I don’t hesitate. I take the safer option and practically throw myself into the chair.
The back of my head knocks against the leather, and the cushion lets out an unflattering sound as I land. I wince, heat creeping up my neck as I glance at Aksel to see if he noticed.
He doesn’t seem to. He’s still standing by the bed, hands in his pockets, distracted, lost in his own thoughts, or maybe just giving me space.
Either way, I sink deeper into the chair, exhausted down to the bone.
“We should probably tell our family and friends back home that we got married before they find out next week when the first episode is released.” His voice is low, careful, like he’stesting thin ice.
I shrug, forcing myself into something that almost resemblescasual.“There’snooneinmylifewhoneedsto know besides Eric. And he was there, so…” My words trail off despite my effort to keep them light.
My chest tightens anyway. My mom flickers through my thoughts uninvited. Would she be happy that I married an alpha? Relieved that I found someone who could take care of me? Or disappointed that I walked straight into the same kind of life she never managed to escape?
I don’t let myself sit with it. I feel his gaze on me, heavy and searching, but I refuse to meet it.
“What about you?” I ask instead, pushing the focus back where it belongs. “Shouldn’t you tell your parents?”
In the past, I was always a dick about his dad buying him whatever he wanted. In my defense, Mr. Wintherdidbuy him a ton of stuff that I liked too, and jealousy is not one of my finer traits. Still, I’m trying to be better about keeping my usual snide comments to myself. See? Growth. Maturity. A recurring theme for me these days.
I listen as he paces, his footsteps uneven, his breathing heavier than normal. Eventually, curiosity wins. I open my eyes and watch him walk back and forth across the carpet in front of the dresser, tension radiating off him, until he finally drops onto the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands.
“My parents are going to flip their shit,” he says at last, his voice small in a way I’ve never heard before.
Something in my chest twists hard at the sound of it. The thought of him taking the fallout for a drunken mistake we both made makes my hackles rise, a sharp, unexpected protectiveness snapping into place.
“If you don’t want to tell them, you don’t have to,” I say firmly. “You don’t owe them anything. You’re an adult. You get to make your own choices. And if they have a problem with it?” I shrug. “Fuck them.”
I don’t remember deciding to move, but suddenly I’m in front of him, kneeling between his legs, my hands settling on his knees like they’ve always belonged there.
Hedropshishandsandlooksupatme,meetingmy eyes.
“I almost wish I could play the pity card if this is the reaction I get from you,” he says with a wry chuckle. He covers my hands with his and sits up a little straighter. “The issue isn’t that my parents wouldn’t approve. I’m just… dreading my mom’s reaction to not being at the wedding.”
“Oh,” I whisper, gently pulling my hands back from his legs. “Well, that’s a good thing, right? She’ll be happy for you even if this isn’t arealmarriage.”
He studies me for a long moment, like there’s something else perched on the tip of his tongue. Then he clears his throat, and whatever it was disappears. “Yeah. Moms are good like that. She’ll be happy for us.” He shifts to his feet and gestures toward the phone. “While I order room service, you should probably shower off the strip club. We can go over the interview questions after we eat.”
He gives my leg a playful smack on his way past.
“Are you saying I stink?” I ask, mock-offended. I lift my arm and sniff theatrically, then immediately gag when the smell of stale sweat and booze hits me. My face twists. “Jesus. I reallydosmell.”
I hear him laughing as I slip into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I crank the hot water and peel off my clothes before stepping into the massive rainfall shower. Itcould comfortably fit an orgy’s worth of people and still leave room for a full camera crew. Vegas is unhinged like that.
The hot water hits me from three different directions, easing my hangover-stiff muscles and rinsing the fog from my brain. As I scrub glitter and sweat from my skin, I replay last night in my head. The memories are coming back in fragments. Bright flashes without a clear timeline.
Laughter.
A towering Elvis. Kissing.
So much kissing.
We kissed onstage at the strip club after I proposed. We kissed in the stale cab on the way to the chapel while Eric flirted shamelessly with the driver. We made out like reckless teenagers in the waiting room until it was our turn to sayI do. We kissed to seal our vows as husbands. We kissed in the elevator ride up to Aksel’s room, Eric very deliberately pretending not to notice.
And then, after I was tucked beneath the softest sheets I’ve ever felt, Aksel leaned down and kissed me one last time before we fell asleep.
It was the first time in longer than I care to admit that I’d let loose and actually enjoyed myself. Am I happy I got drunk and married a guy I was pretty sure I hated until yesterday? No. But am I devastated that it happened? Also no. My tangled, half-formed feelings aren’t helping me make sense of any of this.
Aksel has been good today. Steady. Stern when I needed grounding, gentle when my thoughts started spiraling. A soothing presence when my brain ran too fast. The perfect alpha, if I’m being honest.
