GRANT!
Me: Never say that again.
Sabrina: I’m with Whimsy, I didn’t think you were THAT drunk last night. Besides, you and Fisher seemed to be getting along a lot better.
Me: SO THAT WARRANTED MARRIAGE?
Sabrina: Don’t blame us. You’re the one who said “I do”
Me: Don’t remind me.
Whimsy: Whether you want to admit it or not you BOTH have always looked at each other like you crave more, so maybe this was your subconscious working to get you together.
Me: Oh my God my brother! He was there! I married his former rival’s coach!
Whimsy: Don’t waste your time freaking out. Confession, he’s known you two had a thing since you were together the first time.
Me: DID YOU TELL HIM?!
This is why I never confide shit in anyone. People are blabbermouths.
Whimsy: God, no. He’s just not stupid and has eyes. I think you’re under some delusion that you two aren’t obviously checking each other out all the time.
Me: I never check him out.
Sabrina: The photo album on my phone titled EBBA STARING AT FISHER’S ASS says otherwise.
Me: You better be kidding.
Sabrina:
Whimsy:
Me: You BOTH have albums?!
Whimsy: Yes.
Sabrina: Yep.
Me: Do you guys hate me or something?
Whimsy: No, we’re just Team Ebisher.
Sabrina: I thought we decided we liked Fisbba better?
Whimsy: I think Ebisher flows better?
Me: Oh my God you guys are not helping me with my crash out.
Sabrina: Is it the worst thing in the world to be married to the guy you can’t keep your eyes off of?
Me: Lies. I do not look at him.
Whimsy: I love you, but I fear you’re delusional.
Me: This is insane.
Sabrina: What’s your heart telling you?
Me: That this is insane.
I can’t believe I have to reiterate that fact.
Whimsy: Maybe it’s fate trying to intervene since you’ve both been idiots and haven’t tried to get over your past.
Sabrina: Speaking of, what DID happen?
Me: That’s a conversation to be had in person.
Whimsy: I’m scared.
Sabrina: TEA.
The shower finally turns off and I curse, because it probably won’t be that much longer until he’s back over here.
Me: He’s getting out of the shower. He wants to eat breakfast and talk about this.
Sabrina: Talk to him! Don’t make any rash decisions!
Me: Where was that advice last night?
I set my phone back on the table so it can continue charging and busy myself straightening up my room. My leg twinges in pain, but I ignore it. I’m probably a little too good at ignoring uncomfortable things. All the walking and then the contortions Fisher put my body through did a number on me.