"You should take it," I said. Whoever was on the other line could talk some sense into him, and then we could continue on with our annulment plans.
"Hey, Elliott," he said into the phone, then paused. Frowned. "No. How did you…" He paled. The way the color drained from his hairline to his beard line was really sort of impressive.
If it hadn't meant he was one hundred percent freaking out.
"Are you okay?" I asked. That shade of white couldn't be healthy.
"They know," he said in a way that made my headache brew into a full migraine. "All of them. Everyone. They know about us."
"Who are all of them?" Likeall of them, all of them, or just our close friends group, all of them? And what, precisely, did they know?
"The entire world," he said, putting his finger over the microphone on the phone. "They know we got married."
I blinked away the surprise.
"No," he said into the phone. "That's not…" He glanced at me with wild eyes. "No. I know how it might look."
Mad points for keeping his tone light as he spoke when he was clearly freaking the hell out.
Personally, I was in that odd calm before the storm. Like I knew the wind was about to blow me over, but right then, everything was A-okay, so I went with it.
But Sloan? Sloan was sweating.
Bet he wished right about then that he'd gone with a choice other than flannel.
"There's no way anyone can know," I whispered. Was I assuring him or me, or maybe us both? But there was no way for anyone to know what happened.
Tone still light, he clearly tried to keep his demeanor upbeat. But the frown lines around the edges of his eyes deepened.
That wasn't good.
I toyed with the edge of my coffee cup, giving a sidelong glance to the salt and pepper shakers and how simple life was three minutes ago when we'd been arguing with them.
Cell still pressed to his ear, Sloan hadn't said another word, blinking at his now-cold eggs, avoiding eye contact with me, and giving the occasional grunt in response to whatever Elliott said on the other end of the line.
"No," he said into the receiver as he shook his head. "That won't work. Nope. You're misunderstanding the whole thing."
My phone dinged. I didn't want to do it, but I glanced at the screen.
Angela: smthn 2 tell?
Angela was my best friend, and we told each other everything.
But if she already knew, what did it matter if I confirmed it right away or later? Of course, I would tell her once we got it all dealt with. The thing is that when we made it so nothing had happened, there would be nothing to tell.
"Social media," he said under his breath, pointing at my cell. "Check your socials."
Time around me seemed to freeze.
Angela texted a browser link at that exact moment.
I clicked on it because, clearly, I was a masochist.
As soon as I clicked, I wished I hadn't. Hoo boy, did I wish I hadn't.
Because there on the Instagram page of the Vegas wedding chapel was a collage of our photos from the night before. A collage of our wedding with confetti graphics and a big congratulations sticker as a banner over the top of the online gallery.
My heart nearly stopped. The knowledge that I was toast smacked me right upside the head. Figuratively, that is, since I only had pancakes on my plate.
