Chapter 4
Gracyn
I f there’s anything worse than getting hitched to a guy you can’t remember, it’s figuring out how to become unhitched to a guy that lives out of state and is ignoring you.
Seriously, he is being rude.
It’s been a week of calling. Seven days straight of phone calls. Thanks to the business card he gave me, I know where the asshole works. His secretary, undoubtedly under strict orders to not put me through, is making me rage.
“Listen, if I don’t talk to him, my attorney will. And she won’t be as nice.”
“Ms. Carmichael, Mr. Handley is a very busy man. I can’t help that he’s in meetings every time you call.”
I shake the phone in the air in aggravation. Lies!
Pulling in my anger, I respond, “Can you please give him another message?”
She hums, clearly not intending to write anything down. But I’m done being nice.
“Tell him his wife needs to talk to him as soon as possible.” I hear her gasp. That’s right. His wife. Not that I’d tell anyone else that, but I’m desperate. Maybe this time, I’ll have his attention.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but?—”
If only this was a game.
I hang up on her. She’ll give him that message. Flinging my phone onto the dashboard, I press my palms into my eye sockets. I groan out loud and stare at Charli. She’s driving me to the doctor’s office to have my stitches removed. “Remind me not to pilfer any more drinks from cute guys. It’s not worth it. This is a disaster.”
“Remember, it’s not your phone’s fault.” She snickers.
I narrow my eyes at her, not at all amused. It’s not like I always take it out on my phone.
“Any more memories?”
I shake my head, my mind a jumble of fragmented memories that don’t seem to piece together anything solid. Nothing that leads me to understand what in the hell I was thinking by getting married. The strangest part, I constantly hear “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley in my dreams. I can only imagine there was an impersonator at the wedding chapel that sang to us.
Talk about romantic.
My phone vibrates from the dashboard. “That’s what I thought.” I should’ve thrown the wife card around days ago. I sigh when I see it’s a Vegas number. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Gracyn Carmichael?”
“It is.”
“This is Tammy Durst from the Bellagio Hotel. I’m the customer relations manager. We have a box of your belongings. I’m sorry it’s taken this long to reach you. The box was placed on my desk while I was on vacation.”
The Bellagio? I thought we were in a room at the Aria? Despite having called every hotel on the Strip, including the Bellagio, they all gave me the runaround about privacy laws because the room wasn’t in my name. This is the best news I’ve had all week. Even though I’ve already bought a new phone and canceled all my credit cards, it’s a relief to get my stuff back. And a piece to the puzzle.
With a nice shiny red scar at the base of my hairline, Charli and I head to the Bellagio after the doctor visit. Within minutes, I’m carrying a small box of my personal items out the main doors. I didn’t bother to search my purse. I’d be more surprised if everything was still there.
I slide into the car, idling to the side of the entrance. “Got it.”
“It’s weird that you stayed here and don’t even remember. Are you sure no drugs were involved?”
“Positive. The doctor’s toxicology report was negative. Which, thank God. But, yeah, it’s weird.”
I dig through the contents, shuffling my heels around. What possessed me to leave the room without my shoes? A folded piece of paper is at the very bottom, and I pick it up and wave it around to grab Charli’s attention. She watches me unfold it.
Written on a paper with the hotel logo at the top is a note from Brooks.
In a different life, you would be the one.
This life is too complicated.
Thanks for stealing my coffee.
Brooks.
“Aww. That’s sweet,” she coos.
A flashback strikes. I’m reading the note in the hotel room. Without thinking, I throw on the white terry robe and run after him, knowing he just left. The last part of the memory is me dashing out the front doors of the hotel. The same ones I just left.
And that’s it.
Dammit , don’t stop there! I knock on my head with the edge of my palm. Wake up!
I relay the brief memory to Charli. “How did I get from here to the Aria? Did I really run after him all that way? What the hell is wrong with me?” The mere image of walking the filthy, urine-soaked Vegas Strip without shoes makes me nauseous. Thank God I was drunk. Remembering all the specifics might not be necessary.
* * *
One week later.
No new memories.
No Brooks.
Still married.
I curse while stuffing the duffel bag with enough clothes for the weekend. It shouldn’t have come down to this, but I can’t sit back and wait for him to pull his head out of his ass. Since I lack control over when my memories return, I have to take control where I can. When Mom’s special knock echoes throughout the small apartment, I take a quick break to let her in.
She follows me to my room. “Going somewhere?” she asks, eyeing the black overnight bag on my bed.
“Yes. That’s why I wanted you to come over. I’m going to see Brooks.”
“As your mom and your attorney, I’m advising you that’s not a good idea.”
I peek my head out of the bathroom, wrapping the cord around my curling iron. “My life right now is a basket full of bad ideas. What’s another one?”
She drops her head and shakes it. I’m pretty sure I see another brown strand of hair turn gray.
“He can’t keep ignoring me.”
“I can take care of all of this. If you would let me.”
“No. I got myself into this mess. I’m going to get myself out.”
“You can’t just waltz into his business and talk to him.”
My smile widens. That’s already occurred to me, and I have a plan. I’m going this weekend because I know where he’ll be. And he can’t hide or run.
“Don’t worry, Mom, I got this.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s what worries me.”
I stuff the bag with toiletries and zip it up. “I’ll be home in a couple of days.” Graduation is next weekend, so this is going to be an in-and-out trip.
Just enough time to crash a wedding.
* * *
Billboards flash with ads as I stare below from my room, highlighting the bustling sidewalks. A bright green glow from the Green Giant ad floods my room, and I gawk at the enormous size. And I considered Las Vegas the ultimate example of excess. Having never been to New York, I get the same vibe that Vegas has to attract people with lights and relentless action.
I’m not a fan already.
After a quick text to everyone that I made it, I fall onto the double-sized bed. I wish Charli had come so we could explore the city. A perk of being jobless: being able to leave at the drop of a dime.
I rub the newly minted scar, a reminder of the main reason I’m here. Let’s just hope I don’t end up arrested. Can you be arrested for crashing a wedding ?
I mean, I bought a gift.
My mind drifts to Brooks. The coffee shop. Dancing. Absently, I wonder if he thinks about me. It infuriates me he probably remembers our wedding. I’m still wrestling with the idea that I’m married while trying to undo something I find difficult to accept, as it didn’t register in my memory. The only memories I have of him are intense, insatiable lust. And lots of sex. Great, mind-altering sex. Like, he set the bar really high.
* * *
The three-hour time change works in my favor. Nerves mixed with a brief panic didn’t let me go back to sleep when I woke at five a.m. my time. Which is eight here.
I shake my hands as I jump around the room, expending some of the anxiety filling my chest, and instead replacing it with encouragement. “You don’t get to marry me, leave me, and then ignore me. I’m freaking Gracyn Carmichael with two powerful fathers who have instilled in me to be fearless, relentless, and impossible to ignore. I will not be walked on.”
I flip through the hotel guide, searching for the gym. Daily yoga sessions. Perfect. Meditation, here I come.
With only an hour left till the wedding, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. Yoga wasn’t as relaxing as I had hoped. It was hot and harder than my normal classes, but it helped take my mind off Brooks as I pushed through balancing and breathing and not dying.
One last swipe of the mascara wand, and I smile at myself. If he thought I looked amazing the night we got married, wait till he gets an eyeful of me now. The red lace dress fits like a glove. The midi length is sexy and elegant. When I saw it on a mannequin at one of Ray’s hotels, I knew it’d be perfect for the occasion.
Vengeance red.
It’s showtime.
The town car glides to a halt in front of a grand cathedral church, and I crane my neck to take in the entire building from inside the car. This is where the wedding is? I stare up at the spectacular architecture of the stone building. Wow. A nervous knot tightens in my throat. Between limos arriving, paparazzi stationed on the sidewalks, and the elegant dresses, this isn’t your average wedding. But then again, I should have known, given the wedding was a feature article on Page Six .
The driver opens my door and extends his hand to help me. I grab my purse and take his hand, stepping out of the car.
I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “The guy getting married. Is he royalty or something?”
The driver’s eyebrows pinch, but he smiles in amusement. “Not royalty. Just your average billionaire. You sure you’re in the right place, ma’am?”
I square my shoulders and smile. “Oh, I’m positive.”
He chuckles and murmurs in his heavy New Yorker accent as he walks around the car. “Good luck with that.”
I don’t need luck.
I need an annulment.
The marble stairs leading into the church are as grand as the building, but they’re incredibly daunting as I glance around at the couples entering alongside me. Nothing quite like standing out when you’re alone, especially in a bright red dress. I should have considered this more carefully. A few people glance curiously at me, and I offer a small smile, trying to blend into the crowd.
Brooks, being the best man, is a detail I remember from that night. A gentleman in a tux and white gloves escorts me down the aisle. When he asks which side, I tell him the groom’s side. He gives me a sidelong glance, as if trying to figure out who I am. Was he in Vegas? It occurs to me that someone could recognize me before I have time to speak to Brooks. Let’s hope not.
Fresh flowers adorn each pew, and I can’t help but marvel at their blush pink hues and gold ribbons. I maneuver past five people before finding an empty seat. My nerves intensify, so I reach for my phone and send a text to Charli, hoping for something to occupy my racing thoughts.
Me: This wedding is insane.
Charli: Oh, yeah? How ?
Me: Remember when Prince William and Kate got married?
Charli: SHUT UP! Really?
I giggle to myself, and the guy next to me gives me a side-eye. I ignore him and text her back .
Me: lol. Kinda like that. There are no king’s guards, but I have no doubt there’ll be a horse-drawn carriage.
Charli: TAKE PICTURES
And then the wedding begins.
I shift to hide myself behind the tall guy sitting in front of me and lean back as the wedding party passes by. It works until the groomsmen fan out on the stairs, Brooks at the very top. Taking my breath away, he’s strikingly handsome in his tux. It’s tailored to fit his muscular arms, narrow waist, and long legs. Obviously, it was custom made. At least I found the hottest guy in Vegas to marry. My thighs let out a quiver involuntarily, reminding me that the yearning for his touch wasn’t one of the forgotten memories. He smiles at the groom, offering a pat on the back, while the groom himself looks like he’s on the verge of passing out.
I feel the same as I blow out a shaky breath.
The bridesmaids walk slowly down the aisle, one by one, and I keep my focus on them. And then the cute flower girl comes down. She whisper-yells behind a fake smile to the boy she’s holding hands with to keep up. I can’t help but laugh when he looks at her with such apprehension and terror in his expression. But she looks forward and marches them both down with no bailouts.
The bride unites with her groom, and we all sit. That’s when it happens. That’s when I’m not hidden anymore. Green eyes meet hazel. The war begins. I sit up taller despite wanting to crawl under a pew and hide. I tilt my head in defiance as if I’m saying yes, it’s me, asshole , to his questioning expression. You made me do this. Except now we’re stuck in a battle where neither one of us can move. We can only assume what each other is thinking. His stoic expression gives nothing away. Is he furious I’m here? Does he have the same unwanted sexual feelings I’m feeling at the moment? My gaze drifts to his hip area, wondering if his dick is hard.
Seriously, Gray, stop!
I glance around the room to distract myself from his penis and its current status, but when our eyes meet again, he flashes a knowing grin. My cheeks flush with warmth as I drop my head, picking at a few beads on my dress. Okay, that was a little obvious.
God, please don’t let this be a long wedding.
I attempt to focus on anything and everything except him for the rest of the ceremony. The quick ceremony seems to last for hours. Between counting the shapes on the patterned floor to studying the windowpane right behind the priest and checking my emails, I accomplished my goal—avoiding Brooks.
After the wedding party exits the church and our row is released, I make a beeline for the bathroom to regain my composure before facing him. My fingers grip the porcelain sink, and I lean forward, dropping my head between my shoulders. “Stop it, body. Stop it right now,” I demand as everything feels like it’s on fire. This was a mistake.
A faint sobbing comes from a closed stall. It was so quiet I assumed the restroom was empty. I pivot around and listen. Sure enough, a small cry comes from the last stall, and it sounds like a child.
I tap on the door with a knuckle. “Are you okay in there?”
“No,” she cries louder. I observe the other stalls, all open, and wonder where her mom is.
“If you want to come out here, I can try to help.”
I wait a couple moments, debating what I should do if she doesn’t come out, but then the lock clicks. The door swings open, and the flower girl stands there with her arms draped at her sides as tears cascade down her chunky red cheeks. Bright turquoise eyes stare up at me. She doesn’t appear older than six or seven.
“How can you be this sad at a wedding? You did an amazing job out there.”
Her breath shakes as she exhales. “I … I lost my dog. My dad told me not to bring it, and I still did. And I lost it. He’s going to be sooo mad.”
Who could ever stay mad at those eyes?
I hope she means a stuffed animal. “Hmm. Let’s see if I can help you. When I can’t remember things, I focus on something else, and then it just pops into my head.” Except for my lapse in memory. Nothing has worked so far. “What’s your name?”
“Presley.” She sniffles, blinking back tears.
“Well, hi, Presley, my name is Gracyn.” I hold out my hand.
She slips her small hand, adorned with neatly painted white fingernails, into mine, and her lips form a toothless smile. “I like your name.”
“I think yours is much cooler. Didn’t you love being a flower girl?” It’s the best job a little girl can have and the most memorable.
She nods, giving me a sad smile. “Except for Rafe. He made me put down my dog ‘cause he had to hold my hand, and then I had the basket in the other hand.” She pulls in a sharp breath, her troubled expression doing a one-eighty, with so much excitement she squeals and jumps up and down. “I know where it is. It’s at the bottom of the flower basket because I was not going to put him down anywhere.”
She runs out of the bathroom before I can stop her. Hope her parents are close by.
All right, Gray, back to your problem. He’s already seen you. Go out there and deal with this. The quicker this is over, the better.
Rolling my shoulders, I stand tall and stride out of the bathroom, offering polite, yet curt smiles at people I squeeze past. A few curious stares linger longer than I’m comfortable with, probably wondering who I am. All the more reason to hurry and get this over, considering I might be trespassing.
My gaze sweeps around the large room, scanning the packed foyer. Before I can find him, a pair of tiny arms wraps around my waist.
“Look, Gracyn, I found Puffers.” Presley releases me to show me the ragged, old pink doggy. This thing has seen a few dirty floors and certainly carries a few diseases.
I squat down and inspect the dog. It needs a good washing and a leg sewn back on. Maybe her mom is waiting for it to disintegrate so it can go in the trash, where it belongs.
I clap my hands once. “Awesome! You better hold on to him this time.”
She stuffs it into her hidden dress pocket, nodding. Her expression brightens, looking behind me. “Daddy, this is Gracyn. She helped me find…” She pauses and then sighs, pulling out her dog. “Puffers. I’m sorry I brought it, but I found it.”
I spin a smidgen on my heels, still squatting, and glance up.
Oh damn.
I blush, stupidly.
Now, I understand complicated.