“Right,” he says. “Of course.”
The tightness in his voice catches me off guard, but I can’t bring myself to ask what he’s thinking. Because if I start thinking, if I acknowledge the tiny voice that says maybe this isn’t a mistake, and that I don’t hate seeing that ring on his finger, I’m going to lose my mind completely.
An hour later,we’ve relocated to the sitting area of what we’ve now realized is a honeymoon suite.
Because, of course, it is. I have no idea how we got this suite, but I’m definitely not hating it.
The room is obscenely luxurious—white marble floors, a California king bed that probably costs more than my car, a mirrored closet next to the bed, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the entire Strip. There’s a hot tub on the balcony. Ahot tub.
While I showered, Duke ordered room service. Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. It sits untouched on the glass coffee table. My stomach lurches at the sight of it.
“Found something.” Duke’s voice is tight.
He’s sitting on the plush couch across from me, phone in hand. I move to sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch, and he tilts the screen so I can see.
His camera roll. A video thumbnail. The timestamp reads 2:47 AM.
My pulse thuds in my ears. Whatever happened last night, whatever we did…is on his phone. I don’t know if it’s better to know or not know what happened.
“Ready?” he asks.
I’m not, but I nod anyway.
He hits play with unsteady hands.
On screen: a wedding chapel that has Christmas lights strung along fake wood beams. Silk flowers in garish pinks and purples. And there, at the altar, an Elvis impersonator in a white sequined jumpsuit, complete with pompadour and oversized sunglasses.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
But that’s not what makes my throat close up.
It’s us.
Drunk Riley is wearing a white sundress I don’t own and don’t remember buying, and she’s glowing. Her hair is messy, her makeup smudged, but she looks happier than I’ve felt in months. Maybe years. She’s looking at Drunk Duke like he’s her favorite person in the world.
Drunk Duke has his arm around her waist. He’s looking at Drunk Riley like she’s the love of his life.
Drunk Us is laughing, leaning into each other with the easy intimacy of people who’ve known each other forever.
“We look so happy,” I say, looking away to hide how badly I’m blushing. That kiss was capital-H hot.
Duke doesn’t answer.
On screen, the ceremony continues. Elvis gestures grandly. Drunk Duke reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring—where did he even get a ring?—and takes Riley’s hand.
Duke’s fingers are shaking as he holds his phone, and we watch the video.
Drunk Duke slides the band onto Drunk Riley’s finger, and the look on his face takes my breath away. He’s looking at Drunk Riley—me—like he’s just won the biggest lottery in the world. Like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.
Elvis drawls, “By the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
I watch Drunk Duke kiss Drunk Riley with a passion and intensity that makes me squirm against the sudden heat that floods my core.
A knock at the door makes us both jump.
Duke pauses the video, frozen on an image of Drunk Me gazing up at him with tears in my eyes. He crosses to the door while I try to remember how to breathe.
“Congratulations again on your wedding!” A young woman in a hotel uniform stands in the hallway, beaming, a bottle of champagne clutched in her hands. “As you can see, we’ve upgraded you to the honeymoon suite, compliments of the hotel. You two were quite something when you got in this morning—everyone was talking about it! Is there anything else we can do to make your stay special?”
