Chapter 9
THE ACCIDENTAL MARRIAGE AGREEMENT
DALLAS
I held up my hand against the morning light streaming through the curtains, examining the foreign object that had taken residence on my finger overnight. A thick gold band with a diamond that caught the light and sent tiny rainbows dancing across the hotel room's eggshell walls.
“When did I become a jewelry person?” I muttered, wiggling my fingers. The ring felt oddly like a tiny golden handcuff.
I never wanted to get married. Marriage was a trap, an institution designed to make free-spirited people miserable. And yet... I kind of liked the ring, and even more disturbingly, I didn't completely hate the bride.
The bathroom door flew open, releasing a cloud of steam and the scent of hotel shampoo. Davina emerged, already dressed in dark jeans and a white shirt.
“Okay,” she announced, dropping into the chair across from me at the small round table.
“We need to figure out where to go to get this annulled.
Do you think we need lawyers? Or can we just show up somewhere with our Vegas mistake and say 'please delete'?” She reached for her plate of Belgian waffles, stabbing one.
“We don't have much time today before someone starts questioning where we are.
After a while, everyone will notice we're both missing.”
I pushed my eggs around my plate, an idea forming in my mind. “Unless we don't.”
Davina paused mid-chew. “Don't what?”
“Get the marriage annulled.”
She huffed out a laugh that was both musical and dismissive. “Hilarious. The brain cells you killed last night must have been the important ones. The load-bearing ones.”
“No, I'm serious.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “This could be the answer to...” I paused, searching for the right words. “To what we were discussing last night at the bar before the tequila.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows knitted together. “Are you talking about my Big Dick Energy?”
“Yes, and my playboy issue.”
“You're kidding, right?” Davina's voice climbed at least an octave.
“I've given this at least fifteen minutes of serious thought.”
“Oh, well, if you've spent FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES...” She rolled her eyes so hard I was concerned they might get stuck. “We don't even like each other. There's no way a fake marriage would work.”
I shrugged, grinning despite the hangover hammering behind my eyes. “Do we really not like each other, though? We called a truce for one night and ended up married. That has to count for something. Plus, think of the story we'll have to tell at parties.”
“Yes, it counts as evidence that we shouldn’t be allowed near an open bar.” She leaned forward, her brown eyes boring into mine with laser-like precision. “Dallas, I need you to have a come-to-Jesus meeting right now. Preferably with the part of your brain responsible for impulse control.”
I laughed. “Just hear me out. What's the worst that could happen?”
She rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms and sank back in her seat, but I noticed the slight quirk of her lips. “Fine. I'm listening, but only because I'm curious what kind of mental gymnastics you're performing to make this sound reasonable.”
“For the past few years I've had this playboy reputation...”
“Dallas...” she interrupted, gesturing with her fork. “You are a playboy. You've dated half the single women in Florida.”
I shook my head. “No, I'm really not. I prefer relationships. I just don't believe in marriage.”
“Which is why we should get divorced as soon as possible. Preferably before the waffles get cold.”
“We will,” I added quickly. “Just not today.
What could it hurt? We're already married.” I held my hand up and showed her the ring to remind her.
“It would get the media off my back and kill the rumor mill that I only date women until they turn twenty-three because you're...” My face twisted as I realized I had no idea how old she was. “You are over twenty-three, right?”
She snorted. “I'm flattered, but I'm twenty-eight.”
“See. You're closer to my age. Practically geriatric by my alleged dating standards.”
“And how would this help me?” Davina asked, pointing her coffee mug at me.
“Well, first, men want what they can't have. So being seen with me will automatically get you attention.”
Her lip curled. “You're so arrogant, I'm surprised your head fits through doorways.”
“I know. Also part of my charm.” I flashed her a grin that usually melted hearts. It bounced off her skeptical expression. “Anyway, I could also help you tone down your big dick energy.”
“So you want to teach me how to change myself?”
“No. I will help you navigate the first couple of dates so they get to know the real you and aren't scared away before they do.”
She narrowed her eyes, and I could practically see the cost-benefit analysis happening behind them. “And how exactly do you see this working? Are we supposed to tell our friends? When would we get divorced? What's our exit strategy?”
“We don't tell our friends anything. We take off our wedding rings for now…” My gaze dropped to her hand, realizing she’d already removed hers.
A weird feeling twisted in my chest… Disappointment, maybe?
“...and act completely normal. Tonight we have the bachelor and bachelorette parties, and then the next day is the wedding.
After that, Kali and James leave for Greece, Brooke and Matt leave for Italy, and we'll head back to Florida as a married couple.” I shifted in my seat, knowing the next part was the kicker.
“Once we are home, we'll figure everything out after you move into my house.”
Her head snapped back. “Why would I move in with you?”
“Because we're married, Davidson. It would look suspicious to live separately.”
“Why wouldn't you move in with me? I have a great apartment. With actual furniture that isn't just a giant TV and a beanbag chair.”
“I'll have you know I upgraded to a real couch last year.” I blew out a heavy sigh. “How about when we get back to Florida, we visit both our places and decide where we want to live?”
“Deal.” She paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “You should know that I come with a dog, though.”
“I like dogs.”
“And a sometimes cat.”
My brow furrowed. “Sometimes?”
“Karen, Brooke's cat. She's like a shared custody pet. Very judgmental. Has expensive taste in tuna.”
“Not a deal-breaker,” I laughed, surprised at how easily we were negotiating this absurd arrangement. “I can't wait to meet my new step-cat.”
“So we're really doing this?” Davina asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
I nodded, grinning widely. “Yep.” I reached for the syrup, dousing my pancakes until they were swimming. “Till death or bad decisions do us part. Mostly the latter, I'm guessing.”
“I just can't believe you're not more upset about this.”
“Oh, I'm upset,” I said, my gaze lifting to the ceiling where her lacy black bra was still dangling from the fan. “I'm upset that I can't remember how that got up there.”
Her eyes followed mine upward, and a flush spread across her cheeks. “Do you think we...?”
“God, I hope not,” I replied automatically.
She flipped me off with the hand not holding her coffee mug.
“I meant,” I backtracked quickly, “that I hope we didn't because it would be a crime not to remember...” My gaze raked over her appreciatively, lingering just long enough to make her flush. “...you naked.”
“This is going to be the longest fake marriage in history.” She dropped her head into her hand with a groan.
“Look, Davidson,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “I was so drunk I got married and don't remember anything. I seriously doubt anything happened except me stripping down to nothing and passing out.”
“Just so we're clear,” she said, looking up, “this arrangement is strictly business. No funny business.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, trying to ignore how the morning light caught the gold in her hair. “All business. No funny.”
She extended her hand across the table. “Partners?”
I took it, ignoring the strange little jolt when our fingers touched. “Partners.”
As we shook on our ridiculous plan, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly her hand fit in mine. Probably just the hangover making me sentimental. Nothing more.