“Is this how I imagined getting married? No. Not even close. But now that I’m sober, I can’t honestly say I regret it.” His gaze locks onto mine. “I know you’re hungover. I know you’re in shock. But that doesn’t give you the right to come at me like this over something webothchose to do.”
My mouth is hanging open by the time he finishes his little speech. I haven’t seen him this worked up since we were eighteen. Since I accused him of buying his apprenticeship. I’d forgotten how hot angry Aksel is.
If I hadn’t swallowed half a bottle of suppressants, I’d beleaking slick all over this wrought-iron chair. As it is, I’m hard enough to pound nails. I scrub my hands over my face and rub at my temples, forcing my thoughts anywhere but there before my hormones decide to stage a mutiny and make this situation even worse.
And then it hits me. Fuck.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
Aksel woke up in his boxers, and I was fully clothed, but that doesn’t mean anything. I could’ve gotten dressed after. The realization turns my stomach, nausea crawling up my throat at the idea of something that important happening and me not remembering a single second of it.
“We didn’t…” I trail off, the rest of the question choking itself out somewhere between embarrassment and dread.
He frowns, clearly thrown by the sudden shift. “We didn’t what?”
“Uh… I was just wondering if we had… You know.” “I know what?”
He is absolutely not making this easy. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire now. Before I can die of embarrassment, Eric, traitor, menace, plague upon my life, leans forward with a grin.
“What my painfully prudish friend is trying to ask,” Eric says brightly, “is whether you two bumped uglies last night. Made the beast with two backs. Did the horizontal tango. Knocked boots. Got jiggy with it. Played hide the hot dog.”
I glare at him. He ignoresme.
“And the answer,” he continues cheerfully, “is no. You didnotfuck like drunken little bunnies. But, and you listen closely because this is important, you absolutely need to watch thevideo of you trying your very best to make it happen. Truly inspired. Oscar-worthy. I wept at the beautiful cinema of it all.”
“What?” I squeak. The sound is so high-pitched I’m pretty sure all nearby dogs just sat up.
“Oh yeah,” Eric says, nodding. “A full-on striptease, followed by some very heartfelt begging. Glorious, babes. Absolutely magnificent.”
“I did not strip,” I insist vehemently. “I was fully dressed when I woke up this morning.”
“One moment, please,” Eric says, lifting a finger as he scrolls through his phone.
While he searches for the video that will undoubtedly kill me on the spot, I glance at Aksel. He’s doing a terrible job of pretending not to smile. His lips are pressed together, eyes tipped toward the ceiling like he’s praying for strength, but his face is flushed red, and his shoulders shake with silent, traitorous laughter.
The sound of my own voice, high, whiny, and unmistakably shitfaced, cuts through Eric’s hysterical cackling and drags my attention back to the phone he’s now holding out for us to see.
“Come oooooon,” drunk me whines from the screen. “One orgasm and I promise I’ll go to sleep. It’s our wedding niiiiiiight. I deserve some good loving.”
I watch in horror as I waggle my eyebrows and attempt what can only generously be described as a hip shimmy, something that might’ve been seductive if I hadn’t immediately tripped over absolutely nothing and face-planted onto the floor.
“Holy shit! Are you okay, Fylgja?”
Aksel’s shirt is off, and his pants are unbuttoned. His hands grip his blond locks as he stares at me in shock. He’s obviouslyjust as drunk as I am. He’s swaying where he stands and takes a stumbling step before righting himself.
“I’m fline, baby. How are you?”
I watch in horror as last night me clings to the edge of the bed, hauling himself upright like a newborn giraffe with zero survival instincts.
“Yeah, Aksel! See!” Eric’s voice pipes up from behind the camera. “He’s fline! Go ahead and give him some good lovin’.”
The video jolts violently as Eric loses it, laughing so hard the frame goes crooked.
I’ve officially reached my daily limit of humiliation.
I stab the screen to stop the video and immediately dropmyforeheadontothetablewithadullthud.Thecool surface does nothing to soothe the mortifying heat crawling up my neck.
I threw myself at Aksel last night. Ifucking marriedAksel last night. Fuck.
