“Sure.” He chuckles. “It was either a turtleneck or a Christmas sweater. I thought this was the better option.”
Given how it looks like it’s painted on his perfect body, I’d say it was definitely the better option. No doubt about it.
Fuck, I need to focus.
I move towards where I left the wedding photo, running my hand over the fur throw draped over the edge of the bed.
“Everything feels so real, but I know we aren’t married,” I say, picking up the frame. The dress I’m wearing is stunning—pink, but stunning. The blush corset bodice fits me like a glove. Matching tulle straps are layered over it, creating a deep V. My champagne colored heels peek out from beneath the full skirt. Everett is in a classic black tuxedo. A bouquet of pink roses, anemones, and greenery hangs in my hand as he dips me into a kiss.
“I mean, look how in love we seem. How do you explain us being here and having no recollection of our marriage or our life together?” I turn to face him.
“I’m as lost as you are,” he says. “Maybe if we think through the night, then we can get some answers. What do you remember?”
I attempt to replay my evening. I was at the hockey game with my sister. I broke things off with Raph, then ran into Everett at the bar. He asked me if I wanted to get out of there, and I did. We wentback to my apartment in New York and hooked up. He stayed over because the power was out.
“The power went out. That’s why you stayed over.”
“Yeah. The snow and those northern lights were insane. So pink they didn’t seem real.”
Pink. Everything is fucking pink.
Oh.
My.
God.
“Stella!” The photo falls from my hands and onto the mattress in front of me.
“Who?”
“I knew there was something weird about her, and then I saw her at the arena,” I explain, my words rushed, and I begin to pace around the room. “Well, not her, but a version of her. And then there was that woman in the bathroom. She had pink hair too, and now everything in this place is pink.”
I pull at my sweater. “Pink.”
I grab a pillow off the bed. “Pink”
I point to my wedding dress. “Pink”
I gesture to the rug on the floor. “Pink…it’s all pink!”
“Slow down. I don’t understand,” he says, walking into my path. He firmly grabs both my arms, squeezing gently. The tension building between my shoulder blades eases, my pulse slows, and my breathing evens out.
Inhaling deeply, I try again.
“Stella is a witch—I think—and she’s cursed us, and now we’re stuck in some place that doesn’t exist, married to each other.”
“A witch?” One of his eyebrows lifts and his hands fall to his sides.
“Yes.”
“Not possible.” He shakes his head.
“Some might say waking up in a house that’s not yours, married to a person you hooked up with the night before, is impossible, but here we fucking are, Everett.” I gesture my arms out to the side. “Did you have any weird run-ins with any pink haired women last night?”
He studies me for a minute, sliding his hands into his pocket. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, and I do my best to think of any other explanation for our peculiar situation,but the only thing that makes sense—and I’m using the termmakes sensevery loosely here—is Stella.
“You know, now that you mention it, before the game started, I saw a woman with pink hair in the stands watching me. And then, when she and I made eye contact, the arena felt colder for a minute.” He chuckles. “Theo thought I was nuts, but do you think that could’ve been her?”
