Catarina puffed out her cheeks, exhaling loudly. “What have we done? This has over twenty-thousand retweets!”
I rubbed my forehead with my thumb and index finger. Struggling to think clearly, I pulled up the number for Freddie’s and called immediately.
“Freddie speaking,” he answered.
“Oh perfect,” I said, putting him on speaker phone. “Freddie. This is Dustin LeBlanc.”
“Good morning Mr. LeBlanc! How are you and your lovely bride doing today?”
“Not good, Freddie. Because your chapel—can I call it a chapel?—shared our wedding video, which has already been viewed millions of times.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. You didn’t check the ‘full privacy’ box when you signed your papers with us.”
“Full privacy box?! What the fuck! First, I was three sheets to the wind last night, and second, why the fuck would I need to check a box so that you don’t share a video of my personal wedding with the world?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and Freddie cleared his throat. “Sir, we’re a twenty-four-hour marriage chapel. I’m not sure what you expected. We had every legal right to publish that video. We didn’t think it would be a big deal. And actually, many couples appreciate the gesture.”
I pursed my lips in anger, then hung up. “Dammit! Well, first things first. We need to get our story straight. If people know we just met each other barely forty-eight hours before we got married ...”
“Technically, we met at eight P.M. or so in the elevator Friday night,” she corrected.
“Yeah, you’re right. That’s almost forty hours before our marriage ceremony.”
She frowned. “This is like a real-life horror version ofThe Hangover.”
I scoffed. “How so?”
“The part where Andy Bernard fromThe Officegets married to that stripper.”
“You mean Ed Helms?” I looked her up and down. “You don’t look anything like Heather Graham in that movie, though.”
“Okay, I know. But ... you get the idea.”
She stood up with her hands on her hips, and we made eye contact. “You look way hotter,” I said, and she blushed.
“We’ve got to get our story straight,” I added.
“Yes. For starters, we’ll say we met in college. Apparently, we drunkenly said that last night to Freddie—or someone—and it made it onto the video. Why would we say that? But we’ll go with it.”
“I have no idea why we would say that.”
“I did forget a little bit of what happened in the casino. I remember when we came back up here to the room, though. Where’d you go to school again?”
“Yale for undergrad.”
“Seriously? Damn. You’re a smartypants.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Ohio State.”
She bit her lip. “Shit.”
“What?”
“I went to the University of Michigan for med school.”
I dropped my jaw. The two schools were well-known rivals, and although it was a mostly friendly rivalry, sometimes it seemed more serious than that. “Seriously? Fuck. If I had known that I definitely wouldn’t have married you.”
