He nods. “Looks like the hotel staff transferred everything from our separate rooms to here last night.”
My brow furrows. “So we were too drunk to remember getting married, but cognizant enough to combine our rooms?”
He shrugs as he looks out the window in an attempt to keep his focus off me, I’m sure. “When I inquired, they said we came in announcing our nuptials to anyone who would listen and then asked for the biggest suite they had.”
“How very Ross and Rachel of us,” I mutter, looking around at the tall windows and the large bed. I can’t even imagine how much a night in a room like this costs. “How are we going to pay for this?”
He finally looks up at me. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I can’t let you do that,” I argue.
“How does the saying go?” A wicked smile spreads across his face. “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours?”
My brow furrows in frustration. He cannot seriously be suggesting…
“Go get dressed, and then we can eat and try to make sense of the last twelve hours.”
But that’s the problem.
Nothing makes sense.
Nothing at all.
HOLLIS
Married.
We got fucking married?
Standing in the shower, I let the water pour over me as I try to remember exactly how the hell we went from something as innocent as ziplining to vowing to love and cherish each other for the rest of eternity.
And why do I feel like this might all be my fault?
I finish up, turn off the water, and dry myself off. Just as I’m pulling my shirt over my head, I hear Pres talking to someone from room service on the other side of the door.
“Thank you,” she says politely.
“Of course,” they answer. “Will there be anything else, Mrs. Beck?”
“N-no.” Pres stumbles over the sound of my last name. My heart does too.
Fucking hell.
Standing in front of the mirror, I hold out my hand and glance down at the ring that now resides there. It should feel heavy, burdensome. Wrong.
But it doesn’t. It feels like it’s exactly where it’s supposed to be. It feels right.
And isn’t that a kicker?
In my thirty-two years, I don’t think I’ve ever really considered the idea of getting married. After spending my childhood with a woman obsessed with the idea, it didn’t appeal to me all that much.
But now?
When I open the bathroom door and find Pres gazing down at the nearly identical gold band on her finger, though, I know I have a problem.
Because I don’t think my new wife sees that ring the same way I do.
How could she?
