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“What is it?” I ask.
He’s staring into his closet where two empty garment bags are hanging.
“The dress that’s currently crumpled in a ball in the middle of the floor? Yeah…that’s Ava’s.”
All the blood drains from my face. “Your brother’s future bride?” I whisper.
“Future as in three days from now. And the tux in the bathroom is the groom’s.”
“Oh my God, Spencer. What the hell did we do?”
“I remembered something,” he says, turning to look at me. “Drunken shrimp.”
“Drunken shrimp?” I repeat. What the fuck is he talking about? Were we the drunken shrimp? “We were pretty drunk, but we weren’t shrimp.”
He shakes his head. “No. We had an appetizer. Drunken shrimp. It had mustard in it.”
“Oh! Right! We’re both allergic to mustard!” My words are riddled with way too much pride as the memory seeps through the haze. “Oh! So we took Benadryl! Two each.”
“Yeah…chased down with tequila.” He squints a little as he thinks back. “Evidently not a smart plan given that neither of us is clear on what came next.”
“I guess mixing Benadryl with tequila equals complete memory loss.”
“And making choices that are, uh…” He pauses as he searches for the right word. “Out of character.”
I’m pretty sure he was going to say stupid, and I’m not entirely sure he’d be wrong about that.
He pulls out his phone and scans something for a beat. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“What?”
He jerks his head to indicate that I should come over and look at his phone with him, and once I’m standing beside him, he opens the email from the Now or Never Vegas Chapel.
There’s an attachment to a website, and when he clicks it, we see the first photo.
It’s Spencer kissing me in front of Elvis.
I’m wearing Ava’s dress. He’s wearing Grayson’s tuxedo.
Okay, yes. It was a wild, crazy plan that I never thought he’d really agree to.
He did, and we’re married…but we did it in someone else’s wedding attire. In our defense, I’m not sure we knew what we were doing.
But that’s not much of a defense.
I feel terrible—not that I’m married to Spencer, but that we used Ava’s gown and Grayson’s tux when they trusted Spencer to keep them safe.
I must gasp or sigh or something because he glances over at me, and he turns off the phone before we look at any more of the photos.
I rush over to where the dress is in a ball on the floor, and I pick it up. It has a few wrinkles, but it doesn’t look worn. I didn’t spill anything on it, at least.
Still, we have photographic evidence that I wore it last night, and photos are meant to be shared. There’s no way in hell the Now or Never Vegas Chapel is going to keep those photos private given that Spencer is an actual celebrity.
Wait…did we sign a prenup? Did we even think about that?
My guess is absolutely not.
We weren’t thinking clearly about much of anything.
