“But what if we didn’t want this?” I ask.
“I asked if you were single and if you wanted to someday fall in love and get married. You both said yes.”
“But not today!” I protest.
“We don’t know each other.” Lane inhales deeply, like he’s summoning patience from somewhere deep inside.
Lucian’s smile is knowing, almost pitying. “I can guarantee that most couples have never looked at each other for a prolonged period of time, allowing their defenses and awkwardness to fall away so they become emotionally and physically vulnerable. It gives way to a kind of openhearted affection and trust that we all saw and more than likely you both felt. Believe me when I say you know more about each other than some spouses who’ve been together for ten years.”
I think about this, and he’s not entirely wrong. Making brief eye contact isn’t hard, but staring—really gazing into someone’s eyes—is different. It can be aggressive, uncomfortable, and invasive. But what we did on stage didn’t feel like any of those things. It felt like connection, recognition. Like coming home.
But was that real or was I in a trance? My thoughts feel scrambled, confused. I’m exhausted—I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours now, and my brain is running on little more than cupcake sprinkles and confetti.
Lane’s expression turns cold on Lucian. “Trusting you is the last thing I’m about to do. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
My phone buzzes again, and I silence it automatically.
When Lucian speaks, his tone is even. “That would likely be social media notifications congratulating you. The video has gone quite viral, I’m told. They always do.”
“But we were coaxed into this. This isn’t real,” I say faintly, the fight in me gone.
“According to the state of Nevada, it is,” Lucian says matter-of-factly.
“I live in Nebraska,” I say.
“You do?” Lane asks, surprised.
“Do you?” I reply.
He nods and mutters, “What are the chances?”
But this only reinforces how little we actually know abouteach other, despite what Lucian said. Yet, our hands are still linked. Is it because we’re a united front or for some other reason?
Lucian gazes upward as if looking at stars, though the bright neon lights of Las Vegas make the night sky invisible even here in the dim alley. “If you ask me, it was meant to be.”
We both grumble our disagreement, but before we can argue further, Lucian ducks into the car.
“Wait!” I call out, but the driver pulls away, leaving Lane and me standing alone in the alley.
We look at each other for a long moment, and it’s almost like being on stage again, sharing the same intense eye contact that feels more intimate than it should between strangers.
He really is handsome. Across the ballroom earlier, before any of this started, those green eyes captured mine. I was drawn to the way he carried himself, like he was comfortable in his own skin but didn’t need to prove it to anyone. His hands are so strong that I can almost convince myself that if I don’t let go, this will all turn out okay.
The memory of our “wedding ceremony” comes back to me, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s from watching the video or if I was actually conscious during it.
There was a moment—when he said “I do”—where I thought I saw a flash of recognition in his eyes. Not hypnosis, not coercion, but choice, as Lucian said.
That’s impossible. Isn’t it?
And what about me? How much of that was me simply giving in to my true desires or because I may have been in a trance?
“Nina!” Bree’s voice echoes down the alley. My friends rush toward us like they’re prepared to rescue me with a perfumed, tulle, and satin net. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere!”
I blink, and when I look back, Lane has melted into the shadows near the building. Gone, like he was never there at all.
Maybe the whole night has just been one long figment of my imagination. Too many days in a row waking up before sunup to bake bread. Too much stress about the lease renewal, debt, and keeping the bakery afloat.
But the ring on my finger says otherwise.
