Chapter Ten
Julien
“What do you mean, I can’t file until I’m back in Connecticut?”
I was standing outside the hotel restaurant, phone pressed to my ear, trying very hard not to scream. Inside, Athena was probably still communing with her acai bowl or thanking the universe for the structural integrity of the building, or whatever it was she did when I wasn’t around to witness it.
My attorney, Richard Chen, who I’d worked with on exactly two occasions, both involving medical malpractice insurance reviews, and who I was now deeply regretting calling, sighed on the other end of the line.
“Because Nevada marriage laws and Connecticut divorce laws are two different things, Julien. You got married in Nevada. You can file for annulment there, or you can file for divorce in Connecticut, but either way, you need to be physically present to start the paperwork. You can’t just call me from a hotel in Vegas and expect me to magic this away. ”
“I don’t want you to magic it away. I want you to lawyer it away. Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
“You pay me to review insurance documents. This is... significantly outside my usual scope.”
“So you’re saying I’m stuck.”
“I’m saying you need to come home, bring all relevant documentation, the marriage certificate, any witnesses if applicable, proof of intoxication if you’re going the annulment route, and then we can start the process.
Which, I should mention, takes time. Weeks, potentially. Months if she contests it.”
Months.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember what breathing felt like.
“And I can’t just... stay here? File in Nevada?”
“You could. But you’d need to establish residency, which means staying in Nevada for at least six weeks. Is that something you’re prepared to do?”
Six weeks.
In Las Vegas.
With Athena.
“No,” I said. “No, that is absolutely not something I’m prepared to do.”
“Then you need to come home. Get your documentation in order. And we’ll proceed from there.”
“How long will it take?”
“The annulment? If she doesn’t contest it and we can prove intoxication or lack of consent, maybe a few weeks. If she fights it—” He paused. “Longer.”
If she fights it.
I thought about Athena’s face this morning when she’d explained—in excruciating detail—how the universe had brought us together. How we were soulmates. How this was destiny.
She was going to fight it.
Of course she was going to fight it.
The universe had told her to marry me. You didn’t just undo what the universe told you to do.
“Julien?” Richard’s voice cut through my spiral. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Look, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but the best thing you can do right now is come home, get some distance from the situation, and let me handle the legal side. Okay?”
Distance.
Right.
Except I couldn’t get distance because I had to fly home with her.
Because apparently, the universe, or fate, or Karma, or whatever cosmic force was currently ruining my life, had decided that I hadn’t suffered enough yet.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“Good. Call me when you land and we’ll set up a meeting.”
He hung up.
I stood there for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, trying to process what had just happened.
I was trapped.
Completely, legally, cosmically trapped.
I couldn’t file for annulment here. I couldn’t stay here to file. I had to go home, back to New Haven, back to my carefully controlled life, back to my colleagues and my sister and everyone who knew me as the person who had everything together.
And I had to bring her with me.
My wife.
My wife.
The woman I’d met yesterday.
The woman who believed the universe had personally arranged our meeting.
The woman who was currently inside the restaurant, probably explaining to the waiter how the cosmic energy in the acai bowl was aligning her chakras or whatever.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to get on a plane by myself, fly home, and pretend this entire weekend had never happened.
But I couldn’t.
Because she had the marriage certificate.
Because she was legally my wife.
Because the universe, apparently, had a sense of humor and hated me personally.
I took a deep breath, or at least, I tried to; my chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped it in plastic wrap. With no other option, I walked back into the restaurant.
Athena looked up and smiled.
That same bright, genuine, completely unbothered smile.
Like this was all perfectly normal.
Like we hadn’t just upended both our lives in the span of twelve hours.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “You were gone for a while. I was starting to think maybe you’d gotten lost. The universe can be tricky sometimes with directions.”
“We need to go,” I said.
“Go?”
“Home. Back to Connecticut. I have a flight in three hours.”
“Oh!” She brightened even more, which I hadn’t thought was possible. “We’re going to Connecticut? That’s wonderful! I’ve never been to Connecticut. Is it nice? I bet it’s nice. Very historical, right? Lots of old buildings and fall leaves and—”
“Athena.”
She stopped talking.
“We’re going to Connecticut,” I said carefully, “because I can’t file for an annulment until I’m back in New Haven. Which means you’re coming with me. And then, once we’re there, we’re going to a lawyer, we’re going to file the paperwork, and we’re going to undo this entire situation. Understood?”
She tilted her head, considering.
“The universe works in mysterious ways,” she said finally.
That was not an answer.
That was definitely not an answer.
But I didn’t have time to argue because if I didn’t leave now, I was going to miss my flight, and the thought of spending one more night in Las Vegas, one more night in this cosmic nightmare, was enough to make me want to walk into the desert and let nature take its course.
“Let’s go,” I said.
She stood, grabbed her bag, which appeared to be made of some kind of woven hemp and had crystals dangling from the straps, and followed me out of the restaurant.
“This is so exciting,” she said as we walked toward the elevator.
“I mean, I know you’re stressed. I can feel your energy.
It’s very spiky right now, very jagged, but this is actually perfect.
The universe is bringing us home together.
To your home. Which will become our home eventually, once you stop fighting destiny and accept that—”
“We’re getting an annulment,” I said.
“—we’re meant to be together,” she finished, completely ignoring me.
The elevator doors opened.
We stepped inside.
I pressed the button for our floor—our floor, because apparently, we were sharing a room now, because the universe had decided I hadn’t been humiliated enough—and tried not to think about what came next.
The airport.
The flight.
Six hours trapped in a metal tube with Athena.
And then home.
Where I’d have to explain this to everyone.
Fitz was going to have a field day.
My sister was going to kill me.
And Athena... Athena was going to keep talking about the universe and destiny and cosmic alignment until I either accepted it or had a complete mental breakdown.
I was leaning toward the breakdown.
The elevator dinged.
We stepped out.
“I should probably pack,” Athena said thoughtfully.
“I didn’t bring much, just some crystals, my tarot cards, and a few changes of clothes.
The universe told me to travel light. Which makes sense now, doesn’t it?
Because I’m not going back to where I came from.
I’m going forward. With you. To Connecticut. ”
I unlocked the hotel room door.
She breezed past me, already talking about which crystals she should bring and whether the airplane’s altitude would affect their energy.
I stood in the doorway and wondered, not for the first time that day, if this was what a nervous breakdown felt like.
Probably.
This was definitely what a nervous breakdown felt like.
McCarran International Airport was a special kind of hell.
Not because of the crowds—though there were crowds, lots of them, all moving in seemingly random directions like particles in Brownian motion—but because Athena had opinions about everything.
The slot machines near the gates? “Very interesting energy. Lots of hope and desperation mixed together. The universe is trying to teach people about attachment.”
The overpriced airport coffee? “Probably not organic. You can tell by the aura. It’s very... corporate.”
The TSA security line? “Do you think the scanners disrupt your electromagnetic field? I read somewhere that they might. I should probably cleanse my crystals after we go through.”
I didn’t respond to any of it.
I just stood in line, shoes off, laptop out, trying to pretend I was alone.
It didn’t work.
“Are you nervous about flying?” she asked as we approached the scanner.
“No.”
“Because I can hold your hand if you want. Some people find physical touch grounding during stressful situations. It helps balance the—”
“I’m fine.”
“—root chakra and creates a sense of safety and—”
“Athena. I’m fine.”
She smiled. “Okay. But the offer stands.”
I stepped through the scanner.
It beeped.
Of course it beeped.
“Sir, do you have anything metal on you?” the TSA agent asked.
I looked down at my hands.
At the ring.
The wedding ring that I’d tried and failed to remove this morning.
“It’s... a ring,” I said.
“You’ll need to remove it.”
“I can’t.”
The agent raised an eyebrow. “You can’t remove your ring?”
“It’s stuck.”
Behind me, I heard Athena’s voice: “It’s his wedding ring! We just got married. Isn’t that romantic? The universe made sure it wouldn’t come off. Like a symbol of our eternal bond.”
The TSA agent looked at me.
I looked at the TSA agent.
“Congratulations,” he said flatly.
“Thanks,” I said, equally flat.
He waved me through.
I collected my bag, my shoes, my laptop, and what remained of my dignity, and headed toward the gate.
Athena caught up to me, practically skipping.
“See? Even the TSA recognizes our cosmic connection.”
“The TSA recognized that I had a ring stuck on my finger.”
“Same thing.”
It was absolutely not the same thing.
We reached the gate.