We need to deal with this in a practical manner.
And there’s only one solution.
One logical move.
One responsible move.
I guide her to the armchair and then pace toward the window, looking out at the Strip. The sun is high now, illuminating the city of sin in a way that makes everything feel exposed.
"Talia," I say, not looking at her. "There’s only one sensible thing to do here. We need to find a lawyer. We need an annulment. Immediately. Before this gets out. Before anyone sees."
I expect her to agree.
I expect her to start listing off reasons why this is a disaster.
Instead, silence. I turn around to find her sitting very still, her gaze fixed on the floor.
The "Sunshine" has dimmed.
She doesn't say a word.
Something that disappears before I can name it.
“That’s the only sensible thing to do,” I continue. “It was a mistake. We were drunk. It’s not legally binding in any meaningful way once we—”
I stop.
Because she’s not looking at me anymore.
She’s looking at the floor, quiet and still. Completely closed off.
The brightness from a moment ago is gone again.
And for some reason—that bothers me more than anything else.
“Isn’t there another way?” she asks now.
“No,” I say bluntly. It comes out sharp and cold.
But I just don’t have time for this.
“We get an annulment,” I repeat, firm.
She exhales slowly through her nose, studying me in a way that makes me feel like I’m the one exposed.
“Right,” she says.
But she doesn’t sound convinced.
I can’t bear to look at her, so I bend down and lift up the marriage certificate, my eyes scanning the text.
STATE OF NEVADA.
Certificate of Marriage.
Our names.
Jake and Talia.
