Page 76 of Scarred Crown

“For what?” I mumble.

“Coming to Vegas with me. Getting roaring drunk. Probably giving me really great memories that are tucked away somewhere in the recesses of my brain.”

“All great memories should be stored somewhere very deep for safekeeping.” Unfortunately, the bad ones are often stored there too.

“We should do it again sometime.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips.

I stroke his face and draw my thumb over his full lips and down his chin. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Night, Jules.” He chuckles.

“Night, Nick.”

I fall into a deep sleep, the sort where you lose track of the day, time, and place where you’re sleeping. My dreams are filled with drunken laughter, a whisp of material brushing my cheeks, and Nick’s face alight with happiness. In my subconscious lies a drugged euphoria, and I gladly immerse myself.

Just before I wake up, I have a vivid dream about bees with metal stingers attacking my finger. I bolt upright, wide awake, and then rub my bandage. The dull ache causes me to wince, and I push back the strands of my hair that came free from my ponytail while I slept.

The pilot is announcing our descent into Bellerive. I slept for fourteen hours. How did I just sleep for fourteen hours? I don’t even know what time we fell into bed last night. Obviously, my body needed the rest.

“Morning sunshine,” Nick says from beside me. A frown mars his forehead before he peers out the window.

“Remember anything more?” I maneuver my seat into the upright position.

“Nothing that makes any sense. You?”

“Super weird dreams. I just dreamt a swarm of bees was attacking my finger.” I flash my hand at him and give him a wry smile. “With a metal stinger. Guess I should make sure my tetanus shot is up to date.”

“The last time I had that dream was when I got a…” His frown deepens, and he stares at his hand. “Jules have you looked under the bandage?”

“God no. I was too hungover when we woke up. I’m only starting to feel human now. I’m guessing we cut ourselves on something? Hopefully, the cut isn’t deep, or we didn’t make some sort of blood oath.” I laugh, but I’m suddenly a bit uneasy. At least my headache is gone. Though I still feel like I ate cotton for dinner.

Gingerly, Nick peels the covering off his finger. “Yeah, you’re gonna want to take that bandage off.”

I try to peer at his hand, but he shields it.

“Do we need to go to the hospital when we get off the plane?” Were we so drunk we didn’t realize we needed stitches?

I unwrap my finger and gasp. “Nick,” I breathe.

That’s his name, but it’s also what’s tattooed on my ring finger. Around the letters is an intricate pattern in the formation of an actual ring.

I have his name tattooed on my body.

In the place where a wedding ring would sit.

He flashes his hand at me. “Jules.” His lips quirk up into an almost smile. “How cute.”

His lines are thick and straightforward, but the design is definitely a wedding ring. I can’t tear my focus from his finger. Is he freaking out like I am? I glance at him, but I can’t read his expression. Why do I feel like I’m the only one freaking the fuck out?

My heart races, and I dig out my phone. There are unread notifications from when I switched my phone to airplane mode. I ignore them, and I keep airplane mode on while I click on my photos.

The gasp that escapes me comes from my toes. Oh, my word. We took so many photos last night. Why did we take so many pictures of our insanity?

“Check your camera roll,” I whisper.

He digs his phone out of his pocket, and in silence, we scroll through our camera feeds. I can’t speak until I’ve scrolled through the photos from the last twenty-four hours twice. Why didn’t I think to check for evidence earlier?

We had a hell of a time.