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Something hard and metal against my cheek as I rub the haze from my face.
Oh no. Oh God, no.
I slowly pull my hands away from my face, and I practically jump out of bed as I stare at the new golden band encircling my left ring finger.
As my feet plant on the ground, they don’t hit the floor. They stop on top of some fabric. It feels…scratchy.
I slowly angle my head down as I spot the billowing layers of white silk and that weird netting shit that turns a regular dress into one of those puffy princess ballgowns.
Jesus Christ.
What the fuck happened last night?
I hear the toilet flush, and a moment later, the bathroom door opens.
I glance up, and my eyes meet those of Grace Newman. She looks even worse than I feel, and she freezes as she sees me standing in…
I glance down.
I’m standing in my birthday suit.
I’m as naked as the day I was born.
Seriously, and I cannot stress this enough: What the fuck happened last night?
I glance around, but no clothes that belong to me are within my reach, though she’s wearing one of my T-shirts. I take a step back and bend down to pick up the dress off the floor. I hold it up to cover my entire…area.
“Um,” she croaks. She clears her throat. “This may be a dumb question, but is that a wedding dress?” She gestures toward the garment I’m holding.
I glance down at the dress. “I, uh—” I clear my throat, too, since it also seems not to be working at the moment. “I think it is.” The words come out in a rush as my stomach churns.
“Oh, okay. That may explain the wedding ring on my finger, then,” she says. Her voice is a pitch higher than usual as she twists the ring.
“Um, I’m wearing one, too.” I shuffle on my feet and draw in a deep breath as I try to remain calm. This has to be a joke. Right?
“Yeah. Uh…this is kind of embarrassing to admit, but I can’t remember a thing from last night.” She shakes her head as if she’s trying to will it back, but it’s as blank for me as it appears to be for her. She rolls her shoulders a little. “Can you fill me in on what happened? Did we get married?”
I’m still standing with the dress in my hands, shifting back and forth on my feet as the need to pace takes over, but I’m not wearing any fucking clothes, and what the hell happened last night? Panic rises in my chest, but I’m trying to stay calm. For her. “I’ll be honest, Newman,” I say, calling her by her last name. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Right,” she says, and she twists her lips. She looks like she might cry, and that’s just making that rising panic feel even worse as it combines with the hangover.
“Can you, uh…can you turn around for a second?” If we really did get married, it’s a dumb request, but last I checked, Grace Newman is nothing more than my friend…and the sister of my ex-fiancée. Or, the last time I was sober, that’s all she was, anyway.
“Sure.” She turns and puts her hands over her eyes even though it’s sort of redundant to turn around and cover her eyes.
I rush over to the drawer I set my clothes in when I got to this hotel, and I grab a pair of shorts that I pull on in a hurry. “Okay. I have shorts on.”
She turns back around, and her jaw slackens a little. She clears her throat again. “Maybe a shirt, too?”
I glance down, and when I look back up at her, I can’t help but ask, “A shirt?”
“Yeah. Those are making me…” She pauses, and she indicates my abdomen. “Uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” I repeat. “We’re both wearing wedding rings, and there’s a wedding dress on the floor, and my abs are making you uncomfortable?” My voice is rising as the panic starts to edge its way in.
She clears her throat. “Don’t forget the tuxedo on the bathroom floor.”
There’s a tuxedo on the bathroom floor?
