Lucas twists and bolts upright, disoriented, his hair sticking out in every direction. He blinks at me, then down at himself, then back at me. Recognition dawns in his eyes, followed immediately by horror.
“Jesus Christ!” He grabs a pillow, covering himself, butnot before I get a complete view of everything he has to offer. And it’s…impressive. Not that I care. “Why am I in your room?”
“This isn’t my room!” I gesture wildly, and the movement sets off another wave of nausea. “I woke up in the bathtub! In my underwear! With this!” I point to the veil still hanging from my hair.
“Why are you…” he starts to say, but then he notices something on his left hand. He raises it slowly, staring at the simple gold band on his ring finger. “No. No, no, no.”
I look down at my own hand. An identical band gleams back at me.
“This isn’t happening,” I whisper. “We didn’t?—”
“We couldn’t have?—”
We stare at each other, with panic mirrored in our faces. Lucas wraps the sheet around his waist and stands, scanning the room as if searching for an explanation.
“Wait. Whose suite is this?” he asks, moving toward the window. “This isn’t my room. I was on the twelfth floor.”
“I was on fourteen,” I say, following him out to the living area, keeping a healthy distance.
As if on cue, we both spot the massive gift basket on the coffee table. A banner across it reads, “CONGRATULATIONS, MR. & MRS. CARMICHAEL.”
“Mrs. Carmichael?” I echo, my voice rising to a pitch that makes my own head throb. “Oh, my God. I’m going to be sick.”
“There!” Lucas points to a piece of paper on the bar. He crosses the room, careful to keep the sheet secured around him, and grabs it. “It’s a marriage certificate.”
“Let me see that.” I snatch the document from him. “This can’t be legal. We were completely wasted.”
But there it is in black and white. My signature, wobbly but unmistakable. Lucas’s, equally messy. Two witness signatures: Marcus Delgado and…
“Dylan Reeves?” I blink at the name. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Documentary filmmaker,” Lucas says, rubbing his temples. “Award-winning indie darling who, I think, just got a major deal with Wonderland Studios. I’m pretty sure he was at the bar last night.”
“Why would he be a witness at our wedding?” I sink onto a bar stool, with the marriage certificate still in hand. “What else don’t we remember?”
We’re interrupted by the simultaneous buzzing of our phones, which are, miraculously, plugged in and charging on the counter. Lucas reaches his first and swipes it open. Then he freezes.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?”
He turns the screen to me. It’s open to Instagram, displaying a post from Dylan. The image shows Lucas and me at what is clearly a Vegas wedding chapel. I’m in my black suit from the conference, with a veil on my head and a bouquet in hand. Lucas is in his uniform blazer and jeans, and those fucking tennis shoes he loves so much, grinning like he’s just won the lottery. We’re gazing at each other with expressions that could only be described as besotted.
The caption reads:
Honored to witness true love unfold last night! Thrilled to announce that industry power duo @LucasCarmichael and @JessLexington will be the first newlywed couple featured in my upcomingReal Powerdocumentary series! Their chemistry is undeniable. I can’t wait to share their journey from rivals to partners! #RealPower #VegasWedding #ComingSoon
“What the actual…” I grab my own phone. Notifications flood the screen. I’ve got messages from family, friends, and colleagues, alerts from news outlets, and endless social media tags.
“We’ve gone viral,” Lucas says, scrolling through his feed. “Everyone thinks we’re—oh, God, my father is going to have a stroke.”
“His documentary series?” I stare at Dylan’s post again. “We agreed to be in his documentary?” It would be funny if it weren’t my actual life imploding in real time.
Lucas paces, trailing the sheet behind him like a toga. “We need to fix this. Now.”
“Agreed. We call our lawyers, get this annulled, issue statements explaining it was a drunken mistake?—”
“Wait,” Lucas interrupts, holding up a message. “Dylan says, ‘The chemistry between you two last night was electric. I couldn’t believe you’ve been secretly dating for six months. The viewers are going to love your story.’” He looks up at me. “Did we tell people we’ve been dating for six months?”
