My mouth falls open as I try to find the words, but instead, nothing comes out, and I move to join her. There’s nothing but snow and trees.
What in the actual fuck is happening?
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
She lets out a groan and turns to move past me, but I stay stuck in place, looking out at the winter wonderland.
“Um, Ev?” her voice shakes.
“Yeah,” I say, turning to face her.
In her hand is a framed photo of the two of us. She’s in a light pink, floor length gown, and I’m wearing a tuxedo.A large bouquet of flowers is in her hand. My eyes shift back and forth between the photo and the rings she’s wearing. Slowly, I turn my gaze downward to my own hand, where a simple gold band wraps around my left ring finger.
When did we get fucking married?
Chapter 15: Are We Dead?
Claire
Grasping the edge of the sink, I stare into an ornate, rose gold-framed mirror, assessing every little thing about myself and looking for anything that might be different or any clue to what’s going on.
My long black hair is still wavy from the curls I wore to the game last night. My lace bralette and thong are what I fell asleep wearing. The dainty silver chain and initial charm are still around my neck. Mascara is smudged under my eyes from where I didn’t wash my makeup off before going to bed.
Everything’s the same, except it’s not.
I’m in a room I’ve never been in before, wearing a diamond on my left hand, and according to the photo on the bedside table, I’m Everett Nuttall’s wife.
This is a dream. This has to be a dream.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I try to calm my racing heart rate. There is no need to panic. I just need to wake up.
Turning on the faucet, I splash cold water on my face, but when I open my eyes, I’m still standing in the bathroom.
Pumping some facewash into my hand, I cover my face with the gentle suds. Splashing more cold water on my cheeks, I wash away the night before, fully expecting to open my eyes and be safely in my bed in New York, but nothing changes.
I’m still here—wherever here might be.
Grabbing for a towel, I wipe away the water and turn around, leaning against the counter top.
The date on my phone reads December eighteenth, which is correct because yesterday was December seventeenth. Swiping up, I tap on my sister’s name. It goes straight to her voicemail. I try texting her, but it doesn’t deliver. Trying my parents, my heart sinks when the same thing happens.
Pulling up the map on the phone, I attempt to find my location, but the map won’t load.
Fuck…what is going on?
Flipping around, I stare at my reflection, slapping my cheeks until they both turn red. “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” I yell at myself, but it’s no use.
No matter what I try, I’m still standing in this bathroom, half-naked, and Everett Nuttall—my husband—is on the other side of the door. Or at least I think he is. How long have I been in here? Twenty minutes? An hour? For all I know he’s left me here to fend for myself alone.
A small knock startles me. “Claire, you okay in there?” Everett asks from outside the bathroom. Concern laces his voice.
Okay, so he’s still here. That’s good. I think.
Running my hands down my face, I try to collect myself. Don’t panic. Worst case scenario, we’re both dead and this is some sort of Hell. Best case, this is a dream and we’ll wake up any minute and laugh about it.
Shit, are we dead? Is this some sort of pink Hell?
“Claire, um, maybe we should talk and try to figure this out.”
