Chapter Five Alex
Last night, I thought Euan was the funniest person I’d ever met, because even though it was one of the worst nights of my life, I couldn’t stop laughing.
I don’t think he’s very funny now, but I still force a rough, shaky laugh.
“I remember proposing, a couple of times, to more than just you. But no, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t forget an entire wedding.
” Maybe if I emphasize enough words, he’ll finally crack and laugh at his own terrible joke.
But his expression remains serious as he hands me the phone.
I scan the email, hardly registering the words until I get to the last sentence.
We wish you and your new spouse a long, happy marriage!
I slowly drag my eyes up to the start of the page and read it all.
Then again. And a third time, as if the words will rearrange themselves in a more sensible order if I stare at them long enough.
“This is clearly some sort of scam email,” I say, passing the phone back to him.
How would a scammer know my name? I bite my lip at the thought.
Euan’s name makes sense. Whoever sold the scammers his email probably sold them all the personal information they had.
But to include my name … unless everyone’s theories about their phones listening to their conversations are true, they had to get my name from somewhere.
Euan accepts his phone and carefully scrolls through it. The seconds tick by without him commenting further on the email. I shift restlessly on the bed and wonder where my own phone ended up. And my wallet and car keys. And the fucking ring.
A glint catches my eye, and I stiffen as I realize the ring isn’t missing after all.
It’s resting on Euan’s left pinky finger, right where I put it last night.
Shit, does he think he gets to keep it because I jokingly proposed?
Should I say something? God, what if this whole marriage email is a ruse to convince me to let him have the diamond ring so he can pawn it.
Okay, that ridiculous plot would take too much planning for the drunken state we were both in last night. If he wanted to hawk the engagement ring, all he had to do was stuff it somewhere I couldn’t find it, then wait for me to leave. A lot easier than concocting an elaborate scheme.
“The charge is on my credit card.”
It’s been so long since Euan spoke that his deep voice makes me jump. I look up at him, brow furrowed in confusion.
He tilts the screen to show me the faint line of the pending transaction:
VIRTUALVOWS $597.95.
“Shit,” I whisper. “Shit, that’s actually a lot.”
“I’m less concerned about the money than the implications,” he replies dryly.
Right. Shit. Fuck. We’re married. There’s a little flutter in my chest, as if I’m excited about the prospect.
Which obviously, I’m not, because Euan’s practically a stranger.
It must be a nervous flutter. A ‘what are we going to do’ flutter.
A ‘fuck fuck fuck’ flutter. Before I start spiraling down the path of naming all the possible flutters, I blurt out, “This can’t be legal. ”
“Which part?”
“All of it!” I wave my hand in the air to encompass the whole clusterfuck. “The drunkenness. The online-ness. The-the—”
“Suddenness?” he supplies.
“Exactly! It’s not like we’re in Vegas—you can’t get married on drunken impulse. There are rules and waiting times and licenses and certificates and officiants and—and things!”
“Can’t forget things,” Euan replies with a straight face, though his lips twitch within his beard.
I scowl, but it’s hard to hold the expression when thinking about how ridiculous this situation is.
I mean, really, who gets accidentally married outside of a cheesy rom-com?
My own lips twitch repeatedly and it takes a few seconds to wrestle them back under control.
“All I’m saying is: it’s still probably a scam.
A very expensive one, but it can’t possibly be legal. ”
Euan considers that possibility for a moment before nodding. “You’re probably right. But it will take more than a quick internet search to determine the legality and how to reverse things.”
A phone rings and I flinch as the sharp sound reignites my headache. I almost forgot about the hangover amidst everything else.
Euan picks up the hotel’s landline, his voice a low rumble as he speaks to the employee. His gaze shoots to me, contemplative, and then he says, “Yes, I’d like to extend my stay.”
“Oh shit, is it check out time?” I whisper as I look at the clock. Fifteen minutes past, by the looks of it.
Euan finishes his conversation with the front desk and hangs up. “It’s alright,” he says, correctly interrupting my guilt. “Switching hotels would be too much of a hassle anyway.”
My brow furrows. “Switching hotels …” I repeat.
Then I remember what he told me last night, sometime between shots: he’s in town visiting his boyfriend.
Euan was supposed to stay with said boyfriend until the bastard dumped him unceremoniously through a text message. “Right, you’re only here for a week.”
“Or less,” he says, though he doesn’t sound enthusiastic about the prospect of returning home early.
Come stay with me. The offer is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the impulse down. We’re already dealing with a—hopefully fake—impulsive marriage. Inviting him over to my place would just complicate things.
“How’s your stomach?” he asks. “Settled down any? I could use some breakfast. Or, brunch, I suppose.”
I nod eagerly, telling myself I’m excited about the food and not at the prospect of spending more time with him. I mean, we’ll probably have to spend a lot of time together while we figure out this marriage scam. Put our heads together to figure it out. Very close together …
My eyes land on his lips, pink against the dark backdrop of his beard. They were so soft yet firm last night, expecting me to yield for him. His tongue taking the initiative to boldly explore my mouth.
Those tempting lips quirk in amusement. “Alex?”
I blink and force my gaze up to his dark eyes. “What?”
“Food?” he prompts. “Are you hungry yet?”
Depends on what you’re offering. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. Then I remember that he’s the real victim of this definitely-fake-marriage-scam, out six hundred dollars, so I blurt, “It’ll be my treat!”
He accepts the offer with a simple nod. “I only arrived in the city yesterday, so do you have any suggestions for where to eat? Or do you want to eat at the hotel restaurant?”
“You mean where they serve overpriced, undercooked pancakes?” I ask, shaking my head in disgust. “No, come on.” I hop off the bed.
A quick search around the room shows that my phone and wallet are on a nearby table.
My suit jacket, tie, and shoes are draped across one of the chairs.
Maybe I should grab it all, so I don’t have to come back, but I leave the jacket and tie there and just slip into the loafers while I fill my pockets with the necessities.
“I’ll take you to one of my favorite nearby places. ”
“Sounds great,” he says, stuffing his phone and the hotel room key in his pocket. He doesn’t comment on the fact I’m leaving my things behind, as if he expects it anyway.
As we’re walking out the door, I feel a brief brush on my back.
Like he naturally reached out to guide me before thinking better of it and immediately dropped his hand.
A little shudder runs down my spine as I imagine his big hand pressed against my lower back.
Settled onto my waist. Trailing up my side.
Get a fucking grip, I tell my libido, wrestling it under control. I haven’t even been single for twenty-four hours. A one-night stand rebound is one thing, but I shouldn’t be getting horny over a guy I just met.
Even if he is potentially my husband.