Chapter 12
MANDY
Igroaned and rolled over, immediately regretting the movement. My mouth tasted like I’d been sucking on cotton balls dipped in vinegar. Very unpleasant. My hair was plastered to one side of my face. I was still wearing my dress from last night. The skirt was hiked up around my waist.
What the hell happened?
I sat up slowly, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Fragments of memory floated through my consciousness. The reception. Dancing. Drinks. Lots of drinks. Briggs singing karaoke.
Oh God, had that actually happened? I vaguely remembered laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
But after that? Nothing. Just a big black hole where the rest of the night should have been. I looked around the room to make sure it was my room. And I was alone.
That was good.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand and checked the time. Nearly noon. I’d slept late. That wasn’t like me.
I needed water. Coffee. Food. In that order. And then on repeat.
I called room service and ordered enough to feed a small army. Coffee, a fruit plate, a bagel with extra cream cheese, orange juice, and a side of bacon because I deserved it after last night.
While I waited, I shuffled to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror was not pretty. Mascara was smudged under my eyes. My hair looked like a bird had made a home up there. I leaned forward and made sure I didn’t have actual fur on my teeth. It sure as hell felt like it.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to wake myself up. That’s when I saw it.
A ring. What looked a lot like a wedding ring was sitting on the bathroom counter next to the sink.
I froze, water dripping down my face. Did I hook up with a married man last night?
Oh God. Oh no. That wasn’t me. I didn’t do that. I would never do that. But I also never got so drunk I couldn’t remember the night before. But even then, I was certain I would never do that, no matter how drunk I got.
I looked at the ring again. It was dainty. Pretty. A woman’s ring with modest diamonds around the band. Whose was it? Maybe the housekeeper left it accidentally.
I picked it up, turning it over in my fingers. There was no inscription inside. No clue to who it belonged to. It was elegant. Not something I would normally buy for myself, but I could see why someone would choose it.
Without thinking, I slipped it onto my left ring finger.
It fit perfectly.
I stared at my hand, confused. Did I buy this for myself? When? Why? I didn’t remember going shopping, but considering there was a pretty big black spot in my mind, it was possible.
My phone buzzed from the other room. I needed to check with Zoey and make sure everything was okay.
Frowning, I walked back into the bedroom and picked up my phone.
162 notifications on Instagram.
12 missed calls.
22 text messages.
What the hell?
I opened Instagram first, and my feed exploded with tagged photos and comments. My heart started racing as I scrolled through them.
There I was, in my dress, standing in what looked like a chapel. And next to me, his arm around my waist, was Briggs.
We were both smiling. I was holding a bouquet. Where had I gotten a bouquet? Briggs looked happier than I’d ever seen him, his hair slightly mussed, his tie loosened.
And we were standing in front of what was very clearly a wedding officiant. Dressed like Elvis. My eyes dropped to the caption.
“brEAKING: Billionaire attorney Briggs Blackwell secretly marries wedding planner Mandy Carter in surprise Vegas ceremony!”
I stared at the screen, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I scrolled to the next photo. There we were again, this time kissing. His hand was on my cheek, and I was on my toes, reaching up to meet him.
Another photo. Us walking out of the chapel, his jacket draped over my shoulders.
Another. Us getting into a car, both of us laughing.
I felt like I was going to throw up. I looked down at my hand, at the ring that fit so perfectly. Oh God.
It was my wedding ring.
I got married last night. To Briggs Blackwell. And I didn’t remember any of it.
My hands started shaking as I opened the text messages. Most were from Cleo.
“MANDY CALL ME” “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT” “ARE YOU OKAY???” “SERIOUSLY CALL ME RIGHT NOW!”
There were other texts but I did not have the mental bandwidth to deal with any of it. I sank onto the bed, my legs suddenly unable to support me. This was bad. This was really, really bad.
I dragged myself into the shower and stood under the scalding spray, letting the water beat down on my skull like it could somehow wash away the catastrophic mistake I’d apparently made.
My head throbbed with every heartbeat, a relentless reminder that tequila and I were no longer on speaking terms.
When I finally emerged, wrapped in the hotel’s fluffy robe, I forced myself to look at my phone again. Maybe I’d imagined it all. Maybe it had been some kind of stress-induced hallucination.
Nope. Still there. Still very, very real.
I scrolled through the photos again, studying each one, looking for some sign it was all just a practical joke. I wasn’t seeing the joke. I didn’t look like a woman being forced to do something she didn’t want to do.
I looked happy in all of them. We both did.
That was almost worse somehow. If I’d looked miserable or confused, I could write it off as a drunken mistake. But in these photos, I looked like a woman who was having the time of her life marrying a man she barely knew.
My phone buzzed. Cleo. Again.
I couldn’t avoid her forever. I took a deep breath and answered.
“Are you alive?” she said immediately.
“Barely.”
“What the hell happened last night?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember getting married?”
“No. I remember the reception. I remember having drinks with Briggs. After that, it’s just… blank.”
Cleo was quiet for a moment. “Mandy, you married my cousin.”
“I know.”
“I thought you didn’t even like him,” she said.
“I don’t.” I paused. “Drunk me apparently disagrees.”
“The photos are everywhere. TMZ, People Magazine, and Page Six. Everyone’s talking about it on social media.”
I closed my eyes. “I know.”
“What did Briggs say?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I woke up alone in my room. I haven’t talked to him.”
Cleo sighed. “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.” I looked down at the ring on my finger.
“Jesus,” Cleo breathed. “Okay. Okay, let’s think about this rationally. You can get it annulled, right? Vegas marriages are easy to undo.”
“Yeah. Probably.” I paused.
“Talk to Briggs. He’s a lawyer. He should know how to handle all that.”
“I’m terrified to face him,” I admitted softly.
“Well, you’re going to have to eventually,” Cleo said gently. “You’re married to him.”
“Don’t remind me.”
We talked for a few more minutes, with Cleo trying to be supportive while also clearly freaking out on my behalf. When we finally hung up, I felt marginally better. At least I wasn’t alone in this disaster.
Room service knocked on the door and I took the tray from the guy, carrying it inside. I attacked the coffee first. The caffeine hit hard. It wasn’t enough, but I was just getting started.
I munched on bacon and considered my options. There weren’t many.
There was another knock on my door. Had they forgotten one of my orders?
I opened the door to find Briggs standing there. He looked about as bad as I felt. His hair was disheveled. He was wearing khakis and a polo shirt, which was so unlike his usual three-piece suit that it threw me off balance. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
“It’s you,” I said stupidly.
“Hi.” He looked past me into the room. “Can I come in?”
I stepped aside, and he walked in. I closed the door behind him, suddenly very aware that my husband was in my hotel room. This could not be happening.
“So,” I said.
“So,” he echoed.
We stood there awkwardly for a moment. This was the man I apparently married last night, and I had no idea what to say to him.
“Did you see the photos?” I finally asked.
“All of them. My brothers made sure of that.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t remember any of it.”
“Neither do I.” I gestured to the couch. “Do you want to sit?”
He nodded and sat down. I took the chair across from him. It felt safer to have some distance between us.
“What do you remember?” he asked.
I chewed on my lower lip as I thought. “The reception. Having drinks with you at the bar. You singing karaoke, which I’m pretty sure actually happened based on the videos.”
He winced. “It happened. I’ve seen the footage. It’s mortifying.”
“You weren’t that bad,” I lied.
“I was terrible. I can’t sing.” He leaned back against the couch. “After that, it’s just blank. I remember laughing a lot. I think we were dancing?”
“Yeah, I think so too.” I picked at the hem of my shirt. “I don’t remember going to a chapel. I don’t remember the actual wedding. I just woke up this morning with a ring on my bathroom counter.”
He held up his left hand, showing me his matching gold band. “I’m wearing mine. And it’s apparently stuck. I’m guessing the alcohol still clogging my liver and kidneys is making me puffy. I’m hoping I can get it off soon.”
“Speaking of getting off, did we…” I trailed off, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Sleep together?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I woke up alone, still mostly dressed. And I think I would remember that, even drunk.”
“Same.” I felt oddly relieved. At least there was that.
“This is your fault,” he said suddenly. “You know that, right?”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re the one who insisted I prove I could have fun. You challenged me to loosen up.”
“I didn’t tell you to marry me!” I said, shaking my head. “There’s loose and then there’s batshit crazy.”
Briggs shrugged. “You told me to have drinks with you. Multiple drinks. You kept ordering shots.”
“You could have said no!”
“I was trying to prove a point!”
“Well, congratulations,” I snapped. “You proved you can’t handle your liquor. That’s a great character trait for a lawyer.”
His jaw tightened. “This isn’t like me. I don’t do things like this. I’m responsible. I’m careful.”
“You think I do things like this?” I shot back. “I plan weddings for a living. I don’t get drunk and accidentally participate in one!”
We glared at each other across the small space. The tension crackled between us.
“We need to get this annulled,” he said finally. “As soon as possible. This is bad for my reputation.”
Something in me snapped.
“Fuck your reputation. It’s mine I’m worried about.
” I stood up, pacing. “Do you understand what this looks like? I’m a wedding planner.
People trust me to coordinate the most important day of their lives.
They trust me to be professional, organized, and in control.
And now there are photos of me getting trashed at a wedding I planned and running off to marry one of the guests.
” I turned to face him. “My clients are going to see those photos. My potential clients are going to see those photos. Do you know how many brides are going to think twice about hiring me now?”
“So we get it annulled,” he said. “We put out a statement saying it was a mistake, we were drunk, it didn’t mean anything.”
“That’s worse!” I threw my hands up. “I can’t get an annulment.”
“You want a divorce then?” he asked.
“No. You don’t understand. I sell the idea of happily ever after. I can’t be some irresponsible woman who randomly marries and divorces in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Well, apparently, you are,” he muttered.
“No. I’m not. I won’t be. I can’t be. We have to stay married so people don’t think I’ll do this at their wedding.”
He started laughing. I leveled a glare at him and he quickly stopped. “Fuck that. You’re crazy.”
“Fake it with me for a few months and I’ll sign your contract and whatever else you want me to sign. Just do this for me. Trust me, it’s better for both of us.”
The poor man. Bless his heart. He looked like he was going to pass out.