She waves me off. “Unless you have Mickey D’s, I’m going back to sleep.”
“I have Mickey D’s,” I lie, willing her to turn onto her back. Reason number six hundred and two of what I love about her—she loves food.
Still lying on her front, she pops an eye open and rolls her head a little so she can side-eye me. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Hill.”
Well, wait until you hear what I have to say first,Mrs. Hill.
This is insane.
Erika turns onto her back, wiping under her eyes to swipe away the smudges of last night’s eyeliner she still has on. It’s still perfect, just like her.
She lets out a long, drawn-out yawn and looks around. “I can’t see or smell any food.”
“I lied. I don’t have food, but I will call the concierge and order a Mickey D’s for you.”
“Perfect.” She frowns at me and lifts her hand to my face. “What’s this?” she asks, poking at the deep lump of worry that’s formed between my brows. As if her brain glitches for a second, she stares at her left hand, then the same bump as mine forms between her brows too. “What. Is. That?” She holds the hand that’s wearing a wedding ring out in front of her.
“Ah, so that’s what I needed to talk to you about. I have one too.” I flash her mine.
Her jaw drops, as if to speak, but nothing comes out.
“We got married last night.” I’m blunt, but how else am I going to tell her? There is no way to sugarcoat it or wrap it in a bow.
Nervous laughter leaves her throat, her face changing from amusement to disbelief. “You’re screwing with me?”
“I’m not.”
She holds her pointer finger in the air and waggles it. “No. Uh-uh. Nope.” She shakes her head as if she’s unable to absorb what we did. “That can’t be right. We didn’t… we never…”
I hold up the piece of paper to show her that, yes, we did.
She inhales a sharp breath, her eyes widening as if a light bulb went on in her head. “What the hell are we going to do?” sheyells, springing up into a sitting position, then scrambling off the bed. “Leon, what were we thinking? This… me and you… this is... big leaps… bigger than both of us…” She motions to the space between us.
“It’s not.” It’s wrong of me, but wickedly, I’m loving her mini spiral because while I might have felt the same way just minutes ago, I can’t deny how much I want her. I want this. I always have, and maybe this is what is meant for us.
Running her hands through her long brunette locks, she paces back and forth, her tight mini dress moving further up her thighs. “This is super-fast.” She holds her hand out in front of her again to check the ring, to admire it, I hope, and shakes her head, almost out of breath.
“It is,” I agree.
“And reckless. Batshit crazy.”
“It’s the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done.” Everything I do in my life is considered; I have lawyers who check everything twice, if not three times, so getting married while under the influence is unlike me.
Halting her stride, she puts her hands on her hips and stares me down. “Why are you not on the verge of having a breakdown?”
“I’ve had about five minutes more than you to process it.” Also, because, you know, I kinda fucking like that we’re married. No, I don’t just like it, I love it.
Animated and frantic, her chest moving in sharp breaths, she blurts, “We can’t tell anyone.”
I physically recoil, a knot of embarrassment in my stomach. “It’s a little too late for that.”
“Why? How? What do you mean?” She fires questions at me faster than a storm rolling across the horizon.
I don’t want to freak her out any more than she already is, but she needs to know so she can prepare herself for the shotgunwedding comments. “I’ll show you.” I lift my cell off the bed and turn it around to show her the photo we posted last night.
She shrieks, eyes wide, her face paling, then she covers her face and shakes her head, breathing heavier than she was before. I might need to get her a paper bag to blow into.
“Why did we upload a photo, Leon?” Her voice is all high and squeaky.
