“Well, that’s done.” I look down to see that my hands are shaking.
Viktor reaches out and takes both of them between his. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
I don’t know how he can promise me that, but I don’t have any choice but to believe him.
Chapter Two
Viktor
After a long, private meal curated by a five-star chef and more bottles of champagne than five people probably should have drank, we finally make it back to our hotel. We’re in the honeymoon suite, of course, and it’s a beautiful room with all the amenities. A fully stocked bar. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip. A balcony with a hot tub.
All the things a newly married couple would love.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
I planned a real marriage and wound up being stood up.
Now I planned a fake marriage, and here I am in the honeymoon suite without a real wife.
Fate can be an asshole sometimes.
Not only am I spending my wedding night sleeping on a pull-out couch in the living room of our suite, I’m taunted by my beautiful bride. She’s not my typical type, but there’s no denying how beautiful she is.
Big blue eyes with long, light lashes.
Wavy blond hair that falls in soft curls around her shoulders.
A body that definitely turns heads.
And now she’s my wife.
My wife.
That’s a term I’m going to have to get used to.
She’s my wife legally and publicly, but it’s in name only. And now that we’re alone together—our first night as husband and wife—I’m a little frustrated by the fact that I can’t touch her. That’s probably the alcohol talking, so I figure I’ll be back in control after I sleep off this buzz.
Because the truth is, the one thing we didn’t really discuss was sex. Or the fact that we’re not going to be having any. I guess it was just an assumption, probably on both our parts, but now that reality is setting in, I’m not sure how to handle it.
Going a year without sex seems…unfathomable. Impossible, really. I became sexually active at sixteen and have never gone more than three months since then. A whole year will be—well, difficult is putting it mildly.
But if that’s the sacrifice to get my mother off my back, it will be worthwhile.
“I think I’m drunk.” She announces, sinking down next to me on the couch. She’s still wearing the pretty white cocktail dress she wore to get married but has kicked off her heels and I catch a glimpse of pretty little feet with toes painted a soft pink.
Damn, even her toes are cute.
What’s wrong with me?
Apparently, we both had way too much champagne.
“I am also…drunk.” That might not be entirely true but I’m definitely tipsy. And I need to stop staring at her legs.
She giggles. “We’re like two virgins on our wedding night trying not to talk about the elephant in the room.”
I was good until she started talking about elephants.
“There is elephant?” I look around, trying to figure out what that has to do with virgins on our wedding night. I’m far from a virgin, and since I know she lived with her ex for two years I’m relatively positive she isn’t either.
